A reLAXing Christmas

Sorry for the delay in posting, but I've been busy re-enacting the Stations of the Cross in my front yard. By re-enacting stations of the cross, I of course mean loading sand tubes into my truck.

We spent the holiday visiting Brooke's mom and stepfather in Arizona (thanks for the tickets, Richard!). There's nothing quite like air travel to make me want to carry an electric cattle prod. How did we manage to invent air travel, yet some people can take 15 minutes getting their luggage out of the overhead compartment?

Anyhoo, this post will inevitably cross the line into Too Much Information. If you're not a fan of TMI, just stop now. Really.

So, you know how sometimes when you go on vacation, so does your regularity? You know what I mean. After 4 days of, let's say, lack of productivity from the colon region, I was not feeling so well. Brooke thought that if I took a stool softener, perhaps that would, shall we say, get the ball rolling. So she gave me some Dulcolax -- what she thought was a stool softener. I took the pill, and since I wasn't feeling so hot, I declined to join Brooke and her mom on an errand run. When she came back to find me in the fetal position on the guest bed, she said "I have something to tell you, and I don't think you're going to be happy." She proceeded to inform me that I had actually been given a laxative. Oh, that explained so much! Apparently it was a fast acting (and long lasting!) laxative. It all made so much sense now.

I have decided that my body is apparently only feels at home with my bathroom at home. If I travel, I will have to bring my own toilet. How long do you think it'll take me to get that out of the overhead compartment?

Double Feature Photo Friday

A belated Photo Friday for J...
J is for Jalopy


K is for Kokadjo

Hello, My Name is Doofus.

I'm really bad with names. I see someone, and I know they know me, and I can't remember their name. It's a problem for me. I can remember weird stuff, like so-and-so has a Linksys WRT54G router, but just don't expect me to remember their name.

Thus is my current dilemma (not to be confused with diorama). There's this woman who works in the next buidling over from me. Of course I do not know her name, but I probably should. She knows my name, or at least so I thought. Often times when I'm leaving work, she'll be outside smoking, and say "Hello, Sandy." My name is not Sandy. At first I didn't realize she was calling me Sandy. Once I noticed that she was calling me Sandy, I did not correct her. What would I say? "Um, I have absolutely no idea what your name is, but I can tell you that I'm not Sandy." So now I have put myself in the position of having to answer to "Sandy." She says "Hi Sandy," and I say "Hello." I suppose it could be worse; it's not like she's calling me "Burt."

Is there anyway to undo this? Or has it just gone too far?

Flannel-riffic

Tula and Lilah have discovered flannel. It has become impossible to pry them from the futon.

Tula: I think the humans have known about flannel all along.
Lilah: WTF?

It's not such a small world, after all

I really couldn't care less about professional sports. I don't read the sports section, I don't follow the Red Sox, I don't have any negative feelings towards the Yankees. I'd much rather play baseball than watch it on TV.

With that said, I will bring you today's Sports Update:

As you may have heard, the Red Sox have were courting, and have now finally begun a monogamous relationship with Daisuke Matsuzaka, who comes to Beantown from Japan. This completely blows my beliefs about Major League Baseball right out of the icy waters of the Atlantic.

You see, I just assumed that the Major League Baseball Commission, its players and fans included, had absolutely no idea that there was life outside the United States. I really thought that they operated under the assumption that the United States was just floating around in space, much like a trash bag in the wind. Why on Earth (haha) would I think this?

How else to explain that every year the World Series is held. This series is comprised of teams from the United States. That is all. How can it possibly be a World Series, when the rest of the world is not invited? Now that we've finally figured out that there is Life Outside These United States (not to be confused with "Life in these United States," which is of course a collection of heartwarming, often hilarious -- or so they tell us --anecdotes found in Readers Digest), perhaps one day we'll put the World in World Series.

Photo Friday: "i" is for....

Integer


In Flight

Dear Craft Person

Well, I survived my first craft fair. You know, it is damn near impossible to find a "Craft Fair Virgin" t-shirt these days. Why do you think that is? Perhaps I should make one. It would most certainly have an applique of some sort, and lots of glitter. Yes, that would be crafty indeed.

Anyhow. I won't say I had a fantastic time at the craft fair. I am not one for chatting up strangers; my face hurt from smiling all day. But it wasn't like someone was gouging my eyes out or anything, so it wasn't all bad.

The display turned out okay... I went for the industrial chic look. I built a frame, covered it with pegboard, and finished it with metal corners and upholstery nails. You can't tell from the picture, but the display rotates, thanks to a handy dandy lazy susan bearing. I also had two light switches (complete with an actual switch; I told one person that everytime they flipped the switch, somewhere in the building a light was going on and off) mounted on top of the display.

There was a fairly decent selection of plates, I think. One woman bought 6 plates, and I think she's going to order up some more. The John Deere plates were popular, and I had requests for black lab plates, as well as Red Sox plates.

I had this dream of selling all of the lightswitch plates, but of course that was just a dream. I would have been happy with selling 50, but I only managed to peddle about 30 of the things. I think that particular craft fair was perhaps not the best venue, and the fair was held on a weekday. Perhaps if I had some knit switchplates with doilies glued on, I would have fared better.

And thus ends this episode of Tales from the Craft Fair.

Sunday is the new Photo Friday

Well, I'm a little late on my Photo Friday post. Sorry.

H is for Hay:

And How!

I will have you know that I am going to resist wearing my "I am a Consumer Whore" T-shirt at the craft fair. I don't think you fully understand the sheer resistance this will require. For those of you who do not have the luxury of a weird little independent DVD rental store in your vicinity, I must tell you about one of my favorite DVDs, "Rejected." I can only tell you that it is weird and funny, and that it is 7 minutes long. Not only did we rent it, but Brooke got it for me for Christmas one year. It never ceases to make me laugh, or want to quote it ("now with 50% more sodium; sweet jesus!") Oh, it is so very strange. You should really buy it; you, too, can be a consumer whore.

Speaking of flagrant consumerism, my coworker called yesterday to alert me of an important situation. The situation, you see, was that there were some candy-cane striped Converse hitops on clearance at TJ Maxx. Being that I do not frequent the Maxx (get the Maxx for the Minimum at TJ Maxx!), I was glad for the tip. I ran out at lunchtime and procured the last pair of size 7 (Converse has unisex sizing, so while I'm really a size 9, I get to feel all petite and crap when buying Converse) Candy Cane Chuck Taylors. Normally I hate shopping, but do make an exception when it comes to candy cane Chucks on clearance. Now I must resist the urge to lick my shoes.

Is it Hot in Here, or is it Me?

What I learned this Weekend
by Sarah

Yesterday I had the bright idea that I would try eating a hot chili pepper. You see, I have this plant at work. Let's call it Chili. Actually, maybe it should be Chili 2, in honor of Chili the dachshund. Anyway, Chili 2 has been bearing quite a lot of fruit, and I decided to pick off the chilis and grind them up for seasoning. But for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to eat one. A whole one. I can eat jalepenos, certainly this measly chili would be no match for me. Oh, I was so very wrong. There was so much burning, for a moment I thought perhaps I should coat the inside of my mouth with Preparation H. Instead I sucked on some ice cubes. I know that's not what you're supposed to do, that yogurt is better. However, I can't stand yogurt, and at least the ice numbed my mouth. Four ice cubes later, the burning had subsided to a tolerable level. "Remind me not to do that again," I said with my firebreath. I produced hot burps for the rest of the day, just as a gentle reminder.

Photo Friday: G is for ...

G is for Green.



G is for Gayoland. No, that is not a cute term for Ogunquit, Maine. It is a type of coffee. I have no idea why it's called Gayoland.