hmph

I am decidedly grouchy this week. It makes for little motivation to blog.

Also...

Hubs dreamed that he had to chase a javelina out of the apartment. And then he saw a squirrel drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels. This is what drinking too much will do to you, boys and girls.

Oh, to be loaded

Hubs and I are spending a cozy Sunday indoors while he nurses his stinger of a hangover from Bryan's 30th birthday party last night. We've been watching a lot of mindless drivel on the TV, including something on VH1 about heiresses and their fabulous lives. It was like a countdown to the most extravagant heiress, and the one who takes the cake spends $1 million on clothes PER YEAR and spent $635,000 to stay in a giant house in the Hamptons for three months over the summer. I asked Hubs, "Why aren't we an heir and an heiress?"
"Because. You need to write a book."
So here I am at the computer. Printing a few dozen old diatribes from my time in Sonora. Perhaps a few gems will be available.

On being human

I was walking past the reception area on my way to the kitchen this morning and caught the receptionist, who was crying, off guard. She explained she'd been reading the news and blamed the resulting tears on being too sentimental. I found it so comforting. I often tear up when reading or watching the news and have always thought myself too sentimental to be in the news business. So many times in the newsroom when some kind of terrible breaking news would hit, the overwhelming majority of reporters exuded more excitement than any kind of sympathy or sadness. That business is sort of dehumanizing that way, I think. You become callous and immune to all the blood and death. Someone else's misfortune suddenly becomes a great page 1 story.

Ah, the easy life

My throat hurt this morning when I woke up, so, knowing I was getting sick, I called in sick to work. My husband called at one point and asked, "So, what's it like doing nothing all day?" And I said, "I like it. I think I want to do this every day."
I'm wandering around the house dressed like a homeless person (the most comfortable clothes are the most hideous, are they not?), eating, watching TV, surfing the net and in general doing nothing productive whatsoever. Quite enjoyable.

So THIS is where I come from

My father was full of other unknown information over the weekend. He'd written a tribute to my grandmother for her 80th birthday and tearfully read it aloud to the room while wearing his cousin's wife's leopard print glasses (he'd forgotten his own reading glasses). Among the things I hadn't known about his childhood: He once almost burned down the woods behind their home and he once shot their new neighbor's dog with a BB gun. Earlier, during dinner, my grandmother explained that her own mother, who raised four boys of her own, told my grandmother after babysitting my father that she'd never met such a hellacious child.

Zombie Driver

Ah, Javelina....

So due to our unhealthy obsession with javelinas, Hubs and I purchased a stuffed javelina toy at a tourist trap in Sedona. Little did we know what a little wanderer Javelina would become. Monday afternoon I came home to find Javelina perched expectantly on the shelf above our toilet. That evening he was hiding under the sheets on my bed and the next morning I caught him snooping in my purse. Since then he's popped up in the refrigerator and just this morning in the drawer where I keep my bras. Hubs has noticed Javelina attempting to log on to his computer, try on his jacket, and sniffing his shoes. This morning Javelina was trying to cuddle up at Hubs' feet, for warmth, but Hubs callously kicked Javelina to the floor. Hubs and I have taken to leaving each other voice messages that go something like this: "Javelina! Javelina! Jaaaaaavvvvveeeeeeleeeeeeennnnaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!!"

The Art of Being Obnoxious

I am sure no normal person could ever stand to live with Hubs and I for any extended period of time (yes, you should start pitying our unborn children now), as we are sort of insane. We do this thing where we will hear a word that somehow strikes our fancy, and then repeat it incessantly for oh, say, 5 months. After we got back from our honeymoon in Maui, there were a couple of things we would say, and which we still occassionally say, in our best male hawaiian inflections. The first is "mahalo." The second is "goddamn haoles." (Haole is Hawaiian slang for irritating white tourist and is pronounced how-lee) We never actually heard anyone say "goddamn haoles," but we certainly imagined they were thinking it.

Since our return from Sedona, we've been saying "javelina," which is actually pronounced hav-a-lee-nuh, and refers to a boar/pig type of animal that is sort of the raccoon of the desert in Arizona. Sometimes we'll just say "javelina." Sometimes we'll say, "What's up, javelina?" or "I love you, javelina." We use the same Hawaiian accent, which seems to work pretty well for this particular word.

Among the Top 5 Reasons to go on Vacation

Every day, someone magically cleans your hotel room while you're out, exploring new things and taking unflattering photos of your S.O. (and vice versa). Coming home to a sink full of dishes and an unmade bed is a bit of a rude awakening.

I'll let this speak for itself

Man Puts Out Fire With Aunt's XL Undies

By RAPHAEL G. SATTER, Associated Press Writer

Wednesday, January 2, 2008


(01-02) 18:37 PST LONDON, United Kingdom (AP) --

From baggy briefs to the ultimate hotpants: A British woman's underwear saved the day by doubling as an emergency fire blanket when her kitchen caught fire. John Marsey and his cousin Darren Lines were frying bread in Jenny Marsey's kitchen in Hartlepool, northeast England, on Sunday when their meal caught fire.

Lines grabbed the nearest thing from a pile of laundry to put it out: his aunt's billowing, powder blue, size XL underpants.

He ran them under the faucet and tossed them onto the flames, successfully smothering the fire, a spokesman for the Cleveland Fire Brigade said, speaking on condition of anonymity in line with department policy.

Lines' swift thinking saved the kitchen — but left his aunt's underwear slightly scorched.

"It could have been a lot worse," she said. "My family could have been in hospital but the knickers saved the day. I'm just grateful to the boys."

The fire official said the general principle of using a large, wet cloth to cover a grease fire was a sound one.

As for using underwear: "Clearly it depends on what size you are — but I don't want to go there."

A telephone conversation

BK:
"What's all that clanking in there? Are you guys in a foundry or something?"