A veritable goldmine opportunity

I'm mostly blogging over at my other blog these days, but still keeping it barely alive here. Mainly with random stuff like the much requested Kristen Says.

She's growing older, yet she still keeps us laughing.

Last night, for instance.

I'm sitting on the couch looking at Facebook, as usual. I'm viewing the page of a former neighbor we keep in touch with who's moving back here. By chance, the house next door is for sale. We're crossing our fingers she and her husband and their three little girls might actually get the timing right with the sale of their house and move in next door.

Kristen: Watcha lookin' at?
Me: Heather's page.
Kristen: Are they moving in next door?
Me: I have no idea. If the timing is right, wouldn't that be fun?
Kristen: Yeah, think of the babysitting opportunities.
(short pause while wheels turn in head)
Kristen: PLATINUM ...

Smart girl, her.

Will it make me look like her?

Gotta love advertising, right?

While perusing the article about Ford refusing the bailout money (Thanks, Paul. I knew there was at least one thing I liked about Ford), I happened to see this ad:

I guess if you shop here at this online shop, you'll look like the size two model even if you really wear a size 12W to 44W.

I'm so on that.

It's beginning to sound a lot like Christmas

I'm still blogging my trip over at an audience of me and posting photos on flickr.

If you've got a hankering for some Christmas tunes, check out this little project my son's friends put together for the holidays. It'll make you smile! Bunch of talented kids, they are. I can't swear to it, but I'd imagine all the instrumentation is original, nothing canned. A little traditional stuff, a little funky stuff (I Saw Three Ships like you've never heard it, maybe!). Ryan's friend Kristin does an absolutely gorgeous O Come, O Come Emmanuel, too.

Ryan sings number 4 -- You Gotta Get Up, a cover of a Rich Mullins song, also recorded by the immortal Five Iron Frenzy. (Well, I guess logically Rich Mullins is the immortal one now, may he rest in peace!) We used to pull out the Mullins recording to wake the kids up on Christmas morning. (YES ... we had to wake the kids up. We are a bunch of undying night owls in this family, even as little children.) I can almost picture Ryan's three or four-year-old wonder at Christmastime when I listen to him sing here.

I'm back from my trip to the UK and I'm blogging it over at my other blog.

Hope you'll take a peek now and then. It'll take me a while to get all my thoughts down since I spent all my time there walking, looking, shooting photos, and not writing a bit!

Joe who?

If I make more than $250K per year, I am not Joe the Plumber.

I am Joe the Plumbing Executive.

Just saying.

Kristen and Mom show their respective ages

While traveling to On the Border for Friday night dinner with Todd, Kristen, and my mom, we were talking about the vice presidential debates, and what's been said today among family, friends, and frenemies.

The space of nearly 60 years between two of the female species became apparent.

Mom: My beauty operator said the same thing.

Kristen: Your what? Your BEAUTY OPERATOR??????

To bail or not to bail ...

If you want to read slightly lighter, more exciting stuff, go read my review of the Swell Season (Glen Hansard of the Frames/Marketa Irglova) concert at my other blog.

If you are worried about the state of our economy, this will just take a minute.

I've been receiving various plugs in my inbox for different ways to approach the financial crisis as a taxpayer, citizen, voter, little person. It's still unclear what the best solution is to me, but reading through these is at least educating me. I'm still not sure I'll understand it in time to have any real influence. Sigh.

Dave Ramsey's 3 Steps to Change the Nation's Future

John Mauldin's Who's afraid of a big, bad bailout? (reprinted with permission on Meg Tilly's blog)

These two opinions seem to have common goals through quite different solutions.

What about you? Have you come across anything that make sense to you?

Kristen says ...

In a true demonstration of the pitfalls of the electronic age and its effect on families ...

As Todd, Julie, and Emilie sit with their laptops playing on FaceBook on a Friday night ...

Julie comments that Kristen is the only normal member of the family remaining. She has no laptop, no FaceBook, thus, no 21st century life. Todd chuckles. Emilie mumbles (after having wisdom tooth extraction earlier in the day). Kristen says ...

"Can't y'all just talk on FaceBook?"

Apparently, we were interrupting her movie.

Kitty Kup Sob Story

I was born with a plastic cup in my mouth.

Apparently, so was my cat.

How does one train a cat who is obsessed with drinking out of a tall, plastic Khaki's cup to drink out of the nice, clean, white, ceramic, PRETTY square bowl I purchased for her? She's made the transfer from the old food dish to the new (matches the square water bowl) food dish, but the water seemingly is just not the same.

I understand, really. I don't like drinking from glass glasses unless I have a straw. They smell kinda fishy, if you know what I mean. Give me a good old cheap plastic cup any day. (And my mom gets irritated with me when I call them cups, but I tell her if they're plastic, they can't be glasses, right?) But this is a cat, people. And they don't make cat straws.

So Yentl, she stands pitifully at the bathroom counter, sticking her head way down inside the empty Khaki's cup, hoping beyond hope there will be a few drops she missed the last time she checked. (Hmm, maybe it would help if I got rid of the cup. That was the point.)

I've carried her to the food and drink spot, a short three feet away, even dunked her finicky little nose in the new dish to be sure she KNOWS it's water (Because she's kind of dumb like that sometimes. She also finishes her business, then swishes her paws OUTSIDE the litter box inside of inside where they might actually cover the evidence.)

She condescended to drink from the dishy dish one time--when I fetched two ice cubes from the kitchen and dropped them in, because she loves ice water (she's a kidney disease kitty, and loves water cold, cold, cold). I thought it would clue her in that it's her new watering hole, but no, and we're not going to start THAT every day. I know, I know, some of you over-the-top animal lovers think I'm mean, but we do give her ice in the kitchen bowl. Ahem, the BOWL she drinks from there (that is, NOT A CUP).

By now, you're probably wondering, "What are Khaki's cups?" If so, you ain't from around here, are ya? Khaki's Fresh Food is this wonderful dress-your-own-burger joint that serves drinks in tall plastic tumblers imprinted with their logo. If you live in Arlington, chances are, you have a full set in the cabinet. The way you know it's been too long since you went to Khaki's is when you realize you need new cups. You know, when the old ones are kinda faded? Cracking in spots or overly dishwasher warped? And they are so much better than the four for a dollar crap cups you get at WallyWorld. You can bend them to fit in the dishwasher top rack, the one that's always a fraction of an inch too narrow for things you purchase.

But I digress. Yentl, she needs to move up a notch. What do I do with the plastic cup lovin' kitty??

To she who keeps us all organized

Dadgummit, I'm an hour too late to officially say Happy Birthday to Emilie on my blog!

But she got all kinds of attention today anyway. She went to the doctor last night with fever and coughing and came home with antibiotics and a possible diagnosis of p-u-monia. Yep, two doctors arguing over a chest xray--Is it pneumonia or not?--decided to treat her as if it is so. Because she had "all kinds of squeaking and squacking" going on in her lungs, so they said.

Too much stuff going on in combination with heavy duty allergies=a day off from school for your birthday. Not a bad deal. I know, right? (Just had to say it, after all Emilie says it 100 times a day these days.)

I even heated up leftover taco soup for her lunch when she finally woke up at 2 p.m. after going to bed at 9 last night. I told her never to forget I did this for her and never to say I never fed her when she was sick. ;-)

Because I felt so bad for her, even though I said we'd probably wait to celebrate until the weekend, Kristen and I made a pit stop at Target after piano lessons and bought a little cake and the rest of her heart's desires for her birthday--the sequel to Gregory Maguire's Wicked, and another book he's written about the ugly stepsister or some such character.

I was already in possession of the requested Across the Universe DVD and a few other random movies I thought she'd enjoy after an unfortunate trip yesterday to Blockbuster's previously-viewed-movies-for-sale section. (It's always unfortunate, because I always buy a lot of movies there when they're four for $20. Many I've seen and enjoyed. The pitiful part is I often never rewatch them. I just have some kind of weird emotional attachment to movies I liked. Let's just say this was a *highly* unfortunate visit because I kind of hit the jackpot.)

If we can score tickets for the David Wilcox concert at Bend Studio in November, including one for Emilie, I will be Mom of the Year, except for that minor matter of driver's ed ...

Sorry, sweetie, you don't have time for driver's ed. The only possible time slot in your busy, busy schedule is really already filled. With sleep. Maybe when you're 20.

BUT ARE YOU SERIOUSLY 15!!!!! O.M.G.

Look ma, no hands!

It's pitiful that I haven't updated in more than three weeks, I know. If you're still reading, thanks for checking in faithfully anyway! I guess I'm going to have to start jabbing Kristen in the side to get her to say something new and hilarious, huh? ;-)

Seems like I always post on the first day of school, though, so I must keep up the tradition.

Fall is not in the air here. Not at all. I didn't even get that weird little rush that usually comes with the first day of school, where you can somehow imagine fall is coming, even when it's still blazing hot. Now, if school had started LAST week, in the midst of some cooler, rainy days, maybe.

Today was surprisingly easy for day 1. I'd estimate about 15%, or 10 of the requisite forms are filled out (with exactly the SAME FREAKING INFO as last year! Can we just get a computer generated form to check off "all info the same as last year" puleeeze?!?!).

One started 6th grade, and bopped off with her friends for her second year in a school she likes. One started high school, and I have to admit that Julie of the non-teary first days of school (Can anyone shout, "FREEDOM!" with me?) had just the tiniest little lump in her throat as she drove away from dropping her oldest girl off. (First day privilege. She'll be waiting for the bus at 6:30 a.m. tomorrow with all the other freshmen whose parents believe in building character, saving gas and the environment, and the statistics that say it's safer to rider the school bus anyway.)

I simply had a quick realization that this is child two of three to start high school, and that really makes the remaining years of my hands-on job as a parent seem short. Even more considering how easily she jumped out of the car (well, not really jumped, but she wasn't nervous at all and neither was I). I must be doing something either really right or really wrong for her to be so confident. :)

My consolation is I had my children fairly far apart (five years between 1 and 2, and four years between 2 and 3). Originally, I said it was so I'd never have two in diapers at once, but more to the point, I realized how much I'd enjoy getting to know each one of my kids individually for a pretty long period of time and that I'd be a much better mom that way. We are not all wired the same as moms. (It was also nice having older kids who could tote the stinky diapers to the garage.)

So, Kristen will be a while in coming to this day of starting high school, but I'm sure it'll be here in a flash. And she'll be the one sitting in the car, clinging to my hand, saying, "Noooo! I'm not ready!"

Or maybe she won't, and I'll shake my head again.

Now, if I could just figure out the second-year college student and exactly where my responsibilities lie in helping him become an adult, I might sleep at night. This is harder than I thought it would be.

(photo credit: macwagen, creative commons)

Ding ding ding!

Haven't done a Kristen says in a while ... so.

We've been trying to get her to bed earlier the last few nights so we can start gearing up for the new school year. She's nearly as bad a night owl as me, which is not a good thing come school time. So, about five minutes ago, I gave her instructions to get her teeth brushed, etc.

Todd saw her dawdling on the stairs on her way up.

Todd: Are you going to bed?
Kristen: No.
Todd: Wrong answer.
Kristen: No, sir.

Are you my mother?

I got the call last night. The one every parent dreads when their children learn to drive, or go off to college, or spend the summer in their first rental house.

Well, not really a call. It's 2008; it was a text message. Four a.m. and I was sound asleep for a change. But, even when "sound" asleep, I'm still a light sleeper, which is why, I'm sure, my son sent me a message. He knew I'd hear the phone. And here was the bone-chilling, earth-shattering text conversation that followed:
(Pardon the language, or hint of such. Tough times call for tough language.)

Ryan: I just woke up to a possum crawling on my back in my bedroom. What the f?

Me: Wow. Are you ok?

Me: Are you alone?

Ryan: Yes, it just scared the mess out of me. Ben and I caught it in a laundry basket. It was small. Only like a foot long.

Me: Ok, good. Did you scream? LOL. I can't stop laughing picturing it. How did it get in, I wonder?

Ryan: I jumped up, yelled OH S&%#! Turned on the light grabbed a laundry basket and a shoe. i had him cornered and stuck. I called Ben on my cell phone in the next room.

Me: Ok. I'm going back to sleep if I can stop laughing now. Glad you're ok.

Ryan: Yeah thanks. I think I found the line between a college house and roughing it! Good night.

I have never laughed so hard at 4 a.m. in my life. Every time I started to relax and think I might be able to fall back asleep, I started again and had to grab a tissue to mop up the tears. I, personally, would never be able to fall asleep in the house again. You know, the amazing house.

(photo credit foreversouls'/creative commons license)

Products you can't live without

I can see why these are at overstock dot com.

Oh, how they grow

It amazes me to realize this is the fourth year I've blogged on the birthday of my baby girl, who is not so much a baby any more. I just broke my middle child's heart, though, by commenting that I haven't been so faithful about blogging on her birthday. In typical middle child fashion, she hung her head and slunk into her room, then giggled. Then I reminded her she gets a national holiday and a three day weekend around her b-day every year. Blog schmog. Of course, then the younger daughter announced she gets a whole summer vacation.

For her birthday this year, we plan to remove the sign we put up over the window last year. Every now and then we notice it and comment, "We should probably take that sign down sometime. Naw, maybe next year after Kristen's birthday. Why waste a good sign?"

So, here she is, my blue-eyed beauty, another year older, another year bolder, eating our national family food, fresh pineapple, and sporting a hairdo of her own making. I told her when she's 16 or 17 and going to prom, her friends are going to hate her for that curly hair. Let's hear it for the girl.

Sorry for the photo quality. I'm loving taking pics with my cell phone and sending them right to my inbox and have gotten quite lazy.

Thank you ... thank you very much

For exciting news about my alter life, check this out on my other blog!

Expired, more or less

We are not the best at scanning the pantry for expired items. In fact, I've been known to use items if they're within reasonable reach of the expiration date. (Like, you know, a couple of years if it's not obviously perishable. Or sometimes, within a few weeks for cold stuff. Case in point, we are all still alive.) I tend to think of those dates as "guidelines." And don't worry, if you're a guest in my home for a meal, I'll serve you only the freshest food.

But it came to my attention this afternoon that we've been overly lax. My daughter was digging through the pantry and stopped to stare at a box of Hamburger Helper Lasagna. Now, I've scanned this same package many times (I shudder now to think how many) and never found an expiration date, but the thought of making lasagna from Hamburger Helper just doesn't appeal. So, I pass it over, but leave it alone ... just in case.

I heard an exclamation from the kitchen: "GROSS!"

After a few minutes, when I was ready, I responded: "What?"

"Mom, this box of Hamburger Helper has a Jurassic Park sweepstakes that ended October 31, 1997!"

Dang.

I told her to throw the sauce mix away, stick the box on the recycle shelf, and put the pasta bag back in the pantry. I'm pretty sure pasta doesn't ever die, but I'll check to be sure in a few years.

Bow to the Queen in Charge of the Cat's Delicate Stomach

At 7:30 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed to take the middle kid to colorguard camp, which she has every day all summer. nearly every week all summer. (It feels like every day.) As we walked through the front hallway, she asked, "You know there's cat barf there?" and pointed to the very edge of the carpet--the half inch that comes right before the tile, because that's how our cat rolls.

She has kidney disease and frequent hairballs and pukes a lot. We're not sure from which affliction, but at least a few times a week.

A few minutes ago, my younger daughter passed through and pointed to the same spot. "You know there's cat barf there?"

I predict that before the day is out, my mother or husband will point to the same spot and say, "You know there's cat barf there?" Well, maybe my husband won't. He might actually clean it up because he's cool like that.

If my son hadn't already absconded after only one year of college, he'd probably stroll through and say, "You know there's cat barf there, right?" (He'd add the "right," just for kicks.)

And I even know what you're saying. "Julie, you know there's cat barf there, right? And you haven't cleaned it up a full seven hours later?"

To all of you (minus my reading audience, unless you are one of the other mentioned parties), I say, "YES! I KNOW THERE IS CAT BARF THERE. BUT IF I AM APPARENTLY IN CHARGE OF CLEANING UP THE *FAMILY* CAT'S BARF, I WILL CHOOSE WHEN AND HOW TO CLEAN IT UP. IF I FEEL LIKE PASSING IT BY AND CLEANING IT UP LATER, DAG NABBIT, I WILL. AND ... BESIDES ... HOW AM I ANY DIFFERENT FROM YOU?"

Hmm?

Really, I'm not bitter. I'm not rebelling. It honestly just cleans up better after it dries and gets hard and crusty. Then you can just scoop it up, spray a little Oxy miracle spray on it, and voila! No cat barf or nasty stain from scooping it while it's ... okay, never mind that detail.

But, still. I'm just saying.

Bored already?

Here is a sign that summer vacation may already have gone on too long. While I work and ignore them, the children are practicing piano. In their pajamas. At 3:45 p.m.

While balancing footballs on their heads.

Redirect

If you're yearning for an update, check out the latest over at my other blog, where I share about our star sighting on the way OUT of Los Angeles.

Two things that disturb me

1) I hear birds chirping in my chimney.
2) I am the only person in the house, the tv is on, and I am staring at the Hannah Montana show.

This cannot be good.

Just saying

I'm still alive, I'm just in ...

Where my brother just escaped ...

Just kidding. He's really a pretty normal guy.

Spending time with him and a few more of my favorite guys ...

And one of my favorite girls ...

Not to mention the scenery.

See you when I get back.

You know your kid's a nerd when ...

... she's been groaning endlessly about school for the last two weeks, especially considering we got out of school two weeks later than usual because of the new later start, and then, when the big day comes ...

She comes home, celebrates, goes swimming, invites girls to sleep over, and ...

Asks if it's okay if they go back up to the school in the morning to help teachers clean up.

Kerrville, at last

I was waiting to post "the next day" until I maybe got the energy up to transfer video to my computer and upload a bit of the Kerrville performance to youtube, but ... I'm still waiting. It takes a lot of energy to do file transfers, you know.

So, until then, maybe this'll hold you:

Ryan playing at Kerrville.
I think his eyes were shut because of the sweat
rolling into them and burning. It was just a tad warm.

Check out those birkies.

Kicking back after his turn.
The outdoor theatre leads straight out the side
to the campgrounds and Texas Hill Country.

With his fellow songwriting competition winners,
from Texas A&M, UT, Texas State, and of course, UNT.
Guys in the middle are festival peoples.
Note: It appears the rolled up brown pants are part of some uniform??
The others didn't get the memo, apparently.
The other guy's were missing the holes in the backside, too.
(I forgot to make a note of the names of the other musicians. I do know the cute girl next to Ryan is HalleyAnna, and the guy with the shades is her string bass player, and they are called Starboat.)

Proud sistern. Before hippie chick transformation later that evening.
(Tie-dye dresses and airbrush tattoos.)

Next up, San Antonio. And maybe one day, video.

A travelogue in several parts

We took a little family trip down to the Hill Country over Memorial Day weekend, mainly to see Ryan play in the Kerrville Folk Festival, but also just to hang out together and make each other crazy for three days, because that's how we roll.

There was much eating, fighting amongst ourselves, sweat, and also many laughs. I had my trusty camera, so I thought I'd share a trip report over the next several days, or however long it takes me to get the pictures posted, depending on Blogger's mood. (She was not pms'ing tonight, and I uploaded 10 shots!!! Wowsers. That's a record.)

So, day one was a fun look at the "real" Texas. We live in fake Texas. In DFW, we are a pretty accurate microcosm of the rest of the world. Other parts, well, they're more Texas, if you know what I mean. If not, well, you've come to the right place.

The blue highways are long and winding, but there are lots of pretty wildflowers to entertain. And fence posts, and poles. (Click on pics to see full-size)

You might have heard we don't have hills in Texas. That is unequivocally untrue. See? Here's one:

And here's the backside:

I guess the Christians weren't too crazy about Cheap Charlies. He must have been a little too bizarre. (You have to click.)

In Texas, we even have outlet malls for RVs.

Nothing like downtown, Main Street Texas. Every business serves two purposes, at a minimum. The restaurant has its own ATM--they probably don't take credit cards.

All are welcome at the Koffee Kup. Bring your Harley, definitely.

Ribeye cookoff? I'm there. Oh, darn, it was LAST weekend. That's an awfully big sign to forget to take down, guys.

Little house on the prairie

We do deer meat? I'm not even going to ask.

Tomorrow, the great festival.

Nine

OnlyninemorenightsofdidyoudoyourhomeworkdidyouputupyourlaundrydidyoudothedishesdidyoubrushyourteethisyourswimsuitreadyisyourtowelreadydidyoupracticedoyouneedlunchmoneywhattimedoIneedtowakeyouupwhattimedoweneedtoleavearewetakinganyoneelsewhattimeshouldIpickyouuptomorrowdoyouhavesectionalsdoyouhavecolorguardpracticeareyoureallywearingthat?

And then I can go quietly insane on my own schedule for the summer.

Overheard in Podunk

I won't give the name of the town. That would be tacky.

Todd and I went to see Made of Honor tonight. I, personally, thought it was really cute and pretty dang funny. I laughed out loud a number of times, and that doesn't always happen. I didn't laugh nearly as much watching Baby Mama a few weeks ago, and the reviews for it were better. But, whatever. (And thanks, Gail, for the recommendation. Todd and I were going to save it for DVD, but I'm glad we went.) The on-location in Scotland scenes helped a wee bit, too.

Anyway ... this couple filed in after we were seated, leaving the requisite open seat between us. We always try to sit in the row with the railing in stadium seating theatres so we can prop our feet up. I know, I know, we are very uncouth. But, perhaps not as uncouth as ...

Right after Made of Honor scene where Tom (Patrick McDreamy Dempsey) has just been introduced to Hannah (Michelle Monaghan), and he says, "Hannah. That's a palindrome."

Podunk guy: What's a palindrome?
Podunk chick: I dunno.

I don't know why I thought this was so funny. But I did. Maybe it was because five minutes before the movie started, this couple sat down with the biggest bucket of popcorn I have ever seen in my life, a ginormous movie size soda, a couple packs of movie candy, and what looked like a 1.5 liter bottle of water. For some reason, I thought that was funny, too. I mean, how on earth do you eat and drink that much during a movie without having to ... excuse yourself?

My favorite line in the movie was "He has mad cow disease." You had to be there. And this isn't even my kind of movie humor usually, but I couldn't help it.

That is all.

Kids these days

It's been a while since I did a Kristen says, and I can't resist.

We have a policy in our house that if you want someone to sleep over, you have to clean your room before you receive permission. Otherwise, you can be a pig for as long as we can stand it. (I obviously never need to clean my room, because Todd lives here.)

Well, Kristen wanted to have a friend spend the night this weekend, so she called me on one of my numerous chauffeur runs this afternoon to ask. I reminded her she had to clean her room first. (Because, of course, they never remember the rules.) So, she called back about five minutes later to see if she could go play at a friend's house.

Me: Did you clean your room yet?
K: No, it won't take that long later.
Me: Hmm. I think you better decide now. Play now, no sleepover. Clean now, maybe play later, have sleepover.
K: Uh. Okay. I'm cleaning.

10 minutes later.

K: Can I go play now?
Me: Did you clean?
K: Yes.
Me: That wasn't very long ... are you sure? It's really clean? And the floor between your room and the stairs?
K: Yes! To my preference it is!
(You: HAHA!)
Me: You mean to your standards? How about mine?
K: I think so ...
Me: Okay, go play, we'll see when I get home.

3 hours later. Inspector Todd has ascended and removed wadded clothes and towels and papers and toys from strategic hiding places and deposited in the middle of floor. We go up to tuck Kristen in after having reminded her a couple of times to clean it up.

Me: I thought you said you cleaned!?!?!
K: I did, to my extent anyway.
(You: HAHAHA!)
Me: It's still a mess though.
K: Todd pulled all this stuff out!
Todd: But you said you cleaned it up again.
Kristen: (Pulls blanket over head.) I have no response.

That girl.

(I'm gonna cry when she turns 11. This age is freakin' hilarious. Of course, with her, I've been saying that every year.)

He shot the Tambourine Man

Well, it's offical (Edit: THAT was on purpose...click the link), old blue eyes, Jaston (EDIT! HAHA! JASTON!) Jason Castro, didn't make the last cut on AI. Finally. While I admit I was gaga over him for the first ten (??) weeks or so, it was definitely time. As proud as I am of our Texas folkie boy, he had reached his peak in AI territory.

I laughed tonight when he said he was relieved because he just wasn't sure how he was going to do three songs next week. He's nothing if not honest. And a little blonde, in spite of those brown dreds. I'm sure he will do well, nevertheless. (I love how that word just rolls off my tongue. What movie was it where the female character painted a thousand words with just that one?)

And not to worry -- David Cook has been my offical AI boyfriend for quite some time now. I'd be quite satisfied with him and Syesha as first and second place winners. David A just freaks me out for reasons I can't articulate, in spite of his oodles of 16-year-old talent. I'm just not a member of his adoring middle-aged mom and teenybopper fan base. (I have to go against the flow, do I not?)

From the trenches

We're in the midst of Texas tornado season. When it's tornado season in Texas, you've gotta be prepared, right?

I have this little O/C routine when the television radar says bad weather is approaching. You can't miss it--it's like a national crisis. All the tv stations go to special weather reports. Usually, the radio stations igore it, though. I haven't figured that out. Oh, and the sirens don't always sound, as I've mentioned. Perhaps the always elusive "they" figure the world is glued to American Idol, anyway, so other warning systems are irrelevant.

Wednesday night, we got the radar reports and I started my routine. I am convinced if I follow it to the letter, the bad weather will pass, leaving us unscathed. So far, it's worked, so I say it's a good routine, even if my husband thinks I'm a little off.

Here's how it works. I fill a small laundry basket with the things I would miss most if my house fell down around me. Into the basket goes my laptop computer and charger, my external hard drive with old files and photos, my purse with my i.d., cards, and cell phone, my old cell phone that functions like a tiny flashlight, and, of course, my wedding and honeymoon albums.

I place the basket in the floor of the laundry room. (The amount of faith I put in the laundry room is nothing to be sneezed at. If it's in the laundry room, it will be fine, okay?) I have an additional plastic tub full of other family pictures, and it slides in beside the laundry basket. If these things survive, along with my husband and children, all will be well. Nearly everything else can be replaced.

Well, this year, I've started adding additional items to the basket as time allows. I mean, if you've got 20 minutes until the storm arrives, why not add a pair of tennies? Socks? Favorite pillow. Water bottle. All practical stuff, right?

When the warnings pass, I unpack everything, and life goes on. If the weather is iffy for the next day or so, I'll sometimes leave the things I don't immediately need in the basket. Takes less energy to pack the next time.

So, we had that kind of night Wednesday. Todd was out of town, and we talked on the phone about how everything had calmed down again, but the rest of the week was sketchy. I went back to my regularly programmed computer surfing and eventually headed for bed. I usually read for a while before I go to sleep, but couldn't remember where I'd put my books.

I'd taken them along to the girls' piano lessons earlier that afternoon, and thought I remembered bringing them in the house along with the fast food we always get when Todd's out of town. Alas, they weren't in the usual spots I drop things.

Oh, well, I thought, I'll get them out of the car tomorrow.

I grabbed another book (after all, I'm reading about 30) and read it instead.

Yesterday, I never made it to my car. Didn't have carpool duty at any time of the day for a change, so never emerged from the house. Late last night, I wanted to read again, and was so frustrated with myself for waiting until it was too dark and creepy outside again to check the car.

Oh, well, I thought, I'll get them out of the car tomorrow.

A few minutes later, I was distracted by other things, but walked by my little emergency laundry basket. Huh, I thought. I had never unpacked the extras. Tennies ... socks ... hard drive ... bottle of water ... yep ... all there. And ...

Pat Conroy's Beach Music. Donald Maass's Writing the Breakout Novel.

I would like to flatter these two men by saying theirs are the two most important books in my life. Unfortunately, it would be a lie. What it boils down to is I get bored sitting anywhere with nothing to do. I always take a book. I guess in my reasoning the other night, I figured if the house fell down around us, I'd be happy to have the two books I was most engrossed in while we were sitting in a shelter.

Or maybe if the tornado was only an F1 or F2, I'd read until it was over.

Extra, extra, read all about it

Just so's ya know I was telling the truth, here's the press! ;-)

Songwriters compete for festival spot (from North Texas Daily)
Arlington freshman Ryan Pickop won this year's contest and a spot to perform alongside more than 100 singer/songwriters like Ray Wylie Hubbard and Terri Hendrix in the festival. Teresa Zacharias, a Houston freshman, was runner-up. The 18-day festival is scheduled to begin May 22....

I also came across this neato article about Seeds of Change (also from NT Daily):

Denton homeless ministry serves poor with food, time
... Seeds of Change held a benefit concert at Art Six Coffee House Friday night to raise money for the shelter, which moved to a house on Fort Worth Drive last week. Nearly 100 people packed into Art Six to hear singers and songwriters Ashley Gatta, Ryan Pickop and The Fitz, while Seeds of Change founder Andrew Walsh collected donations for the shelter in a plastic biscotti jar....

Next up, NYT and USA Today ...

Well, maybe not this week.

All the dirt

Last night, Todd and I drove up to Ryan’s university (about an hour away) to hear him compete in a songwriter’s contest. We have a three-week long folk music festival down in south Texas each year in May and June (Kerrville Folk Festival, like an annual Woodstock, only maybe less drugs. :) Anyway, each year they do a Songwriters in the Universities contest at four (I think) campuses across the state, and one of the contests was at Ryan’s college this year.

So, he submitted his prerequisite CD of two songs a few months ago, and a few weeks ago was notified he was one of the top 10 finalists who got to perform tonight. Each played three songs, and the winner will get to play along with the other university winners at the Kerrville Festival. The winner also received prize money. (Which they didn’t tell ahead of time!)

WELL … MY BOY WON!!!

I am so, so proud. I think there were about 50 original entries for his school, and the announcer said Ryan was hands down the unanimous choice among all the judges, and that the hard decision was the runner up. We were all so excited. He had a big crowd of friends there cheering for him, and I told Todd on the way home that whether or not Ryan ever does another thing in his life with his music (as if), this memory will always be his shining moment. He has played at coffee shops and fundraisers, etc., for several years, but has never entered a contest.

Before we went to the competition, he showed us the ghastly unique house he will be renting with his buddies this summer and next year. Typical college boy digs. Old and saggy and nasty, nasty lovely, lovely carpet. I’m so glad I’m not in college anymore. But, *he* thinks it’s an amazing house, and that's what matters, right?.

The greatest thing about the house to Ryan is the garden in the backyard they have already started (other guys they know live there now). It’s actually one of two gardens he’s working on—there’s another behind the Catholic student center they frequent. He and his friend have been composting and learning all about organic gardening this spring, and planted up all kinds of stuff. (Hopefully, all legal. Ha.) And this is the boy who hardly touched vegetables until this year.

Last Saturday, he and the same boy arranged and emceed a “Bare Your Soles” rally around the Denton’s downtown to raise awareness about homelessness in their area, and got all kinds of businesses to donate food for the event, and entertainment, etc. The rally attendees walked around five blocks barefoot. In his own blog, Ryan said someone stopped in a car and asked if they were promoting socialism, and he answered, "No, just love."

So, his grades aren’t too spiffy this year, but you know what? He is happy, and he is already following his bliss in so many ways. And that makes me happy. It makes me cry. I can learn so many lessons from him.

If you get a hankering to listen to some winning tunes, you can listen to Ryan on his Myspace here. And I will leave you with a few more pictures from our outing! You should be able to click on each to see them bigger.

Garden at the Catholic Student Center

Ryan showing off bikes they collect and fix up for the folks at the shelter to use.

The Amazing House

Ryan chatting with Dave Stoddard after the contest. Dave won the Kerrville New Folk Award at the festival in 2005 and was one of the judges and the guest musician last night. (and that is the backside of another judge, in case you wondered! :)

Dreams can come true

Too tired to say more, but too giddy to sleep, so for now, I'll leave you with this:

So proud.

My bad habit

Should I say this out loud? If I do, you will know about my other reality tv addiction. You will know that I am now firmly entrenched, Monday nights from 9-10 p.m. (formerly 8:30-10, but no more).

Oh, I can't help it. I have to say it!

THANK GOODNESS MATT FINALLY GOT RID OF MARCHANA AND ROBIN!!!!!!

Those girls were just on there for the dramatics.

Now Matt can get down to the real business of finding himself a sweet American girl to take back to London. I vote for Chelsea or Noelle, but I'm leaning toward Noelle. She reminds me a little of Alexis Bledel in looks and personality, only a little less wry. I like how she kind of stays quietly in the background waiting for the right time to make herself known.

Okay, so, now you know. I've been watching the Bachelor. Sorry.

I tell my husband and children it's complete stress relief. I have a love/hate relationship with the show, and I can take it seriously and completely not seriously all at the same time, and forget about it 20 minutes later. (Unless, of course, I blog about it.) I can laugh and yell and roll my eyes. I can pretend to gag myself when Matt kisses three different girls in five minutes. Tonight, I was going to have to jump up and do a war dance if Marchana or Robin got roses.

And Todd was ready to jump up and dance, too. And I think I saw the girls peeking down the stairs through the banister a few times.

This is seriously bad. Oh, but please, don't think less of me. The other 23 hours of my Mondays are completely intellectually appropriate.

Jake joins The Cult of Sincerity

Speaking of Jake Armerding, check out my blog post on An audience of me about The Cult of Sincerity, a full-length independent feature film that premiered on youtube April 8, which features two songs by Jake himself.

Yep, youtube. I watched the whole thing. I liked it. And, like American Idol, if you support it, it even "gives back!"

Embracing the present

And we've come a long way. One of my favorite singer/songwriters now is Jake Armerding.

And he has a fun show on Acoustic Long Island that was podcast(ed?) here. (I think you can even watch a bit of video, too.)

I tend to plan travels around concert dates for the (relatively) obscure musicians I listen to. Sad, but true. Todd and I saw Jake at the Somerville Theatre near Harvard when we went to Boston a few years back. Together with two other folky/bluegrassy combos who were wonderful, but whose names are failing me at the moment.

This was the trip where we drove down to Newport, RI, for a few days, then back for the concert and our flight out the next morning. Seemed easy enough when we bought all the tickets.

We learned our lesson about driving in Boston that night. Don't. Do. It. Ever. Driving into or out of Boston is ok, but don't bother to drive in town, and heaven forbid, NEVER TRY TO PARK.

We finally found a parking space when the concert was half over. After driving past a million and one "parking for residents only" signs, we ended up sitting in the tiny public parking lot waiting for somebody to leave. But, we walked in just in time for Jake to perform, and the other two groups each did a few more songs, so it was still a great experience.

I had never seen him live, and it was worth the headache ... and the drive back to the hotel. It was about six miles, and took us about two hours. I can't even remember why now. But it had something to do with those reasons you shouldn't. ever. bother. to drive in Boston.

We checked into our hotel at about 1:30 a.m., slept for about 2 hours, then got up to catch our 6 a.m. flight make it home in time for Kristen's one and only ever cheerleading competition. Eesh!

Embracing the past

If you'd like to guess my approximate age, but can't because I look soooo young, here's a broad hint.

When I was in junior high school, my best friend and I played this song (on a RECORD PLAYER) over and over (and over again), and cried over the boyfriends we'd never had who had just broken up with us. ?? Yeah, that's confusing to me, too. It must have made sense at the time, though, because there were a lot of tears.

(Thanks to Gabrielle, who got me started and reminded me of my age by posting a Rick Springfield video on her blog.)

EDIT: And also thanks to Gabrielle, who pointed out that this video wouldn't work. Never fear, you can link to it on youtube here!

Middle child

Poor Emilie, I think I don't blog about her enough. She is an easy kid, so dependable, and such a joiner. We have given up trying to keep up with her activities. She has to tell us where and when she needs to be all the millions of places she goes.

She doesn't have a shy bone in her body--at least not that we can find. Saturday night, she and three of her (girl) friends attended the church youth group's annual Thrift Store Prom. The four of them went to Goodwill ahead of time and purchased two suits and two evening gowns. They were each other's dates. Resourceful little chickadees.

She earns a ton of money babysitting, and is in great demand because she actually plays with the kids and does the dishes (like we were expected to do when we were babysitters years ago). She frequently offers to pay for extra items she needs for band or winterguard or school out of her earnings. Sometimes we let her--I think it makes her proud, and she's learning the value of budgeting her money.

Today, however, I got a little worried she might be experiencing middle child syndrome. The mail came, and we had a packet hand addressed to her from the Thomas Jefferson School in St. Louis. A private boarding school.

Should I be concerned? Hmm?

What's in the water?

Back when I was a kid, the last place you ever expected to see your parents was in the school cafeteria, unless it was a PTA meeting or program ... or you were in big trouble.

Not so anymore. It seems the latest badge of a "cool kid" is to have your mom or dad show up at lunchtime to eat with you. Even cooler when they come bearing fast food. It buys you the privilege of sitting at a special table with the 'rents and even picking one or two friends to come along if you are so moved.

So, my youngest wants to be cool, of course. (And maybe, just maybe, she actually likes to see us in the middle of the day for an extra hug and kiss as well.) She laid the heavy guilt on me last night. "Whennn are you going to come eat lunch with me? Todd does it alllll the time and he even has to do it on his day off and you don't even go to work anywhere!"

I told her he was just good at it--better at it than me, obviously. But of course, I showed up today. Fun was had by all, the food was even pretty good. No, I didn't take fast food. Can anyone imagine me getting there in time for lunch AND scheduling it so I managed to buy fast food on the way? Right.

There were only a few questionable situations.

First, the kids in this 5th/6th grade school have been SO BAD at lunch they had silent lunch several days this week. Including today! Yay! I asked Kristen when I got there if she wanted me to stay or come back another day when we could actually talk. She thought I was pretty silly and said you're allowed to talk when you're with your parent at the special table.

It was awkward, however, being one of about 10 people allowed to talk in a cafeteria stuffed with 300 silent 5th and 6th graders staring at you pitifully. Especially the kid sitting across from us (because apparently the special parent table is only the special parent *side* of the table in certain areas). He had long, stringy hair, glasses, loads of uncomfortable looking freckles, appeared to be about 15 instead of 12, and glared at us the whole time we ate and tried to make normal conversation.

We managed reasonably well, though, which leads to questionable situation number two. I picked up a bottle of water in the lunch line because (as I mentioned recently) I am not a fan of milk as a general rule. Especially not school milk. Ew. So, we were eating our pizza, corn on the cob, applesauce, and mandarin oranges, and Kristen asked if she could have a drink of my water. She was out of milk and the pizza was making her verrrry thirsty.

She studied the bottle, took a few swigs, then looked at it again and started reading the label out loud.

Kristen: "Water with fluoride. Isn't that the stuff they use for dead people?"
Me: "No, you must be thinking of formaldehyde." (For today, only, I was apparently smarter than a fifth grader.)
Kristen: "Oh, yeah."

But she pushed it back my way anyway.

The bell rang soon after and thus ended our lunch together. But, if Kristen and I start looking pickled any time in the near future, you'll know why.

Hey, Ryan

You said it had been a while since I blogged. I blogged today.

This one's for you. :-)

Meme about Me Me

I'm not very good about filling out those surveys people send by email or following through on blog memes (right, Bungi?), but I'm suffering from a severe lack of blog topic today, so I will do it.

My little sister, Brittany, tagged me. She and her hubby, Mark, just found out they are going to be teaching in a private Christian school in Saipan for a year. Saipan? Huh? You can read more about it in her blog.

So here are the rules for Brit's meme:

Link to your tagger and post these 3 rules on your blog.
1. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
2. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
3. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

And here are my facts:
1. I eat my cereal with milk ... and ice. I am not a big milk fan, and I always put a cube or two in it when I drink it straight. It has to be really, really cold for me to tolerate it. (And preferably skim. So, yeah, can you see that what I really prefer over milk is water?) So, even with cereal, I have to have ice.

2. I have lived in 29 different homes/apartments in my life. Those are the ones I can remember. I'm not planning on making it 30 any time soon. When June arrives, I will have passed more June firsts in a row in my current house than I have ever in any other house--six.

3. I would like to be a published writer someday. I just finished a good first draft of a manuscript I hope to send out to agents one day soon. I consider this my full-time job, even though I'm not getting paid for it yet.

4. I once worked a job for a year where I spoke Spanish all day. It was kind of fun.

5. When I was a kid, I loved peanut butter, American cheese, and Miracle Whip sandwiches. Yes, together. One day I realized how gross it was, and never ate another.

6. When I was in high school, I played softball for one season, and that is the extent of my team sports experience. (Well, other than two other failed attempts at church softball.) We were not a recognized team, but we challenged other schools and beat every one. We wore rings in our back pockets with bubblegum chew boxes so they would think we were tough, and apparently, it worked. I played right field, which should come as no surprise. I prefer individual sports where it doesn't matter how much of a klutz I am. :-)

7. I have been keeping this blog for nearly three years. I wasn't sure blogs would be around that long when I started.

I tag...
Gail, Bungi, Donna, Heather, hmm....trying to think of others who might actually do it. Most of the blogs I read are writer blogs and they might not do a meme as a general rule. But, what the heck, Carleen, Diane, and Kathy. No offense if you don't play. You other lurkers might have to come out of hiding if you want to have this kind of fun. You know who you are. If you feel like it, you are tagged, too. ;)

Do you AI?

I do. Go read why over at my other blog.

Your Blues Ain't Like Mine

I have read more books this year that have really, really made me think. More than in who knows how long--maybe ever. I've double posted a few times lately on both my blogs,and I'm going to have to do it again tonight.

Over the weekend, I finished the latest--Your Blues Ain't Like Mine, by Bebe Moore Campbell. I happened to see this while browsing at the library a few weeks ago, and remembered a reference to the author in a blurb on Carleen's book, Orange Mint & Honey, of course! And I did not know until just this minute when I went searching for a book link that Campbell is deceased, having died of a brain tumor in 2006.

If you've known me very well in "real life" for long, you know racism (i.e., trying to eliminate it) is one of my soapboxes. And yet, my eyes were opened even a bit wider reading this book. I felt such a mixture of anger, shame, and hope while reading. I think the premise behind the book is that we all have our burdens to bear, and that it's far too easy to judge others, believing that our own burden is just a little bit heavier because of what or who we are. You might come away with something altogether different if you read it. And, of course, there are so many big ideas in the book, and that's just one.

But, I want to talk about those emotions a little more here.

Anger. If you can read this story without feeling anger, I am afraid for you. The fictional events are based on a true story, where a young African American man in the deep South, right at the beginning of the civil rights era, was lynched for allegedly speaking inappropriately to a white woman. Lip service was paid to justice, almost making it worse than if it had never been brought up at all. The rest of the story entails the unfolding of the lives of those surrounding the event over the next 30 years--African American, white, and mixed-race characters.

Shame. I had to ask my mom over dinner Saturday evening what happened in our own family to stall racism. I loved my maternal grandma--she was truly one of my favorite people when I was growing up--yet I cringed and felt physically ill every time I heard her or one of her generation in my family use that horrible word you can guess at here.

For some reason, though, my mother wasn't like that. Over dinner, she told me that when she was growing up in New Mexico, they were beginning to talk in the public schools about civil rights and putting a stop to racism, and she guesses she just took it to heart. This suprises me--it was in the 40s and 50s, and that seems pretty progressive to me! She remembers a time when her father was furious with her for accepting a ride home from camp from the family of an African American girl, and another when she went on a date with a Hispanic boy.

Unfortunately, others in my extended family of her same generation weren't influenced like she was, and I am sorry to say some are no different all the way down to my generation. You could say we are not close today. :-D

On the other hand, my father's family was a strange contrast. I was under the impression my paternal grandmother was racist, too, although I did not know her well, but it turns out she was selective--she was prejudiced against Hispanics, but not African Americans.

This could be because, as it turns out, she fell deeply in love with an African American boy when she was in her late teens, and her father forced an end to that relationship, sometime in the 1920s, I guess. Grandma was an unhappy person as long as I knew her, and that went a long way in explaining her personality to me. She also bore the stigma of being one quarter Cherokee. At least, we think it was Cherokee. The family never talked much about it back in those days. It was a stigma, after all, and the guy responsible for that quarter was never publicly in the picture. I think there is a great story idea in there somewhere, and in fact, did a character sketch for a writing class last year based on the few details I knew.

Anyway, all I knew was the story I heard for years--when my father called to tell her he was engaged to a girl at the university he attended in New Mexico, Grandma's first question was, "Is she a Mexican?" And yet, she also sponsored a Jewish family in the displacement camps after WWII to come to the United States--including their grandbaby who had been fathered by a Nazi soldier who was in love with the daughter.

So, shame because I hate the way people related to me acted sometimes, and how some probably act to this day. But also hope.

Hope because I saw how my parents were able to stop this cycle in one family, in one generation, simply by saying to themselves and to us, their children, "This is never, ever acceptable." My dad worked with international students at the University of Colorado when I was a kid, and we had visitors of every race and religion in our house from the earliest time I can remember. It was just the norm.

My brother's best friend called my mom "Mom," too, and frequently asked my mom to give him and his bike a ride home from our house when it got too dark. He said, "White people don't like to see me riding my bike in your neighborhood after dark, sometimes they shoot at my bike license with BB guns." He was my brother's best man in his wedding. I spent the day I came home from the hospital with my middle baby with a broken heart. Alan had tried really hard to build a good life for himself, serving in the military, and trying to raise his son right, eventually as a single parent. Yet, somehow things went seriously awry. We learned that day I came home with my new baby that Alan, a victim of severe poverty and a childhood home in Five Points filled with crime, drugs, and despair, had cracked--he had murdered his own 10-year-old son, whom we had held as a baby, because the little guy had become involved in a gang. At least that was his reasoning.

The story was more horrible than we ever could have imagined, and yet, he wasn't just another statistic to us, he was our big brother, our son, our best friend. And I don't mean that in the sense of those who say, "I love black people. Some of my best friends are black." I admire your intention, but really, are they your best friends? On the other hand, I am not tooting my own horn here. I am sometimes reminded of the instances where I am myself racist, in some form or another. You know how I know? That still, small voice in my heart that whispers to me.

It occurred to me as I wrote that paragraph that one of the overriding themes in the manuscript I'm currently revising comes directly from my experiences. Several of my characters have a big "difference"--they are deaf. In my story, my main protagonist is deaf, but some of the other deaf characters do bad things. It is impossible to identify the "good guys" or "bad guys" simply based on their physical characteristics. In one scene, my character's granddad reminds him that in the world, there are really only two types of people--those who really care and those who really don't. I know that's pretty broad, but it's also pretty true if you think about it.

Anyway, I encourage you to locate this book. I think this would be an excellent book for a mandatory high school reading list. It's quite graphic, but probably no more graphic than they see every day on television and in movies, if more disturbing.

Sorry for going on so long, but this was on my heart. And how appropriate, the following quote just showed up on an email digest I get.

"People are like stained glass windows: they sparkle and shine when the sun's out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light within."

—Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Scotch tape and glue sticks

Here's a shameless plug. My son posted new recordings of some of his songs on MySpace this weekend, and you can listen to them here. His friend Jarod, who's attending sound recording school and is also a fine musician, did the recording and he did a fantastic job.

Ryan and I definitely have our moments--you know the ones, I don't have to go into detail, do I? But, overall, he is such an amazing (almost 20-year-old) kid, and makes me so proud I could spit.

His writing skilz are impressive, in my oh-so-humble-even-if-I'm-the-mom opinion. Here are lyrics to one song--an older one, maybe two or three years, which would have made him about 16 or 17 at the time, but it remains one of my favorites. As a writer and a mom, the pictures he paints in this song make me get all teary-eyed. It's poetry.

Scotch tape and glue sticks
(This is one of the recordings, and you may listen to it here)

You see me
but it's not me, collapsing beneath my feet
I'm falling
faster and faster, picking up the speed
This takedown
spill my ashes, share me with someone new
This old town
resembles a time that I spent with someone who ...

You loved this
spot beneath the willows, buried by the sound of sea
I will miss
every chance I got to make you so angry with me
And we know that
every part of the sky is a secret
We'll show that
we'll open her up, and reveal the missing thing

The cold wind
inhibits the joints, and makes it so hard to move
We'll speak then
when voices are heard and seen, when traveling between two
It's so quiet
but the wind's indecision will fly, and we'll all change moons
So tell me
So tell me

And I don't want you to fake this
But I'm sure that I will break this
And I really want to shake this
But I'm so alone

And I'm trying to fly away
But these wings won't carry me
They were made in the first grade
When love was easy

And I'm trying to fly away
But these wings won't carry me
They were made in the first grade
When Scotch tape and glue sticks would fix everything

You see me
but it's not me, collapsing beneath my feet
I'm falling
faster and faster, picking up the speed
This takedown
spill my ashes, share me with someone new
This old town
resembles a time that I spent with someone I

Love

© Ryan Pickop

Putting the burger back in burgers

If you're a newer reader, you might not know that I live by the Murphy's Law of Fast Food Experiences. Can I get a witness?

Tonight was no different. My friend Gail and I drove to Dallas to hear Anne Lamott speak as part of the Dallas Arts and Letters series. We stopped at Sonic on the way back to grab a bite to eat--everything else closes at 10 here in Texas, and it was 10:01. (I love that in some other parts of the world, places stay open a wee bit later.)

I decided to go fully leaded and ordered the Combo #5: Bacon Cheeseburger Toaster, Tots, and a Diet Cherry Limeade. (Because the diet drink cancelled the fat and calories in the other items, right?) I mentioned I didn't want onions, but I did want the onion RING. Weird, I know.

I ended up with two sandwiches. You want to know why? (Sure you do.)

They forgot to put the burger in the bacon cheeseburger.

???

I would have gladly traded in the original. I'm not completely sure they believed me when I reported that my burger appeared to be missing the burger. The manager got on the intercom and said, "I understand you have a problem with your cheeseburger?" Gail (because she was on the side by the intercom) said, "She's missing the hamburger patty from her--" and the guy cut in. He said, "Just a second." Alas, he never came back.

But, a few minutes later, voila, I was presented with a hot, fresh BCT, including the burger. The mutant was in plain site on the dash, but they didn't want it back.

So, I guess for lunch tomorrow I'm having a Bacon Cheeseburger, hold the burger.

Just when you think truth can't possibly get any stranger than fiction ...

There's this.

(If you have delicate sensitivies, do not click on that link. I warned ya.)

It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase $%#& or get off the pot, doesn't it?

Thanks, Heather, for pointing me in the direction of this article. ;) We obviously have nothing better to do at midnight than laugh together at news of the strange. (And yes, it is also sad. Please don't think I'm a totally warped person and don't also see the tragedy in this situation.)

rAWfl catz

Heather insisted it was time to do a new post, but I'm not going to write about what she wanted me to. Oh, no, I'm not.

Instead, I thought I'd do a little tribute to my kitty, Yentl. (No, you may not buy a vowel.) She was diagnosed with kidney failure almost four years ago, and at the time, we really thought we'd be saying goodbye soon, but with the help of a special food, she has maintained a steady weight, a good appetite, and a dang high level of orneriness since.

Unfortunately, she is showing signs now of declining, and that makes me sad. She is being especially affectionate these days, and if you have ever heard stories of Yentl, you know this was not always true.

Anyway, we have taken lots and lots of photos of her in the last few years, and lately, we've been in the lolcats phase. Only, we like to call our shots rAWfl catz. :-) I'll leave you with a few.

Cat'n Jack Spidey

Can cat-ch fur, can do anything

Air cat-tar

Enough with the camera already ...

I know I'm purdy, but geez

Welcome to the Hotel Texas ...

You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave.

That's my theme song tonight, along with good ol' Macy Grey--Though I try to hide it, it's clear, my world crumbles when you are not here.

When Todd leaves town for a few days, we realize just how much we depend on him. Even things that shouldn't logically fall apart without him do.

For instance, on this, one of the coldest days in Texas this year, with temperatures in the low 30s, largish snowflakes falling, and kids needing chauffered here and there all day, my car heater has gone on strike. Yes, it's cold in there. We have to run the defogger for about a minute to see out the window, then QUICK turn it back off before we freeze ourselves to death.

Then, in the middle of the night last night, it was super windy, and it sounded like something fell off our roof and hit the back of the house. All I could see out the windows was one of our patio chairs lying on it's side. I don't think it fell of the roof, but you never know. The girls seem to think their halloween candy buckets were flying around the yard in the wind. Halloween buckets? Huh? Since when do we store those in the back yard, that's what I want to know.

But, back to the Hotel Texas. Tonight, our front door knob fell off. Second time it's happened when Todd's been out of town. I can't figure out how to reinstall it, so we simply stuff a sock in the hole (through which the wind cooled by the low 30s temperatures flows freely!). The outside handle is fine, so you can unlock it and get in, you just can't leave. :-) Thank goodness for garage doors.

I can't wait to see what else happens before Todd gets back home.

Who'd a thunk it?

Happy Birthday, Bungi!

Who would have imagined I'd have a friend clear on the other side of the world to wish a happy birthday to just a few short months ago? This blog stuff can be such fun!

(Happy Birthday, even though I am still mad at you for giving up Scrabulous for Lent. But, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, huh?)

My life as a double agent

Did you know I have another blog? I've maintained two for nearly two years now. (And this one for nearly three, wow!) This blog, julielayne, is what my friend Gail calls my "life blog." It's where I rant or brag or post general silliness. But you already knew that, right?

Maybe you didn't know that my other blog, An audience of me, is a journal of sorts about my journey to become a published author. Maybe one day soon it will be a blog about my journey as a published author. For now, that's still a dream, but I'm making progress.

I started my writing blog when I realized how lonely life could be as a full-time writer. Physically, because I am generally working at home alone, but also emotionally, because in the end, the only person who really must be happy with my writing is me. If I chase writer's markets, I'll always be one step behind. If I write to please a certain faction, I'll always be frustrated or making someone mad.

I came across a quote by one of my favorite authors, Eudora Welty, and put it at the top of An audience of me as a reminder:

Each writer must find out for himself, I imagine, on what strange basis he lives with his own stories.
(From One Writer's Beginnings)

Anyway, I've noticed I have two fairly distinct groups of readers, and I thought I might point you in the direction of my other blog, because today, I have some really exciting news.

Well, it was exciting for me, anyway, and I guess that's what counts. :-)