A Little Housekeeping

Generally speaking, I have no intention of blogging on weekends. It's just that the first days of the year are falling on said weekend and I have motivational issues. Just so's you know.

It is a very beautiful, cold day. Kiki noted the "shunshine". Lots of that at the moment.

Oh, and speaking of Kiki, here are a couple of her more recent bon mots:

The other day I was fixin' on taking her out shopping (The Child had Christmas gift cards to burn through) and we planned on having sushi for lunch. I asked Kiki if she like edemame and she replied, "I like my daddy".

She is enamoured of computers and when she saw me typing an email to The Spouse she declared, "Me type". So I turned the keyboard over to her. She typed, and I quote, "hjkkkkklklkllllllllll;llkl;./ll;l;l;;l;';';';';oopopooop".

Isn't she brilliant?

Alrighty then. I took the week off between Christmas and New Years. I composed a list of areas in the house to organize. (Those cupboards and drawers used to stay pretty tidy when I was a full time homemaker. Now, not so much). Considering how much time I spent just sittin' on my arse, there are a lot of lines drawn through the list. But I never got around to my closet. And it has reached critical mass. So here I go.

Silly Thing

I have a friend named Celia.
I have a friend named Cecile.
I have a friend named Cecilia.

I can keep them straight.

The Spouse can't.

Hilarity ensues.

Saturday in Omaha: Part Deux

The evening part of Saturday was in itself of two parts. Three, actually, when I think about it. And no, I'm not trying to extend the blog fodder. But really, Saturday in Omaha was a very rich day. Because first, of course, we had the day part. Then, after the 'rents left, we had to start thinking about the evening. Except I was very tired all a sudden. So while JP went to the market for a few last minute things, I laid down on one of the extremely comfy couches and closed my eyes. My soundtrack was playing and even though I heard every song that played ("Solisbury Hill" was the first one), I nonetheless napped very sweetly. When JP came back into the apartment I sat up and felt fresh as a daisy.

So here was the plan for the evening. First, we were hosting a party for a friend of JP's. THEN we were going to go to a place called Joseph's that once upon a time had been a place called Joy, which once upon had been the place, his place. That particular night was going to be a for-one-night-only reincarnation event and we had to go.

So first, the party. Now, as you know, I am not the sorta gal who excels at the small talk in the room-full-o'-strangers scenario. The only thing that made me cool about the first part of the evening was that my hair looked fantastic and I had JP. The fact was, he didn't know most of the people coming to the party either. He was doing this as a favor to the boyfriend of the friend who was having a birthday. Capice?

We made some snacks
and JP did his Chef JP impersonation,




which delighted me mightily and then we got sorta dolled up within the protocols of "dolling up" in Omaha, which is a pretty casual place


and btw, I was probably technically overdressed but I also had this whole "I'm from Seattle and must represent" thing going on, which is, of course, to anyone from Seattle completely hysterical because very often people in Seattle go to the opera in frakking Birkenstocks and jeans but What.Ev. My hair was superfantastic.

JP created ambiance which is pretty easy when you have a superfantastic downtown loft apartment.


Then the birthday boy and his beau arrived and then other people arrived and they all seemed very nice. Here's JP with John the birthday boy.

As I said, the guests were very nice and some are even now my Facebook friends but let me tell you that the one who really mattered, not to put too fine a point on it, was JP's friend Smay. Now, Smay, to readers of JP's old blog, is best known to you as Miss Smay, because he does drag. Only he wasn't this particular night. So he just showed up in normal guy clothes but the thing is, I have known of Smay for quite sometime and he has known of me and meeting him was pretty cool. Because he's cute and funny and smart (like I like my gays) and we pretty much hit it off right away. And it was nice because aside from the birthday boy and his beau, JP didn't know any of the party guests and of course the birthday boy and his beau were focused on the guests while JP and I and Smay pretty much had each other. Which was more than fine.


As we got ready to hit the club there was a tussle over my superfantastic spring bag:

I should mention at this juncture that while I have had gays in my life for quite a long time now, I have never in all my born days been to a drag show. So I was intrigued. And I had Smay to sorta give me the inside scoop on the whole drag scene. Which was tres interesting, btw.

I got carded at the door which, seriously, was pretty much happening to everyone but still, getting carded when you are 51 is très magnifique. And did I mention that my hair was fantastic?

Smay paid my way in and then he bought me a cocktail and I'm thinking, "Dammit, I just love Omaha". We found tables and JP and Smay told me all the ways that the club wasn't like the club they used to love but still and then the show started. And it was ok. Not great. Frankly, watching Smay do what everyone on stage shoulda been doing was more entertaining most of the time. But still. There were moments of brilliance plus I got to meet the infamous Erica Joy, who was very sweet.

Plus, every time I had to leave the table to go potty or whatever I'd put Smay in charge of my drink. Which was funny because, seriously, what are the odds of a 51 year old straight lady getting ruffied in a gay club?

There were a couple highlights during the evening. One was a routine that involved the "Hindi Sad Diamonds" bit from "Moulin Rouge" which then morphed into the Pussycat Dolls version of "Jai Ho" and it was superfantastic. And there was also a moment outside with JP when we were hugging on each other and he was telling me how glad he was that I was there on that particular weekend so I could be in that place that had meant a lot to him even though it was forever gone and forever changed.

Now, most of the party left the drag show way early and went to Max, where JP and I had shot pool the night before, and around midnight he and Smay and I started home and said, 'Oh what the hey hey, we'll go to Max'. 'Cept there was a frakking line out the door waiting to get in and we were all, "oh, no'. So we went back to JP's. Which was a good choice anyway because I wanted to eat the remnants of my lunch in a steak sandwich and we had a mystery to solve.

---

The Mystery

In brief: on Friday night Smay had gone to an after party that involved very few people. Guests were, as they are wont to do, taking turns going into the bathroom. Smay got his turn. And he had to immediately exit the bathroom and go to the host and say something on the order of "What the hell happened to your toilet?" As it turns out, when he entered the bathroom there was some sort of heavy object in what remained of the bowl, while a good half of the bowl lay upon the floor.

There were, he told us, speculations and accusations and incriminations and then some sort of exchange of cash for reparations.

But it was, as you can imagine, a very curious tale. What was the object and how had it found its way into the bowl and more to the point, how does someone obliterate another person's toilet and not cop to it, like, immediately?

Certainly, it is embarrassing to do damage to the property of another. But we've all been there. Ok, not, perhaps with the destruction of a toilet but certainly other property. And what do we do? If we were raised at all properly, as JP, Smay and I certainly were, we would own that. Humiliating? Perhaps...nay, certainly. But still. It is what you do. But apparently even in the midst of admitting ownership the "culprit" didn't so much own up as do what was required to get people to shut up. Which of course led to all sorts of additional speculation.

Now, I will freely admit that we have reached the point where the phrase "you had to be there" would be entirely appropriate. But I ask you this: imagine the notions that would spring up from such a scenario. Come up with a phrase to describe the most scatological of those scenarios, say, "stone baby". Think of the implications of that phrase. Then put 3 literate, rather amusing and high spirited folks, tanked up, admittedly on beer and/or Cape Cods and put them in a room together. Think police tapes, re-enactments and "Law and Order". You might get a glimpse into the next couple of hours I spent with JP and Smay. Yeah. You had to be there but seriously people, who among you has ever broken a toilet? And if you did, what in the world did you think people were saying behind you back?

The possibilities for amusement are nigh unto endless. Trust me.

Just to Recap

He doesn't say anything about it at home. He goes weeks, nay, months without leaving a comment. But man...bungle the opening line to a joke and he is all OVER me.

Men.

But for the record: "A three legged dog rides into town. The streets are deserted as townspeople run in terror to their houses. The sheriff locks himself in side the jail house. The dog slams open the doors of the saloon and swaggers up to the bar. The bartender, one hand surripticiously on the rifle he keeps under the bar stutters, "Kin I help you, stranger?" The dog glances around the saloon, fixes the bartender with a look and growls, "I'm lookin' for the man who shot my paw".

See? "Paw" sounds like "pa" so if you're hearing the joke and not reading it it sounds like the dog (a talking dog, mind you, which is pretty funny to begin with) is looking for the man who shot his pa, unless you remember that he's a three legged dog so he's looking...forget it. This is why I never tell jokes.

Slow But Steady Wins the Race

One of the things we do every night at dinner is "The Test". "The Test" appears on the comics/word search/crossword page of the Seattle Times. There are 3 levels, 3 questions in each level, with subjects that vary each day from geography to science to literature to pop culture...you get the drift. The Spouse reads the questions, The Child and I compete to answer them. There's a whole liturgical rigamarole around this which we need not get into. Suffice to say, if the questions regard Henry VIII and his six wives, mama be a'slam dunkin'.

So last night we finished the quiz and then, sneaky clever parentals that we are, we invited The Child to quiz us (short hand for "go over some of the stuff you need to review for school so that you freaking end up graduating and setting yourself on a life path isn't summed up in the phrase, 'Welcome to Walmart').

She warmed up with some riddles. One of them began with "A cowboy rides into town"... which inspired The Spouse to interrupt with a drawled, "A dawg rides into town"... The Child looked confused and I start to giggle because this is the old "I'm lookin' for the man who shot my pa" joke but then, in lighting flash with no prompting from any other quarter I go, "OH!" and start laughing hysterically.

Because for the first time in 51 years...51 freaking years, people!...I actually got the joke.

How to Amuse a Tired, Grumpy Child

Over the hum of the blow dryer enthusiastically declare, "MAN! I am having such a good hair day!"

The giggles will persist for some time.

Amusements

This is so funny it almost coulda been written by one of our gang.

Right

Willym charmingly reminded me of this classic bit by the incomparable Bill Cosby. The guy who put up the video says he could only find a minute's worth of Cosby actually performing so he added all the other bits to make a video. But it's worth it to get a glimpse of a very young Cosby.

Fun with Scrabble™

A couple of you asked how to play Speed Scrabble™, the game that's sweeping the nation.

Here are the rules:

Turn all the tiles face down. Each player draws 7 tiles. Using the tiles you form words, down and across, just like you do for regular Scrabble™, only in this case each player builds his or her own words.

When a player uses all her tiles she calls "draw" and everyone has to take another tile, even if they are still working on their words. If you are clever enough, you can really get the other players in the weeds by calling "draw" a bunch of times. It's fun to hear them groan. (If there is a point, and there will be, when no one can play all their tiles, you say "stuck" and everyone draws).

The other important feature of the game is that you may rearrange tiles as often as you like in order to use them all.

For example, note that I just drew a "c"...a very pesky letter, by the way.











A quick move of the tiles and "arum" turns into "rum" and the "c" is utilized in the ever popular word "sac".















It really sux when you draw an "i" five times in a row.


Unfortunately, "i yi yi" is not found in the official Scrabble™ dictionary.










You have to be fast if you are going to rearrange your words, though. I've been caught in the middle of a reorganization toward the end of a game. That is bad. Because the game ends when all the tiles have been drawn and a player, having successfully placed all his tiles, calls "Done!" When that happens all the other players have to stop making words and, just like in regular Scrabble™, you have to subtract any unused tiles from your total.



















Speed Scrabble™ is super fun and highly addictive. Just ask Buck. We played about 412 games this weekend.

How Amusing

As a family we're a fairly amusing lot. When we're not heaving crockery at each other and slamming doors, we can be pretty darned funny. Certainly, we find ourselves entertaining. I can only assume that most of the laughter that comes from our friends is a sincere "golly, gosh that was funny" laughter as opposed to pained "heavens, if it wasn't for the fact that they ply us with food and drink..."

One thing I've figured out about my own humor is that it's more reactive than proactive; which is to say, I don't walk around dripping with bon mot (not to be confused with bon bons, which I sometimes do drip) or instigating high hilarity. I'm not a comedian. But if you say something funny, I'll probably be able to keep the merriment going, a call and response sort of humor, if you will. And, I suspect, if I'm being really, really funny it's because you were funnier to begin with.

I wish I had what it takes to write something like that Colbert thing I linked the other day. Or this bloggy piece by Dick Cavett (who, btw, I just adore with all adoration). Cavett writes like he talks and this piece is classic Cavett: funny, subtle and brilliant.

But to be able to write like that I would have to have a writing partner who started me off and to whom I could respond. Which, let's face it, worked for Nichols and May, for Buddy and Sally. (Hi, this is me, dating myself).

How funny are you? (I know the answer to this; I just want to see what you think).

Smelly Cat. Everybody!

The official video:



Phoebe's real voice:

FYI

As The Child and I drove home from her volleyball game last night (oh, and she made the game point in the 3rd and decisive game with a terrific serve - just saying) we played a game wherein you are asked "yes" and "no" questions which must be answered without using "yes" or "no".

"Do you like being 50?"

"It's da bomb".

Uncontrolled giggling.

"What? I said 'it's da bomb'. That's true".

"It's not that," she chortled, "You said 'da bomb'".

"Yeah?"

"Oh, mom, if the volleyball team was here right now they'd all be laughing at you".

"Because I'm so hip"?

Unrestrained howls of laughter. "Oh, Mu-ommmm. No one says 'da bomb' anymore".

"Really? What do they say?"

"'That's tight' or 'beefin'".

"Beefin'?"

"Yeah".

"Geez. Is 'cool' still cool?"

"Oh, yeah".

"Thank God".

Kids, you are never going to hear me say that something is beefin'. If I do, please slap me.

Add Your Own Soundtrack

I am feeling really overwhelmed right now.

So far this week I've spent the majority of my time doing things that have been important and necessary but not always actually things I've wanted to do. Like school meetings and research. I'm getting way behind on household stuff and website stuff and there are grapes that need to be harvested but there's no sense in doing that until I have time to turn them into jelly and uh, yeah, a quick check of the calendar says that ain't going to be any time soon.

Plus, I'm sick of fundraising and school has just started.

We always have to do fundraising. There's about a $2500 gap between what we pay in tuition and what it actually costs to educate a student. Which means each family has a modest fundraising obligation over the course of the year. The first fundraiser, which The Child won't even be participating in, is this weekend. But she's still fundraising for it and so far has received nearly half of what we need to honor our obligation. She so rocks.

But on top of that, there's fundraising for the 8th grade trip to DC. And the people in leadership on this are starting to really get on my nerves, for a variety of incredibly valid reasons that I won't bore you with. Except to say that I'm this close to telling them that I'll get her to DC one way or the other and they can leave me the frak alone for the rest of the year.

I could rant about something else related to school but I won't. Because it's boring. It amounts to sideline thumb twiddlers complaining about things in which they are unwilling to personally invest. Know what I say to that? Shut the frak up.

But it does kinda make a person ask the question, "Why am I bothering with this?"

Oh right. Because I love my child and I love her school.

On a brighter note, I got to see my baby yesterday. Let's all ooh and ahh at him, shall we?


And my niece Molly, who cracks me up daily, posted this video of her dancing. It was shot before (or after, I forget) a play she was in. Someone put on a song she loves and she started goofing. It makes me laugh. Even without sound.



Now I'm going to grab my timer and see if I can't accomplish something useful.

Something Silly

Our friends SG & PG came over on Sunday, with their 2 little boys. SG had just bought a new fancy telephoto lens for his camera and The Spouse had just figured out how to do rapid shots on our camera. This was important given that it was Seafair weekend, since the main thing one does if one isn't actually watching the races, is try to take pictures of the Blue Angels as they dive bomb the neighborhood. On standard mode one ends up with many pictures of empty sky and power lines. With the clicky clicky thing working, you get pictures of airplanes. (The proof of this is still in the camera as there are something like 2,412 shots, pretty much all of the same formation. And I'm not the one who's going to download them).

That's the background.

Cut to, PG and I running to the store because she forgot to bring a veggie burger for her 8 year old, who has currently decided he's not doing red meat. (She did remember the chewy rich and sinfully chocolate brownies with two kinds of ice cream. This is why I love her).

We are driving up the street back to the house and the guys are standing on the opposite corner with their cameras, shooting pictures of the approaching car. As I pulled into the driveway they rushed us.

Yes.

They were pretending to be paparazzi.







Thank heaven PG was wearing panties.

Pages from My Sketchbook

Here's something you don't know about me. Whenever I need to quiet my thoughts or work out a thorny problem, or even sometimes when I just don't have the words to express myself, I will take out a freshly sharpened pencil and a notebook of high-quality art paper and sketch.

Self-Portrait 16 - Got Hair?



Self-Portrait 412 - A Study in Fabulous Shoes


A Child Grows Up


Pensive Man with Beer


Impression: Apples


Rolly Polly Fish Head


True Love

I Found This Amusing

The Child is out with The Boyfriend today so The Spouse decided we should celebrate by having BBQ for lunch. (We're also going to have curry for dinner. We know how to take advantage of her absence. Yes. Yes, we do).

So anyway, we eat our delicious pork sammies and potato salad and then he went off to watch TV while I played videos at the club.

He just came out and announced he was feeling peckish.

"How is that possible? Aren't you still full from lunch?"

"From the lunch I ate 4 hours ago?"

"Yeah, but you've just been lying around watching mutant bug movies on SciFi; it's not like you're burning any calories".

"Oh, honey," he says, opening the refrigerator door. "You'll never understand the pain of being a man".

Oh. My. Gosh. Friday

Oh. My. Gosh. #1
It's Friday. This less than stellar week is winding down. Gratitude abounds.

Oh. My. Gosh. #2
Not that this really is shocking or anything, but Karl Rove's fingerprints are all over a smoking gun in the firing of a mess of US attorneys. And in light of this new evidence, the latest is that the White House is now starting to back off their story that all this skullduggery originated with Harriet Miers, who is a) no longer in the administration and 2) was once the President's candidate for a Supreme Court justice. Looks more and more like Gonzales and Rove cooked up the whole thing. Again, not a surprise but now key Republicans are calling for Gonzales' resignation and noting things like the "pattern of arrogance in this administration" (Rep. Dana Rohrabacher, R-Calif.- gosh, ya think?) ...I don't know, kids. Kinda hard to keep the lid on the schaudenfreude. It's spring cleaning time. I say, start with Rove.

Oh. My. Gosh. #3
File this under "Small, Crazy World". Turns out one of my dearest friends in the world is the sister of Krista Barth, who is representing Howard K. Stern, Anna Nicole Smith's "partner". This just cracks me up. I'm not even sure why. And no, I didn't get any dirt because KK isn't a purveyor of such things. She did tell me that her sister babysat Dannielynn during the funeral. Krista had never met Anna Nicole so she didn't think it was appropriate to take one of the limited seats from someone who had known her. Krista watched the baby so the household staff could attend. I think that's sweet. I still don't much trust her client, but hey, no one asked me to.

Oh. My. Gosh. #4
Last week Horizon over at "Message in a Bottle" posted some silly pictures of her youngest, which birthed a whimsical little game, that created a virtual rock band. Well, ever the creative one, Horizon has now designed a promotional picture and CD cover for said group. It is a triumph of photoshopping. If you need a laugh today you must go check out her brilliant effort. I think we all look quite superfantastic. Brava, Horizon.

Oh. My. Gosh. Look at the Time!
I must away. Haven't done the grocery shopping yet and am still reclaiming the kitchen after the flood the other night. The Cat has another appointment at 5pm and then, assuming goodish news, the evening will be devoted to fish & chips and a really good movie. I don't know what really good movie but I want to watch something terrifically light-hearted and entertaining. (And no, honey, that wouldn't be "The Sorrow and the Pity").

I'm Very Good at Crossword Puzzles

A friend sent this to me this morning.


NEWSPAPER READERS
1. The Wall Street Journal is read by most of the people who run the country.

2. The Washington Post is read by people who think they run the country.

3. The New York Times is read by people who think they should run the country and who are very good at crossword puzzles.

4. USA Today is read by people who think they ought to run the country but don't really understand The New York Times. They do, however, like their statistics shown in pie charts.

5. The Los Angeles Times is read by people who wouldn't mind running the country - if they could find the time, and if they didn't have to leave Southern California to do it.

6. The Boston Globe is read by people whose parents used to run the country and did a far superior job of it, thank you very much.

7. The New York Daily News is read by people who aren't too sure who's running the country and don't really care as long as they can get a seat on the train.

8. The New York Post is read by people who don't care who's running the country as long as they do something really scandalous, preferably while intoxicated.

9. The Miami Herald is read by people who are running another country but need the baseball scores.

10. The San Francisco Chronicle is read by people who aren't sure there is a country, or that anyone is running it; but if so, they oppose all that they stand for. There are occasional exceptions: if the leaders are handicapped, minority, feminist, gay, atheist, dwarfs who also happen to be illegal aliens from any other country or galaxy, provided, of course, that they are not conservatives.

11. The National Enquirer is read by people trapped in line at the grocery store.

12. And, finally, the country IS run by someone who doesn't read a newspaper at all.

Everything You Wanted to Know About Parenting

Remain calm. Listen. Affirm them and be supportive. Feed them only fair trade products. Then love them enough to let them go.

Parental Advisory: One word at the end which is not suitable for small ones.

March Comes In

To the north and south there is lots of snow and ice. Right here, in the little pocket of urban bliss that is Seattle, there is bright spring-like sun, fluffy white clouds in the brilliant blue sky and the sound of crocuses popping from the ground. Decidedly lamb-like for my neck of the woods but far more liony for the rest of the region. Should make the 31st very interesting.

While dusting some very grimy books this morning I had a revelation-that's-not-so-much-a-revelation-as-a-reminder: I am good at many things. Waiting is not one of them.

This has been a very productive week and that just thrills me to no end because so often I'm much better at laying plans than actually executing.

We finally got around to watching "Brokeback Mountain" last night. Meh. Meh to the 10th power. The Spouse liked it. But then, as I'm wont to say, he likes everything. Never met a movie he didn't like. He will even find the one thing that works in a movie that is universally held to be horrible. I like that about him. Although if he says a film is "great" you should get a second opinion.

Did I mention that The Child's class is reading Romeo and Juliet? They have all signed up for different parts and scenes...she's going to be the Nurse, in Act II, Scene iv. The parts have to be memorized and performed near the end of this month. We started running lines this week, one 15 minute session a day. Oh. My. Gosh. She already has all the little lines memorized and she's working her best British accent. She's also rolling well through the various modes of expression required in this particular scene...indignation at saucy Mercutio, feigned hurt at Peter standing by while Mercutio is saucy, not to mention warning, conspiring and encouraging Romeo...all in the same speech. She really is going to be amazing. And you just haven't lived until you hear her said "Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skainsmates!"

I think she's going to be a method actress because after we practised she changed into an old Halloween costume that has a renaissance thing happening and asked, while she was making splendid BBQ chicken sammies for dinner, if we could please try to talk like the Nurse and Juliet.

In other news, my car has decided to make some sort of horrible grinding noise that sounds like I'm dragging a piece of fuselage. This is perfect timing because the extended warranty I bought on the thing 2 years ago is no longer in effect. The good news is that there are really good mechanics just down the street. The bad news is there will be a car repair bill. That is never a good thing.

And now I must away. Fair jocund day salutes my eye and...and...that Elizabethan crap is hard.