A Sink Full of Spoons

Because my normal diet of food I "prepare" at home consists mostly of cereal, frozen dinners and yogurt, I run out of spoons far more quickly than a normal person. Although the spoons pile up in the sink, it seems silly to dedicate too much water and soap to such a meager amount of "dishes." Instead, I eat with every type of spoon I have until there are no more.

First I use the dinner spoons, then move on to the soup spoons. After exhausting the supply of soup spoons, I use my two grape fruit spoons with the serrated scooper.

Finally, I use my measuring spoons - all but the Tablespoon because it won't fit into my yogurt container. If I still haven't amassed enough dirty dishes to make a washing worthwhile, I eat my yogurt with forks. Once the forks are gone, I must get to washing.

Disenchantment

Lately I've been thinking that I should rename my blog "Domestic Me." I feel like I in any waking hours that are not dedicated to my job I am a slave to my domestic duties. Is this what life is - a series of tasks that must be repeated over...and over...and over again? And that is if you are lucky.

If you aren't lucky, you are living in a third world country or some other awful circumstance just struggling to survive so that one day you too can be a slave to everyday tasks.

When I was very young, I thought the best thing about being a "grown up" was that you could eat ice cream late at night - and as much as you wanted. Now that I have done that, I am starting to feel like there is not much else to look forward to in adult life.

My "adult" life consists of the following: doing laundry, vacuuming, washing dishes, cleaning, avoiding cleaning, putting off cleaning, wondering why the place is such a mess, mowing the lawn, having the lawn mower die so I can't finish, folding laundry, taking showers, drying hair, putting on make up, shaving legs and arm pits, curling hair, and going to work so I can afford to do it all over and over again.

You never REALLY finish any domestic tasks. The laundry WILL get dirty and need to be washed, line dried (if your dryer doesn't work - like mine) and folded AGAIN. It's really maddening. I can't believe how long people have been doing these things without one day spontaneously combusting. Some days I just want to throw my lawn mower off of a bluff in southeastern Minnesota and laugh maniacally until men in white coats carry me away. Of course that is only a temporary solution. Eventually it would be decided that I am competent enough to work at McDonald's and mow my own lawn again - or live in an apartment where that is that landlord's responsiblity.

Gone to the Dogs

The pet magazine I was freelancing for is shutting down without something short of divine intervention. I am trying to brainstorm ways to prevent its demise that are practical and cost-effective; unfortunately "practical" and "cost-effective" are not my areas of expertise.

Evidence of Negativism Magnetism

This weekend I saw "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." Overall, the film was unsurprising, but I don't think that has to be a bad thing. It was kind of like a warm embrace from an old friend - comforting in it's familiarity. Among the little gold nuggets the film shook out, there was one idea - one comment - in particular I took with me from that theatre.

In dialogue between Professor Jones and Dean Charles Stanforth, Stanforth said the following: "We've reached the age where life stops giving you things and starts taking them away."

Reasons for My Month-Long Hiatus

I would tell you why I have been absent from my blog for a month, but none of my reasons are that interesting, they are merely run-of-the-milll ordinary boring excuses. Oh well, here they are anyway - in no particular order:

o My computer was gone for a week, it had some malware (bad, nasty computer stuff) on it, so a friend was exercising the demons;

o I dedicated most of my waking hours to what is the biggest project of the year for work, although my boss is cooking up some more "stuff" to make the most of my locked in weekly salary;

o I was sick. A small amount of unpleasantness lingers on, but for the most part I have recovered;

o My car was gone for a while and in need of repair, which put me in crabby mood;

o My dryer took a lesson from my stove and decided to start cooking my clothes, which also put me in crabby mood;

o I have been spending all of my free time following the dog around with a vacuum;

o My landlord left me a lawn mower that doesn't work and everyone else has mowed except for me. On the brightside, I now know my property boundaries;

o I had to figure out how to put up a clothesline since my dryer isn't working - not as easy as it looks and my clothes are almost touching the ground;

and... after all of that ... I have just not felt like writing!

The good news is; I am back. And since Spring TRULY appears to have sprung, I should be done with the bad attitude graphs for a good six months. I hope.

No Country for Critics of Cohen Brothers

For months I have lived in a world where it appeared that I was one of two people in America who (admitted) not being impressed by the Cohen brother's movie, "No Country For Old Men." Today is a day that I feel validated.

Dana Stevens, a movie critic for Slate.com and a screenwriter, put into words - more concisely than I ever could - the flaws of the movie whose Oscar-success and mainstream admiration confound and disappoint me. So rather than dedicate a blog to my analysis of the movie (which has been a LONG TIME in coming) I will direct my "readers" who are interested (if there are any) to her review. That is pretty much exactly how I feel and I am glad someone could articulate it for me!

As Promised...

EXPLANATIONS:

WEATHER: The snow is melting, which is a good thing... but the white clumps (even as they slowly - ever so slowly - evaporate, disintegrate, and/or muddy up the streets) are a reminder that the Midwest clings to winter even as everyone else is saying, "Hello, Mr. Springtime." The Calendar, try as he might to move winter along, (the First Day of Spring, according to the Calendar, was March 20..*hint, hint*) is always put in his place by Mother Nature. Assigning deadlines to seasons is an arbitrary, human policy that unfortunately means very little to the greater powers of the universe.

WORK: My bosses fired my friend and co-worker so I am very bummed. They tried to convince me it is best for everyone. In the long-run, this is probably true; but in the immediate future it is only best for them.

Just Kidding

I hate myself for saying that winter is gone and making a mockery of Mother Nature's authority. Apparently she has been offended by my insolence and as a result, is threatening to bury me - and my fellow Smalltownians - in 15 to 20 inches of snow over the course of the next three days.

An updated "Bad Attitude Pie Graph" will follow.

Winter Doesn't Live Here Anymore

When I got home from work I made a decision: I was going to rollerblade.

Only four hours earlier I wouldn't have considered this an option. Four hours earlier, Mother Nature was dumping soppy snowflakes upon us for the umpteenth time. Then merciful sunshine intervened, turning those little pesky flakes into shallow sidewalk puddles.

As I sped on down the freeway, making my way back to work from a farm at about 5:30 p.m., I assessed the walking/biking trail. Rollerblading on winter's coattails can be risky: as evening approaches, the air cools and turns harmless puddles into sheets of black ice. Rollerblading on a day such as today could either be very exhilerating, or potentially dangerous.

At home after work I consulted with the dog.

ME: What do you think?
ELLA: I'm game. I'd really like to pump up my cardio program before I have to go to the vet again. Jerk.
ME: If we go, you have to promise to be a good dog, and not pull me anywhere. And if there is a hint of snow or ice, you must slow down.
ELLA: What are you so afraid of? This wouldn't be the first time you fell down this year.

She was correct. March alone boasted three noteworthy falls:

Fall No. 1 took place in early March - in the shower. I fell sideways out of the tub when I was trying to wash my left foot while balancing on my right leg.

Fall No. 2 took place the day I came home for Easter break. I was in my "bedroom" and one of the area rugs I stepped on bunched up right as I stepped forward and I wiped out, nearly hitting the back of my head on the floor - close call.

Fall No. 3 happened just last week. I was on a farm, taking notes and roaming about in my plastic biohazard "booties," which are required attire. Seems like a smart way to keep cattle safe, but people - not so much: this practice is the equivalent of tying a plastic bag around each foot and hopping around in ankle-deep sludge. Guess who falls - arse over tea kettle - onto a thick blanket of mud?

I had fallen all of these times, and put myself at risk of potential bodily harm - and for what grand prize? To have clean feet? To turn off a light? To write yet another story about cows and the people who milk them?

If I am to be hurt because I fall, let it be because I live boldly; not because I shower thoroughly.

So, rollerblading I went! The pathway was really quite clean and I avoided the onset of evening with the accompanying scary black ice. April 2, 2008 - spring has sprung. Winter doesn't live here anymore.

Bad Attitude

I am sorry dear blog, I haven't felt like writing lately. This is mostly because I have been consumed by crabbiness. I have learned I can write quite well when I am throwing a pity party, or when I feel I have something profound to say (even if it is not perceived by others as profound), but not when I am necessarily crabby. And crabby is what I have been. There are a number of reasons for my crabby demeanor (See "Bad Attitude Pie Chart" below).



As you can see, work and general self-loathing take the bulk of the blame, but not far behind is PMS and the weather.

Crap.

It just started snowing again....

I may have to update the chart.

Celebrating Easter in Wisconsin

What is Easter in Wisconsin without 12 inches of snow? I think it is safe to say we are all ready for spring. But, as usual, Ella is able to make the best out of a bad situation.

What Does It All Mean?

Ella and I went for a walk tonight. For the first time, I was able to really see what my neighborhood looks like. Daylight-Saving Time really didn't do me any favors, though. The most memorable sights were as follows (and in no particular order): a lot of soggy looking yards, a Christmas wreath on the door of one house, a pile of fluorescent leaf bags with jack-o-lantern faces piled high along the side of another, and dogs - everywhere - barking. Unleashed Dog even left his yard to keep Ella and I company on our walk; Ella did not appreciate the intrusion. She said as much in her nastiest, snarliest voice. Unleashed Dog then wandered into the road, lingering in the middle of a well-travelled intersection. An SUV approached slowly, and laid on the horn. Unleashed Dog was wide-eyed and apparently frozen, so I summoned him in my most welcoming doggy voice and posed myself in what is considered in the dog world to be a "friendly and playful" stance. Unleashed Dog then dashed across the street to join us, despite Ella's very inhospitable demeanor.

How does the story end? What happened next is too difficult, and not interesting enough, to explain. Suffice it to say that Unleashed Dog took his leave. He dashed safely across the street but not in the direction of home, which concerned me. Ella and I concluded our walk. Once she was fed and watered, I slipped out of the house to collect Unleashed Dog. Or at least look for him until I was convinced that he was safely home.

I didn't have to walk far to spot him. He was not alone. It was dark, so the person with the hand around his collar was hard to distinguish. "Is that your dog?" I asked. A very pre-pubescent male voice answered from the dark: "Yes." I asked him if he would like my leash, which I brought to collect his dog. He politely replied "No, thank you." The tone in his young voice said clearly that this was the end of our social encounter.

On the short walk home, I had a chance to inspect an object on the ground that had been of great interest to Ella on our walk. I hurried her away from it because it looked like either a dead animal, or a chocolate covered rabbit. I was half right. It was a small, stuffed rabbit that looked as if it had been dipped into a mud fondue fountain. I picked it up by the ear, which was the only clean area on its little body, and carried it home.

Why? I don't know. I can't tell you. Maybe its the same reason why I rescued a boxelder bug from the sink as I prepared a dish-soap bath for the tar baby rabbit I pulled off the road; or put a yellow-rose corsage into a water-filled vase. Maybe its the same reason I talk to my mail when I take it out of the box...could there actually be a good reason for that?

In many ways, the world just seems to me to be a very fragile place. But now, perhaps, I am just projecting...

Comparing Apples to Apples

To the man who said comparing two similar item is like comparing apples to apples, I issue this challenge: Look around the produce section at today's grocery store. Comparing the different kinds of apples to one another is like comparing apples to oranges!

The stores where I normally do my shopping have a ridiculously large selection of apples - there is the Gala, the Pink Lady, the Rome, the "Java" (which I am still not sure what that means) the Golden Delicious, the Delicious, the Granny Smith, the Braeburn, the Jonagold, the Fuji, the McIntosh and the newest edition - the "Grapple" - which looks like an apple but is said to taste like a grape. Why you would try to make an apple that taste like a grape when you already have something that tastes like a grape, GRAPES, is unbeknownst to me and for the sake of this blog -neither here nor there.

All apples, I know, are NOT created equal, in fact, they have many more differences than similarities: texture, taste, size, color. All they really have in common are the general shape - and yet in this there are many differences. The McIntosh is short and round, for example, while the Delicious is long and oval shaped. Then of course there are all of the organic varieties.

I was once like the "apples to oranges" man. I thought, "Eh, an apple is an apple."

Not so, I now say.

If you replace my McIntosh with ANY OTHER VARIETY (and I do challenge you) I will notice. In my humble opinion, the McIntosh apple is far superior to others. It is sweet, and white fleshed; not too hard, with a very pleasant, smooth texture that is not crumbly or spongy. It is crisp and juicy. Yum. Consider this my official endorsement for the McIntosh apple.

Fighting Illiteracy

This weekend I completed a (free) 12-hour training session to become a tutor in my community. After getting some paperwork filled out and my background check, I will be approved to help the illiterate learn to read. I will also be able to help those who are learning English as a second language learn to read, write and speak. The training session was sponsored by the Minnesota Literacy Council

Creature Comforts

I share my domicile with a hyperactive dog and a small army of boxelder bugs. The most I have ever seen at one time are two, and since I don't kill them, I don't know if each sighting is a new sighting or just the same bug(s) making the rounds.

Ella hates our box elder bug neighbors. She always has. The first time she saw one was at our old apartment. I was asleep and woke to find Ella hovering over me, her ears dangling down and her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall above my head. Behold - box elder bug.

Ella has recently discovered that we have box elder bugs in our new place. For whatever reason, box elder bugs really bother Ella - believe the reason to be because they move. After she spots them moving she flies from wherever she has perched herself to investigate. She sniffs, licks, then stomps. Rarely is this method a successful means of terminating the box elder bug, although it does effectively disable them, temporarily. This appears to be all that Ella wants.

Lucky box elder bugs are rescued (by the sympathetic human in the house) and returned to a safer dwelling place. If they are wise, they will stay away and tell their friends - there is a box elder bug hunting dog in the house!

The Chocolate Chip Cookie Justification

I wanted to eat cheesecake. Not a single piece, but an entire cake. Turtle cheesecake, to be more specific. I was in Wal-Mart buying "sanitary napkins" - standing in line - hating everyone.

If I could find a cheesecake, I knew I could find peace.

I looked at my small basket of items: the generic brand of sanitary napkins, some Jiffy pellets, seeds for African Daisies and Cherry tomatoes, and some foam wedges for make up removal. I dumped my items on the conveyor belt. I proudly displayed the generic brand of "sanitary napkins" so the man behind me could see them.

I hated the man behind me.

He had a few more items than me and he had followed quickly behind me as I chose a checkout line - as if he was determined to figure out which of the shortest lines in the store I was going to choose and how to get in front of me. I wanted him to see my "pads;" yes pads. Because that is what they are. The truth is, I use napkins at a restaurant to wipe food off of my face. I stick "pads" in my underwear during menstruation. They are not interchangeable. But whatever you want to call them, I wanted man-behind-me to see them and know I am a dangerous woman. I had "Super absorbent" pads, which meant I should be as intimidating as a motorcycle babe carrying a crowbar.

I looked him dead in the eye. He gave me the wide-eyed-blissfully-ignorant-man look.

Back off buddy.

Feeling better about instilling the fear of hormones into man, I returned to thoughts of turtle cheesecake. I was confident I could eat a whole cheesecake tonight if the opportunity presented itself. It just so happened I knew a place where I could buy a piece....or two..... but that would be a little indulgent, wouldn't it? But then I wasn't sure it was a matter of "wanting" the cheesecake, as much as it was a matter of needing it. Its rich, chocolate, creamy goodness. Cheesecake. (Confession: I had actually had a sliver with lunch (my boss's treat). But that wasn't turtle cheesecake...)

At last the woman with the scanning device slid my items down the line and rescued me from the ants-in-his-pants man behind me, who undoubtedly had some REALLY important engagement to attend to. He pushed his cart as if to shuffle me down the line.

I glared at him.

The pads were in a bag now, so he was feeling brave. I paid the clerk and cast one more withering glance at the evil man. I wished PMS upon him and walked away.

I then shifted back to more pleasant thoughts....cheesecake.

I couldn't have cheesecake. I knew I couldn't. Not again. Not the same day. Even if I AM PMSing. It was just calorically irresponsible. If I don't lose weight before I go on vacation I at least don't want to GAIN any!

I ended up getting a healthy roasted chicken sandwich at Subway...and two chocolate chip cookies. Hey - at least it wasn't cheesecake!

My Top 10 Most Overrated

In their respective categories, these items & people take the cake for being the most overrated and in some cases most annoying by their ubiquitous-ness.

Kenny Chesney & Rihanna (Most Overrated Singers in their respective musical genres)
No Country For Old Men (Most Overrated Oscar-award winner)
Eli Manning (Most Overrated Athlete)
Paris Hilton (Most Overrated Celebrity)
Vanilla (Most Overrated ice cream flavor)
Stephen King (Most Overrated writer)
Barrack Obama (Most Overrated political figure)
SNL (Most Overrated comedy show)
American Idol (Most Overrated reality TV show)
Lindsey Lohan (Most Overrated actress)

Congratulations. For whatever reason, people perceive all of you to be better than you actually are! Enjoy it.

Will the Real Gil Grissom Please Stand Up?

In the absence of an appreciation for human life and/or a well-calibrated moral compass, the marvels of modern forensic science should definitely be enough to give a would-be "bad guy" a reason to take pause.

Last night, Mechanic Bob and I attended a presentation on one of the practical applications of forensic science: Crime Scene Investigation. Both Mechanic Bob and I got our introduction to "forensic science" in front of our respective boob tubes, watching episode of "CSI." During our careful study of the Hollywood-ified version of crime scene investigations, we saw well-coifed men and women collect evidence, haul it off to a lab, and eventually, "help" catch bad guys.

Whatever our motivation, natural curiosity or a desire to more deeply understand our favorite TV show, Mechanic Bob and I took a trip to the University (and down memory lane for me) to hear a REAL crime scene investigator speak about his craft.

CSI James has been working with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension since 1999. He majored in chemistry, thinking he would like to be a teacher, then eventually decided to pursue his master's. He worked in some labs for a while, then one day saw an ad for a job as a forensic scientist. He applied twice and was rejected twice. Then he attended a seminar presented by a leader of the MBCA and introduced himself. The men had lunch and "Prominent Man" gave CSI James some helpful feedback for his next interview. The rest is history.

CSI James is a specialist in "trace evidence" - that's the teeny, tiny stuff that can't been seen by the naked eye. He also is well studied in a number of other areas.

He said the crime scene teams (of as many as 25 qualified people) collect evidence and take it back to their lab for processing. He said about 100 people work in the lab.

Usually one scientist who is the leader of the team works directly with law enforcement to make sense of whatever happened.

CSIs are an impartial body, he said, whose job is just to analyze the evidence. The lawyers must use the evidence that they find to prove or disprove a case.

Besides learning all kinds of fascinating things (like the MBCA has about 6,000 firearms on file and burn patterns can help CSIs determine the source of a fire) I learned that the TV show isn't all that much like real life CSI - although I think it captures the best parts!

Afterward, Mechanic Bob pointed out that "forensics" is a word that is popping up in a lot of fields: there are "forensic accountants" for example, who investigate fraud and testify in court about their findings; or people who investigate computer hard drives - computer forensic experts.

Mechanic Bob thought perhaps he might be able to bring his own brand of expertise to a crime scene investigation as a "forensic mechanic." I think the position I am best suited for is one I currently hold: armchair forensic scientist.

I Will Surv-hive

My doctor's visit made me none the wiser of my special little splotches. She suggested (prescribed) steroids. Supposedly this 5-day deal will cause the hives to go away. I am looking at my skin now and it appears there are only one or two that are really noticeable. Maybe they are going away on their own...I read that 70 percent of the cases of hives go unsolved....**Hmm**

Mystery Maladies

Sometime Thursday night into Friday morning I developed hives. I am not sure from whence they came. The past three days, two or three doses of generic Benadryl have been keeping them somewhat under control. The side affect, however, is that Benadryl makes me super sleepy. Today is Monday and they are still blotching up my arms and legs, so I made an appointment for 11:40 a.m. to see if the medical community can offer up any explanation for what is going on with my body.

I am grateful that pants and long shirt sleeves are able to keep my splotchy skin under wraps and out of the public eye.