Meeting new people

I met a guy today who had been beaten up pretty badly.

"Looks like you've been in a bad fight."

"Yep."

"I guess I can tell who won."

He grinned. "You should've seen the bobcat."

?!

What a week!

This week has been full of sad endings in pop culture.

1. Jon and Kate Gosselin. I cried as I watched Monday night's show where they announced their intention to separate. Later I read a USA Today article that said they'd been separated for two years. What? Does that mean their vow renewal last year in Hawaii was a fraud? Or was Kate being dramatic and meaning they've lived separately metaphorically? I'm so sad for the kids and for them. No one wants to be a statistic. I'm optimistic they will get back together, though. Yes. That's how I am.

2. Ed McMahon. After years of being Johnny Carson's sidekick and hosting his own shows, the man everyone wanted to see on their doorstep holding a big check is no longer with us.

3. Farrah Fawcett. I had a Farrah doll when I was a little girl. Charlie's Angels was totally cool. The Farrah doll beat the high-heeled shoes and tight pants off of Barbie any day.

4. Michael Jackson. When I heard he'd had a heart attack, death never occurred to me. When I learned he died, the news stunned me. I was never a big fan, but I respected his work. I recognize that he changed the face of music. The man was a performer. He was the King of Pop. He never had a childhood and he never lived out of the spotlight. Since he never had it while alive, I hope he finds peace now.

Hummingbirds will not domesticate me

My father has placed hummingbirds' lives in my hands.

He placed a hummingbird feeder in front of Max's playroom window to amuse him. They do. We adults probably enjoy them as much as Max.

The feeder needed more food this morning. So, I made it. I found the recipe online. 4 parts water to 1 part sugar. Boil the water and then add the sugar. I figured even I can make this concoction without burning it.

And I did.

Three times.

No kidding.

After Garrett got up this morning, I told him how enterprising I'd been. Well, he'd been pretty busy, too.

"Was that the stuff in a pot on the stove?"

Was?

How can I get upset that he poured the stuff out when he cleaned the kitchen?

So I made more.

This time, my friend Colleen helped me pour it in the feeder. She's an organic farmer. She knows what she's doing. Five years ago she worked in corporate America. Now she's slaughtering cattle, milking goats, and growing food. She totally knows how to feed birds, right? Well, with my help, we did something wrong because I looked out this afternoon and it was empty. Somehow it leaked out on the ground.

I've made another batch and am waiting for it to cool before attempting to fill it again. Anyone want to place bets on whether those little hummingbirds will get fed?

Zagat for wildlife is not giving me a good score.

Itsy bitsy spider and its evil twin

The other night I nestled into a chair with my favorite blanket. My muscles loosened from a long day. Relaxation was about to be realized.

Then I felt something strange.

It was a tickling sensation in my chest. Was I feeling guilty? Was this my body's way of telling me something?

No.

The tickling sensation moved and I realized it was not in my chest, but on my chest.

Strange, I thought. It feels just like a spider might feel.

I peeked down my shirt and saw that, yes, a spider was indeed creeping across my skin.

Crawling under my shirt.

Crawling under my bra.

One spindly leg at a time.

I leapt off the chair. A crack-whore couldn't have removed her blouse and bra faster. All the while I was wiggling and chanting. "There's a spider on me! There's a spider on me! There's a spider on me!" Silence broke my rant for only a moment while I held my breath to prevent the creepy-crawly from going into my mouth.

I couldn't find the spider in my clothes or on the floor, so I decided it must be in my hair. The chanting and dancing continued. It was like a National Geographic special right in my living room.

Garrett laughed really hard until I curled up in a ball and cried. Then he killed the spider after I found it crawling on the rug.

The other night I'd drowned an identical spider in the bathtub. Garrett walked in while I was chanting "Diediediediediedie."

I think that spider either returned up the water spout or its evil twin got even.

You know you're in eastern Oklahoma when...

...strangers wave at you.

...you can pass cars on your bicycle.

...the "s" in Illinois River is not silent.

...billboards portray Jesus as a Caucasian man with blue or green eyes.

...you can dine out for less than $25--with tip!

...a haircut and blow dry costs $10.

...automobiles are spray painted with designs such as orange and primer camouflage or neon crosses.

... your allergies make you wish you were dead.

...you find an arrowhead in your backyard.

...the view of the lake takes your breath away.

...people say "howdy" and mean it.

Happy Birthday, Barbie!

Barbie is looking great at fifty, don't you think?

Long after my friends had "outgrown" her, I adored her. My friend Katie had an older sister. Together they had created quite a collection of Barbies, clothes, and accessories. When Katie decided she was too big to play with Barbies, I was overjoyed when she passed them along to me. It meant even MORE clothes and glamor!

Check out the history and fun facts about Barbie here.

Paparazzi in space

Whew! I'm relieved.

I'm a closet fan (well, not anymore) of Battlestar Galactica. Like many people, I was hugely perturbed in the first season to see they'd cast Starbuck as a female. (Fans of the original show know that Starbuck was definitely a male.) However, now that we're in the final season, the casting is beginning to make sense. I'm thinking the writers may have done it to be really obvious. After all, if she turns out to be a Cylon (read: MACHINE/arch enemy of humans), it would make a lot of people thwack their heads and say, "Duh, I should have seen that coming."

However, the most important thing to know today is that Max is not a fracking Cyclon. ("Frack" is a popular word on BG.) He is a human. How do I know this? My trusty iPhone has an application designed just for the purpose of identifying human and machine. One simply takes a photo and the app tells you whether the person is a human or not.

Now, that's a handy use of technology that everyone really needs, don't you think?

Happy Square Root Day!

This reason to celebrate only happens a few times in a century. 3-3-09 is today. 3 is the square root of 9. The last time it happened was 2-2-04. The next time will be 4-4-16.

Ah, the joy that is nerdom.

New moms can save your job

The mall was eerie. Few people were shopping. It made the recession that's all over the news when they're not talking about politics feel very real. Workers stood around at kiosks with no one to talk to as they passed by. Some store employees were so accustomed to doing nothing that they didn't offer service when they saw an actual customer. Too bad. Before long I fear many will be out of a job.

Here's a suggestion for anyone working in the retail industry:

If you see a woman pushing a stroller containing a tiny baby, wait on her. Make suggestions. Bring her anything you think might look good on her. She's gone to the trouble of getting out of the house. She will buy something. If you work on commission, this customer is your dream.

Why? Because if that baby is still little, she's aching to get out of her maternity clothes but probably can't get any of her pre-pregnancy clothes over her hips. None of her tops will fit either because things are bigger there, too. She has no idea what her size is. If she doesn't have to look at the sizes--which are so much larger than they were several months ago--and can put on clothes that actually fit and that have a real, not elastic, waist band, she will be happy. Happy women buy stuff.

No one offered to help me, so I didn't buy stuff. One of these days, I'm going back to some of those stores carrying lots of shopping bags like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman so I can say, "Big mistake. Huge."

So, remember...new moms=easy targets.

Getting in the spirit

I took some pictures of Max in his cute Halloween onesie that GLOWS IN THE DARK. He seemed to like it.
A lot.

Even when this happened.
Um, maybe he's not ready to sit up by himself yet.

The first rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club.

I loved the movie. I loved the book even more.

So, when I was looking for address labels at Staples, imagine my surprise when one of the packages caught my eye.

Avery 8293 Matte White High-Visibility Labels for Inkjet Printers shows a sample address:

Tyler Durden
420 Paper St.
Wilmington, DE

If you don't get it, I'm sorry I can't explain. "The first rule of Fight Club is..."

Were you born in a barn?

I'm thrilled that the new television season has arrived. It's great to check out what our DVR has stored up when we get time to watch. Watching the returning shows is like reuniting with old friends.

Yet, these "friends" bring their bad habits. The one that peeves me the most shows up in show after show season after season. There must be a reason for this absurdity. Whether a blizzard is going on outside or someone enters a therapy session, the same annoying thing occurs...

Have you ever noticed peope on tv don't shut doors behind them?

Watch. They don't.

I bet it will drive you crazy, too.

I should know better

I'm about as tough as The Jonas Brothers.

Is that why people want to kick my butt?

My friend Ange likes to share a story of us back in school. After a basketball game when the girls had cleaned the floor with the home team, one of the especially violent and outspoken players from McAlister was a tad miffed. (She talked smack to our girls all night, so I suspect she had anger management issues to begin with.) We were waiting around for the boys to finish up in the locker room so that we could get on the bus and go home. For some reason, she picked Ange--the superstar basketball player--and me--a not-very-tough girl in a cheerleader uniform--to voice her rage. When Ange asked if she was talking to her, the girl made it clear she wanted to kick my butt.

?!

I could dance the fight song, throw some high kicks, and wiggle my spirit fingers, but I was no fighter. Since she had no other motivation for singling me out, she must have known this. This bully simply wanted to fight.

So I did the only thing I could do: I smiled and waved.

Although Ange remembers all the details, I just remember being thankful we had a lot of bleachers between us and that we got on the bus without anyone getting hurt.

Geez. Some people are so touchy. All I did was wave.

Years later, my mother and I were finishing up some last minute details for my wedding. We pulled out of a parking lot onto Northwest Expressway in Oklahoma City when a sporty green car turned and almost rammed into us. Mind you, I was totally in my lane. A bleach blonde with the expensive manicure whizzed by us and flipped me off.

So I did the only thing I could do: I smiled and waved.

I guess she saw me. Immediately, she backed up her car, leapt out of it and pounced on mine. Yes, that's right. She was on my car. Her palms whacked the glass so hard I thought she might break it. I was in shock. Who does this sort of thing? Well, she wasn't through with merely attacking my car. She also attacked me by beating the car to the rhythm of her words: "You stupid white trash b****!"

Really. She did.

I laughed in response. The situation was ridiculous. As she repeated this attack like a mantra, I figured she really didn't have a clue as to what she was doing, so I pulled a serious face and pointed my finger at me and mouthed, "Me? I'm the white trash?" then I pointed at her pounding on my car on one of the busiest streets in Oklahoma City and shook my head at her as if I felt sorry for her--which, for the record, I did. This enraged her even though I'm pretty sure she couldn't hear my tsk,tsk, tsk-ing. My mom tried to get her license plate as she drove away, but I hope the crazy girl learned her lesson--because all I really needed to do was tap my brake and she would have eaten pavement in heavy traffic.

Very dangerous.

So I should have known better yesterday. Max was officially four weeks old, and I officially had severe cabin fever. When Garrett got home, I kissed my hubby and baby before hopping in the car. Running errands had never seemed so decadent.

On the way there I put on my turn signal to switch lanes. A white SUV that was a considerable distance away actually sped up instead of slowing down. Then the driver had the audacity to honk at me as she cut me off. And then we were at a stop light. I flung my hands up and yelled at her. (Yes, I admit this was not appropriate road behavior, but I hadn't been out of the house in days and she was ruining my happy vibe by almost killing me.) Anyway, I yelled, "What? Didn't you see my signal? Was it so hard not to run me over?"

Um. Apparently.

She rolled down the window and flung her hands up in mockery. My first thought was Oh no she didn't. My next was Okay. I deserve it because I behaved just as stupidly as she.

So I did the only thing I could do: I smiled and started laughing.

No waving. I'd learned my lesson.

The back window rolled down and a head popped out giving me a glare. I laughed harder because, really, how ridiculous was it for everyone to be so riled up? Another head popped out to scowl at the crazy lady, and the window rolled down more to reveal the SUV was filled with females with attitude. A group of tough looking men wouldn't have made me think about going elsewhere the way this realization did because everyone knows a group of mean girls are the worst things on the planet. The light couldn't change quickly enough. I grinned and shrugged, hoping they wouldn't smell my fear.

Unfortunately, we all had plans to go to Target. When I realized they thought I was following them--the speeding up and then quick braking clued me in--I veered off to another store first.

What would I have done if I'd met them in the aisle at Target somewhere between Halloween candy and cereal?

Yeah, you're right. I probably would have smiled and waved.

Ew.

Is Peta crazy?

You know you're a parent when...

...you're happy to sleep for four hours at night.
...one of the proudest moments of your day is when your baby sticks his tongue out at you to mimic you doing the same.
...you can easily recite the merits of various diapers.
...you're not sure if your bra has spinach or baby poop on it, and you wear it anyway.
...you can recall stroller manufacturers as easily as those of sports cars.
...the most romantic thing your husband can say is, "No, I'll get the baby. You sleep."