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.

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??

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.

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.)

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.

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!

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.

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. ;)

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.

Overheard in Texas

At the local movie theater, in the ladies' room, 2 little girls . . . age 12, maybe 13 tops. Lots and lots of makeup. I specifically refer to the short girl as the short girl because the taller girl affectionately called her "Midget," and it was true that she was very, very tiny. Maybe the size of an 8-year-old, but I'm confvinced she was older because, well . . . read on.

Short girl: It was, like, my longest relationship ever.
Taller girl: What, two days?
Short girl: No, two months, two weeks, and two days.

Apparently, it is far easier to commit to a long-term relationship when you are 12 than when you are, say, 25.

This wasn't as disturbing as the 11 or 12-year-old girl inside the theater wearing Uggs, tights, and a denim skirt that barely covered her, um, anything.

Where are their mommies?

What about you?

Life's little irritations:

1) Wind. Not just a pleasant breeze. Really windy wind.
2) Pumping gasoline.
3) Leaky gas nozzle.
4) Standing downwind, pumping gasoline with leaky gas nozzle.

Life's little pleasures:

1) Eating a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (It would be perfect if you didn't have to clean the peanut butter covered knife or spoon when you're finished, huh? You can't just rinse it off like you can most foods--you have to really get your hands messy. Messy hands phobia here shall go unmentioned.)

2) Flower beds full of brilliant red-leafed shrubs and purple pansies, together. In the winter. The only other time red and purple seem to work together is, in a word, PAISLEY. And that's only if paisley works for you. I know people with paisley phobias, too.

3) Making a small donation to the ICRC to help with the troubles in Kenya. We had a small discussion in the comments of my post from a few days back, and I'm going to try out the tipping point theory here. It wasn't a huge gift, and I normally wouldn't mention my gifts to a charity--it seems wrong and self-righteous--but I'd like to challenge you to do the same, or make a donation to another organization helping there. Perhaps we can make a bigger difference than we did in Rwanda by reacting early, while the situation is perhaps more containable. See Paul's post about how you can help.

What says the peanut gallery?

Should I be concerned if:

a) Our two recycle bins disappeared yesterday after the truck came. Now, granted the wind was blowing like crazy. For example, I had to get out of the car after I'd already gotten in and started it (durnit.) to retrieve various (large) pieces of styrofoam from boxes we had placed in the trash. They were decorating the neighbor's yards and I didn't think they would like that. So, yeah, the bins probably just blew away and someone else got lucky.

But in combination with ...

b) Last night, our neighbors across the street had a smallish moving truck parked in their driveway for the second time this month emblazoned with the logo http://www.mortuarycontainers.com/ ?

Hmm?

Whistling a tuneless tune and looking around casually

Yeah, so it's two days later and I never added more, but I hope you read the article and found it as illuminating as I did, and maybe even acted on it. I may still do that soon. (Post more ... I actually did try to act on it in a small way, which could possibly be part of that post. Maybe. Or maybe I'll just keep it to myself and feel good about it.)

I also need to post about the blog award I got from Bungi--The Roar for Powerful Words. Thanks, Bungi. She actually thinks I'm funny. *BIG SMILE*

She'll definitely be getting the award back. She's also introduced me to something that could take up way too much time in the near future, I fear. Scrabilicious . . . No, wait, it's SCRABULOUS on Facebook. I was really good at Scrabble back in the day. Watch out world.

An evening to remember

So, I left the coffee shop where I'd been working today at 5:30 with every intention of going home as usual, cooking dinner, and doing the regular Wednesday night stuff.

Ha.

I finally made it home an hour and a half later (and this is only a 10 minute commute). Todd called me on my way home and said he had to stay late and then go eat dinner with the boss, so I could grab fast food for the rest of us on the way home if I didn’t feel like cooking. (And do I ever? Really? Well, maybe once or twice a year.) So, sure, I decided to run by McDonald’s and grab salads for me and mom and burgers for the girls.

As someone else once said, easier said than done.

One of my tires has had a slow leak we’ve been babying and pumping up periodically. I’m supposed to remember to check it whenever I get in the car to drive. Only tonight, I kinda forgot. (I’m sure this surprises most of you.) As I left the coffee shop, I thought it sounded a little low, but then promptly forgot about it again. Until I was in the line at McDonald’s. Every time I scooted forward, I could hear that suspicious crunchy/squeaky sound echoing off the brick that clues one in to the dreaded tire flatness problem.

So, while I waited for the folks to deliver my food (had to pull forward because something wasn’t ready and I was holding up the line), I peeked out, and sure enough that tire, she was flat. I went ahead and pulled ALL the way forward, straight into a parking space, and then the manager freaked out, thinking I’d gotten mad about waiting. She came out while the teenager was delivering what he thought was the rest of my food and griped him out in front of me. I love when that happens. So professional. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise until she was gone, then told the kid I was just up there because I had a flat and was waiting for someone to come help. (Had already called my son-in-law…because of course, Todd was across town in a meeting with the boss, remember?)

Well, he kindly asked if I needed help anyway, and I assured him I had it under control. Then he came back with the rest of the food a few minutes later (because they had forgotten one entire combo). So, not long after that, the manager comes back out and starts to get in the truck next to me, and then freaks out again when she sees me. She runs over and says “They STILL didn’t bring your food?” and I said, “No, I have my food, please note the flat tire for which I am awaiting assistance.” (Or something like that in plainer English.) I told her the employee was very polite and had even offered assistance, and that she should chill. (Thinking back, I didn’t actually say the chill part out loud.)

So, eventually Fabian shows up to help with the tire. In the meantime, I have opened the trunk to check my spare at Todd’s suggestion. He was in contact by phone, because of course, in our family it takes seven or eight people to solve a crisis. Well, this is the weirdest part of the evening. Spare looks okay, except … underneath and crawling up the sides of it, there are (is?) about three inches of water.

HUH? No other evidence of water in the trunk. No damp spots on the carpet ,or really even on the board covering the spare, other than some condensation from the puddle under the tire. Once Fabian lifted the spare out and we examined the indention from whence it came, we were truly scratching our heads. There aren’t any apparent holes in my car, and if you think about it, if water ran into a hole, the law of gravity says it should also run out, right? Fabian says he can’t wait to ask the maintenance gurus at his workplace tomorrow if they’ve ever seen such craziness.

So, we get the tire changed after much maneuvering with the stupid jack provided with the car that only cranks on the first half of the turn. Unfortunately, the little donut, bearing the weight of my car, looks flat, too. Well, what luck! There is a gas station next door and they have air. I said, “No problem, we can drive it right over there and fill ‘er up. Can I borrow fifty cents?” That’s right, folks, I had only 14 cents to my name, so there is an argument for the whole “mad money” theory. Luckily, Fabian had five dimes to his name and we were prepared to beg for an exchange for quarters from the nice convenience store clerk. I’m sure they would have been nice, but unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to find out.

I went to start up the engine, but remembered right before I turned the ignition that my car has multiple personalities lately—she only starts two out of three or so times, and the mechanics are completely baffled. New battery a few weeks ago didn’t solve the problem, nor did the $500 dollar brake job we ended up paying for when we took her in to get the problem checked out. (How does that happen?)

I casually mentioned to Fabian that the car might not start, but that it would start right up in another five minutes or so if not. Usually if I baby her, make sure no other single electrical item is running when I turn the switch, she eventually plays nice. Well, not this time. After about 20 minutes, we gave up. I put the cold hamburgers and room temperature salads in Fabian’s truck and he drove me home.

And here’s the punchline—
When I got home, the salad trimmings I pulled forward to wait for were missing.

Good thing I only drive about ten miles a week. Imagine my life otherwise.

Captain Who? What?

Yeah, I'm gonna have to create some self-imposed filters that don't allow me to blog after 1 a.m. It gives you, the reader, a far too realistic glimpse inside my actual brain.

It's a little frightening looking back.

These are a few of my favorite things

Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens,
Movies and music and Ryan with mittens ... (I mean mocassins ... lalala )
Cheeseburger tacos with onnnion strings...

1) Todd and I saw Martian Child Saturday night. I really loved it. Me and only 22% of the movie reviewer population on rottentomatoes.com. Those people. What is so wrong with a movie full of schmaltz (read: people learning to love each other)? Who freakin' cares? If it makes you happy, it must be bad, they say.

John and Joan Cusack are full 'o fun, and this was quite a serious movie, but still fun. It had some (not-so-sly) political messages that kind of cracked me up. We've come a long way since the Dixie Chicks scandal of not so many years ago. I wonder if Hollywood could have gotten away then with panning into sharp focus--not once, but twice--a picture of George W behind a school principal explaining to David (John Cusack) "We're just not equipped to handle a child as different as Dennis here in our school." Whatever your politics, it was quite an overt message, I thought. Todd gives me a hard time and says I read too much into movies or music sometimes, but I dunno ... I kind of enjoy looking for the subtle and not-so-subtle messages sent through media.

2) Annual trek to see my fav-o-rite musician, singer/songwriter David Wilcox tonight. This year, I might add, I am proud to say I recommended to Dave's manager that he try to book him at the Bend Studio, and he did. I'm positively famous now, obviously. He was supposed to play their Ft. Worth venue, but ended up doing two Dallas shows instead at a place called Rock House Films. It was a smaller setting than we've seen him in the last few years, which was cool. He sang a hysterical new song I'm absolutely sure will lead to a new nickname spoken under the breath around the house (not in front of the children, of course) at certain times when people are acting like ... well, like Captain Wanker. :-O

3) Ryan joined us for a pre-birthday celebration at the concert. We were devastated to find that Tin Star, which was only a few short blocks from Rock House, and where we were going to enjoy the best ever cheesburger tacos, was gone. It's been replaced by a restaurant called Mooyah, which sounds suspiciously like Hooyah!, one of our favorite Denton restaurants, only it serves burgers instead of burritos. What is the world coming to when Tin Star goes away from Uptown Dallas? I almost cried. Instead, we had some pretty good pizza from I Fratelli, and luckily, there are four other Tin Star locations in the Metroplex.

Ryan is making his way toward the last stretch of his first semester in college. He mentioned it's interesting that he's the only one of his friends with a job, and also the only one who always owes his friends money. What's up with that?

Anyway, we enjoyed his hole-y mocassined company to celebrate another year of Ryan, and another year of David Wilcox. He sat in awe and got real excited when Dave sang "Leave it like it is," one of his favorites. I told him I'd start calling him Kitchen Blue if he'd like, because he is definitely "a unique." (Ten bucks for the reader who can identify the movie that line comes from.)

Now when the paint jar tipped
Off of the table
You watched as it started to fall
Glass popped, shattered and splattered
And paint spray hit the wall

Bright, blue glossy enamel
Across the kitchen floor
You said, "Good God, look at that pattern
I've never seen that before"

Leave it like it is
Never mind the turpentine
Leave it like it is
Its fine

Now when the paint dried
You gave it a title
You called it "Kitchen Blue"
A white frame painted around it
And gallery lighting, too

Rich folks come over to dinner
They all want one of their own
They say "How much? Who's the artist"
And, "My what a beautiful home"

Now most folks suffer in sorrow
Thinking they're just no good
They don't match the magazine model
As close as they think they should

They live just like the "paint by numbers"
The teacher would be impressed
A life-time of follow the lines
So it's just like all of the rest

Leave it like it is
Never mind the turpentine
Leave it like it is
Its fine

Wow, this is getting way too long, and I think it's because even though the clock says it's 12:41, a few days ago, it would have been 1:41. I think I'd best be going now.

You think *I* was grouchy?

Lest anyone think I am some kind of Trick-or-Treat Scrooge, please don't think I had a problem with the dressed-up infants. One of my own little people made an especially cute Jerry to her older brother's Tom when she was less than three months old. He himself was a purple grape a week before his first birthday. Then, there was Toto (a/k/a my youngest) the year the kids all dressed up as Wizard of Oz characters. They were all so cute you wanted to gobble them up.

I only wrinkled my forehead at the mothers asking for candy on their infants' behalf. Bring those babies along, please, just leave the plastic pumpkin at home. Do like I do--go sneak candy out of your other children's loot bags when they're at school. ;-) Of course, there is also that half-price candy clearance they hold every year the next day ...

Anyway, I laughed right out loud when I read Elizabeth Berg's blog from November 1. Apparently, I wasn't the only cranky lady that night, but man, she one-upped me! That woman cracks me up every time.

Trick, treat, or ??

Another year of tabulating which neighbors have taught their children manners has passed. After it was said and done, Todd and I had a few good ideas for next year:

For the moms who arrive holding out treat bags or plastic pumpkins on behalf of their dressed-up infants in strollers, we are buying jars of baby food. (I seriously almost asked a mom if she was gonna let her baby eat those Skittles.)

For the teenagers who don't bother to dress up, but still hold out pillowcases, we are buying school supplies.

Everyone else will still get candy.

We drove back up to the house after retrieving Emilie from a youth event, and some people were standing on our darkened porch ringing and knocking. We were like, Dudes, can't you see the lights are out, we're out of candy and we're not home?! Then we realized it was our friends and they just wanted to say hello and show off costumes. Hehe.

Just fodder

Wow, no soapboxes, no salad tales, nothing exciting here for over a week. If you consider that other stuff exciting, that is.

(OH WAIT! THE CHICKEN IS BACK IN THE EXTRA BOX AND I FORGOT IT'S IN ITS OWN BAG TOO THAT'S 13 PIECES OF TRASH!)

Sorry, just had to throw that at you.

Nope, just been dealing with normal stuff. Life. Home improvement. Parenting woes. Certainly nothing huge, just the usual guilt over whether I'm "doing it right." Yeah. That alone can take all the energy right outta ya. You wouldn't think a stray dog could cause so much guilt, not would you?

Enough about me. What do YOU think about my parenting skills? Hehehe.

Saw a fun movie this weekend. Dan in Real Life. I've been waiting and waiting for this one. The previews just got me because yes, I am a sucker for a good, sappy, emotional family drama. The scene in the preview where Dan hugs his little girl and sighs? Yep, I got teary in the movie, too. It also had some good laugh lines. Todd and I have been telling each other "Put it on my tab" for weeks now.

I wouldn't give this movie five out of five stars, because it did have its flaws (and also one of those weird things where a scene in the preview is NOT in the actual movie. How does that happen? Don't those people in Hollywood realize we'll NOTICE?), but I certainly came away with that feel-good sense of peace a movie like this ought to bring you. There's not enough of that in the world. A little "ripped from the pages of Pottery Barn" (thanks, Chris Kelly) is ok now and then, don't you think?

It's going to be another crazy month coming up, but in a good way. (See my blog over at An audience of me if you're curious) Between writing, great concerts, and the start of what's sure to be a hectic (what other kind is there any more?), yet joyous holiday season , I am looking forward to November.

What's your November starting to look like?

Would you like a napkin with that?

Remember me climbing up a soapbox about the millions of disposables that come along with Jack-in-the-Box-salads a few weeks ago, and how I bragged on McDonald's a little for their 8 or 9 pieces of paper or plastic as opposed to JITB's 11?

Well, here's bit of irony for you. Why is it you get all that extra paper and plastic with salads, but after you drive away from the window with a simple burger and fries at McDonalds, you realize you would have had to ask to get a napkin and receipt?

Huh?