That's Just, Like, Your Opinion, Man

According to the "Which Big Lebowski character are you?" quiz:

Why don't you check it out? Or we cut off your Johnson!

It'll help you pick out your costume for the Louisville Lebowskifest.

BTW, the Problem Was....

The thing that was screwing up my laptop, in case you're wondering, is a little something called "TBPS.exe". Or, as I like to call it, Satan's Little Helper. If you're computer is acting crazy, check out your task manager. If you see it there --- and you will, as it's sucking 200+kb away from your poor, struggling computer --- you must find and remove the tool bar it's associated with. I worked two whole days on it and, with the help of a computer-pro friend, FINALLY managed to rid myself of this terrible plague.

One thing that really helped was a free download called "HijackThis", which had a lot of good information and tools.

So that's that.

Until the next one comes along..........

Yikes!

I waited far too long to take care of my injured toe, and this is the result. I go to the podiatrist tomorrow --- I dread to think what he's going to do. Trust me, this looks much, MUCH worse in person.

How was I injured? Well, it all started when Small Dog escaped, waddling at a snail's pace across our looooong front yard (he's a fattish Chihuahua, remember) and one of our neighbours was driving down our looooong hill, and I panicked at the tragedy that was playing out before my eyes. I made a final, superhuman lunge at the leash, stomping with my clog-clad foot. Alas, the clog slid forward; my foot did not. My great toe took the brunt of the punishment, but the love of my life was saved from becoming road kill.

Now my toe looks like road kill. Yuk. Wish me luck; I'll let you know how it goes.


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Otis Lee Crenshaw is My New Boyfriend

Why, oh why is he so popular in Scotland and so neglected here in the States?? It is not fair. Check him out if you can, it's a pleasant --- albeit extremely strange --- ride.


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Oh, It's All Go Here

Ha ha, that was a pun.

Ok, I talked a little bit about my neighbours' son and our little heart-to-heart about canine constipation in a comment on my friend lavidalisa's blog, but it's part of this story. If you've already read it, you may skip ahead.

Alright. My dog, Che, eats paper. It's a treat for him; after a biscuit, there's nothing he likes better than a subscription card. If we don't watch him carefully, he will unwind and eat half a roll of bath tissue. If I want him to behave, I tempt him with one square of tissue, and he's putty in my hands. Because he sneaks paper between his sanctioned "treats", he is sometimes, well, constipated. To be perfectly frank.

So one afternoon we were in the yard, waiting for Che to do his thing, and I was talking with my neighbours' son, who is a very nice person but a bit of a know-it-all. In the middle of our conversation, Che suddenly began whimpering and very obviously looking at his bottom in a distressed way. Of course my neighbour wanted to know what was happening, so I had to admit that 1) my dog eats paper, b) we somewhat condone this, and 3) it makes him constipated and confused.

"Oh," says my neighbour, "you wanna give him some applesauce. Works like a charm." Very matter of fact.

Oh, well, then. Applesauce it is. How it is he knows this, off the top of his head, I don't think I want to know. But, out of pure desperation, I gave it a try and he's right; it works like a charm. Huh.

Fast forward to this Saturday, which was Che's birthday. We also celebrate Yma's then, because she's a rescue and we're not sure when her real birthday is.

Anyway, I decided to have a little birthday party for the dogs. Invited a couple of people, then realized I should probably get the dogs a little cake or something. You know, festive. So I went 'round to the organic doggy bakery to pick up some favors for the guests' pups back home and a cake or something special for our guys.

Now, if you were going to purchase a little cake or muffin, given the information earlier, what flavour would you choose? Would it be, oh, pumpkin or cheese or liver flavour?

Yeah, that's you.

Me, I went for the applesauce muffins.

Yes, applesauce.

I'll let you just mull that over for a minute....

Well, I'll just close by saying that four days of diarrhea will run you $158 for an 11 pound Chihuahua.

My Computer Has Worms!

But my darling husband fixed them for me (fingers crossed, knock wood). Seems the little effer was glomming all my laptop's strength whenever I started the internet, much like Delilah cutting Samson's wavy golden locks. We still have no idea how it got there, but I have been strictly admonished to STOP DOWNLOADING FROM THE INTERNET!

I'm not gonna argue, since I'm not the one who figured out a) what the problem was and 2) how to fix it.

Anyway, with luck I will be able to post a little more consistently from now on, although --- just as with worms of the canine intestinal variety --- one must be ever vigilant, and anticipate occasional re-occurrence. Let's all keep our fingers crossed.....

Arrrgh! My Pirate Name Be...

Mad Anne Vane

"Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. You tend to blend into the background occasionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way. Arr!"

Get your own pirate name at fidius.org.

Now I'm Really Getting Pissed.

You are NEVER going to believe this, but that post --- the one about the dog? I just lost it again. And I'm not even on my home computer!

I'm giving up for the day, Computer 2 - Quinnbee 0.

Dark Forces are Afoot

Firstly, my computer is shit.

I finally sit down to write my blog, which I haven't been able to do in a week, and the effing thing loses my whole thing. Oddly enough, it was about a dog.

So, I'm going to leave off for today. Tomorrow, I will be getting some software to correct the problems I've been having. Or a really big, solid baseball bat. To correct the problems I've been having.

Yesterday Was a Great Day

First, I woke up with a back ache.

(Stick with me, it's gets better.)

Now, I wouldn't normally broadcast something like that, because I hate to make excuses, but I was so cranky with my friend Jules because of my back pain that I felt I should offer some sort of explanation. So I apologized for my crankiness, blaming my hurt back.

"Wait," she said, "I can't make my massage appointment for today, why don't you take it? I'll have to pay for it anyway..."

What, what, what?! The very day my back is hurt, and someone has a free massage appointment to offer me? I felt that I'd be spitting in the universe's face if I didn't accept.

So I went. And, although it was a new experience (always anxiety-producing for me), it was absolutely amazing! If anyone in Columbus is looking for a wonderful massage therapist, I am delighted to recommend Ardon Smith. Trust me, this guy is magic, and so generous with his time and energy. I can't say enough good things about him.

Now, since this is me we're talking about, here's the funny part. My back was hurting, but the real problem is.....my ass.

My magnificent bottom, it seems, is clenched. This isn't something I'm regularly accused of, but the proof is in the pudding, and my gluteus medius is in knots! Ardon gave me a right working over, and I gotta tell you, I'll take a butt massage over a back massage any day.

So there you have it. The universe is still up to its tricks, my life is still odd and wonderful, all's right with the world.

Bat Boy: The Musical

My friends and I rented a van and drove to Canton, Ohio --- of all places --- to see Bat Boy: The Musical this past Saturday.

Besides being a lot of fun (be sure to stay for Act II, it really is not to be missed), I concur wholeheartedly with my friend Lisa, who said, "I'm just happy I know nine other people who would travel to see this."

Agreed. It's a great feeling to know that --- no matter how odd your tastes might be, no matter how strange your sense of humor --- someone will be there snickering beside you. Takes a little bit of the edge off family holidays, I can tell you, knowing that there's someone a phone call away to make the painful funny again.

Anyway, if you can find a van and nine people with whom to share it, I highly recommend taking a road trip to see Bat Boy. And if it's playing in your town, shame on you if you don't go. The story is nuts, the tunes are catchy, and --- if you're lucky --- you'll be sitting in a roomful of people a lot like you.

M Designs Celtic Heart

I'm working on this one for my friend Jules. But, I am the slowest cross-stitcher in the world! This has been taking me, literally, months. Hopefully, I'll be done before the end of the month.


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To Each His Own, Right?

I was driving home from work the other day, and I noticed this cute guy walking down the street. I don't normally notice guys, but he was so cute I actually checked him out in the rear-view mirror. And then I realized that, empirically, this guy was not good looking. By most definitions, in fact, he would fall somewhere on the continuum between "plain" (at best) and "ugly" (at worst), depending how picky you are.

My husband, it must be said, is a handsome man. This guy on the street would, it is fair to say, have an inferiority complex next to Scott. But --- if I wasn't in love with and married to my husband --- if you put the two of them side by side, I'd probably go for the ugly guy. The truth is, I'm not attracted to my husband because he's tall and good looking, but despite these things.

That's just my type. I only go for guys who look like caricatures, like character actors, like French philosophers. I like a man who looks tired, bone weary, with deep lines in his care-worn face. I always fall for the guy who looks like he needs a hot meal, a soft bed, and someone to hear his confession. Like a torch singer, I need a man who needs a woman to save him from himself.

Scott is none of these things, but when I met him his hair was a little too long and he dazzled me with theoretical physics and jade-green eyes. In other words, I was duped.

Sure, it's all worked out for the best, and my new type is a hyper-intelligent clever-boots with a passion for bluegrass and Brit Pop.

But all you "ugly" guys? I'll still be looking.

Hello from Enlightenment

Actually, not. But I have to say, I did learn a coupla things.

So what did I do for a week without books, television, movies, the internet, or email? Not what I expected, to be honest. I played with my dogs. I sat on the sofa with my husband and listened to the radio. I went shopping for stuff for the house, including more paint chips. I took a nap every single day. I made funny connections between the names of the paint chips. I took a road trip with my girlfriends. I returned stuff I'd bought to the stores. I argued back with a rude service person, and didn't feel all that bad about it. I journaled a LOT, and I did end up doing all those exercises I normally can't find time for.

I have to confess that I did "cheat" a couple of times. I found a video tape of my all-time favorite love story, which I watched, then had to read a couple chapters of the book. (But it's li-tra-choor, so I'm not going to count it.) I also spent an evening sipping tea and browsing decorating magazines for ideas for our bedroom, and I skimmed a hilarious little book about the benefits of hedonism. Since both are about adding beauty and pleasure to one's life, I'm not counting that as cheating, either. And I actually skipped watching two television programs I had planned to see, so it's gotta balance out in the long run.

Suprisingly, I was not bored. I didn't miss the television; I didn't even miss my blog! I realized that, for me, compulsively flipping through seventy channels is waaaay more boring than poking around my house, waiting for water to boil. I realized that I could stay connected with the people who matter without being electronically available twenty-four hours per day. I know, it's shocking, they actually got by without reading a new post from me every single day! Their worlds did not fall apart!!

Neither did mine. And that's a darn good thing to realize, because sometimes I feel responsible for entertaining the world. That's how I "earn my keep", so to speak; being funny and kind and offering help in a crises. But that's really how I keep my distance, if I'm perfectly honest with myself. Having a week's worth of personal time uncluttered by external entertainments forced me to examine a lot of my stuff, and I think it's going to force me to make a few changes.

For starters, I'm going to worry less about "perfection" in these little posts, and have more fun with them. My apologies, in advance, to anyone besides myself who might have expected that. : )

Thanks for missing me, I'm glad to be back!

Heads Up

Well, this is going to be a hell of a week.

As I've mentioned, oh about one hundred times, I am working on The Artist's Way. This week, my task is to avoid reading. Also, no surfing the net, watching television, or --- oh, no --- blogging.

I'll really miss jotting down my little thoughts, browsing on ebay, and spending long evenings with my friend, my confidant, my loooover --- television. But not like I'm gonna miss reading.

I've been reading since I was three, when my older sister, in desperation, taught me that C-A-T = "cat". I thought to myself, "That's easy!" and never looked back. My point is, I am always reading. When I'm between books, I read the cereal boxes. Like that.

Ironically, the sole time in my life that I stopped reading was when I was working in a bookstore. Sort of like when I was working in the restaurant, I stopped eating; I simply could not tolerate the written word outside of work. Apart from that, I've always prided myself on my big brain and my big vocabulary and my voracious reading habits. Hell, I once read two Stephen King novels (the appetizer and salad) and A Fine Balance in one day. And was kind of hungry for more.

So how ya gonna keep them out of the library when they've been to gay Par-ree? I don't know. But the theory, I think, is that by reducing the distraction of other people's creativity I'll be able to concentrate on my own.

Who knows, I might only last a day. I might get so bored I actually do all the exercises for the week. I might sign up for those dance classes. I might do the laundry. (Really! I might even get that bored!)

I might even come up with some good stories for you. Meet me back here in a week and I'll let you know how it went.

I LOVE Cheesy Monster Movies

And they just don't get any cheesier than Skeleton Man, which aired tonite on SciFi. For your reading pleasure, my list of what is wrong --- and oh, so right --- with Skeleton Man.

1. The "skeleton man" of this eponymously titled film is supposed to be the spirit of a cursed Native American, defending the bones of his slain tribe. (Actually, he was the one who slayed them; long story, don't ask, not nearly as entertaining as the goofball stuff that's going on in this movie.) However, nothing --- and I do mean NOTHING --- about this guy is Native American. If anything, he looks more like someone who stepped out of Carnivale in Venice right into the Wild West. Even his bloody horse looks like he's never seen a Native American before.

2. Out of the eight super-special, super-secret-ops operatives on the job, fully FOUR of them are women. Does this seem a little unusual to anyone?

3. While the four men of the team are dressed in layers galore, every single one of the women wears only a tank top.

4. Did I mention that these four women super-soldiers are all specialists? Just like Fox Force Five! (Remember? From Pulp Fiction?) For example, one is a sniper-trainer; one is a...I don't remember, but you get the picture. But despite their "obvious" training and "military" bearing, they still flinch when they run across corpses. (Maybe because those who can't do...teach? I don't know, it's just a thought. Nothing else can explain it.)

5. The ancient Native American dude, who gives them the back story on the cursed spirit? When they do his close-up you can tell that he's, like, thirty-five. They just put a long white wig on him (a cheap long white wig) and painted his eyebrows white. My guess is, he also plays another, younger character, but that's pure conjecture on my part. (But the ancient dude gave me my new favorite lines: "Beans is good." and "Them's Army beans." Priceless.)

6. The army guys somehow felt the need to tell their buddy, who has been run-through with a SPEAR, "Hold on, you'll be okay." Really? 'Cause in that case I want them with me if I'm ever, for example, put through a thresher, or a mangle.

7. Apparently, if you have a spirit-spear it can explode people's heads. Not just poke them and stick there; explode on contact.

8. Poor Michael Rooker, who is desperately strapped for cash if he took this job, was forced to say, "Go! Save yourself!" And, "It's over. It's over...." I kid you not.

And there's more, but I don't want to spoil it for you. Suffice it to say, I'm enjoying the movie immensely. Just probably not how the filmmakers wanted me to.

It's like a FilmFakers script, only better because I get two hours of joy! So a heartfelt thank you, (writer) Frederick Bailey. Thank you, (director) Johnny Martin. My evening was just a little bit brighter, because of you and your vision.

See? I'm not the only one who can't stop watching Skeleton Man....

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Yesterday I Told a Lie

Normally, I don't lie.

I tell the truth because I'm not clever enough to keep my story straight. I don't think it's a nice thing to do, anyway. So I try not to lie.

But.

I lied to a woman at the grocery store. I told her I had children to get better service.

Now, I'm not going to try to justify my actions.

But.

I am going to ask why it's okay for the clerk in the grocery store to waste my time --- the real, childless-by-choice me --- when she wouldn't dream of wasting the time of a woman with children.

Why don't we all just ruminate on that for a while.

Hmmm....

I want to make myself perfectly clear, here. I like parents. I understand that children come with extra responsibilities, etc etc, although one could argue that one chose to have those responsibilites when one decided to have children. (And if you weren't thinking that carefully about it, you didn't think enough.) I am not a mommy-basher.

But.

My time is also valuable. And a trip to a store that I can look at from my front window, for crying out loud, should not take a half-hour. Not when I'm buying diet Coke and lettuce in the middle of the night.

But.

It did. And it would have taken longer if I hadn't appealed to a passing clerk with the tale of my fictional children waiting patiently for me, shivering in the dark, cold parking lot. Because just me --- little ol' lonely, childless-by-choice me --- can wait as long as it takes, because obviously a person without children is foot-loose and fancy-free, galivanting around in the middle of the night for greens and soda pop, headed off to do god knows what, but it probably won't be even remotely related to family values.

And I am not exaggerating when I say that my made-up brood got this lady moving. When it was just me waiting, she was sloooooowly strolling my way, mumbling excuses; when my kids were growing impatient in the car, she literally broke into a trot.

No, you're right, that still doesn't justify telling a lie, I know. Two wrongs don't make a right, and all of that.

But....

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Oh, Yeah, the Universe is Laughing Now

Ok, so I've mentioned that I've been doing The Artist's Way ("Boring Post Today, Kids"). This week I'm supposed to be affirming my desires and keeping on the lookout for serendipity --- happy accidents.

So, during the course of my journaling I realized that my semi-formed wish to take dance classes is a genuine desire that I've been downplaying because I just don't think it's practical right now. I'm afraid classes would be too expensive, given the fact that we're living on my miniscule salary and shouldn't be wasting money on "frivolous" things. And I don't have a partner to take dance classes with, anyway, while my husband is so busy with school.

I've been thinking a lot about this, and finally decided to affirm that I would a) find the money to take the classes and 2) find a partner to go with.

Step one, I actually found a $3 class at a local church! The universe wants me to take dance classes, hurrah! Now, about that partner....

Which the universe, apparently, is only toooo happy to send me.

A person I work with, who is not someone with whom I feel emotionally safe, came into the lunch room yesterday, sits down and asks, right off the bat, where he could take dance lessons in the city.

(Ever see somebody do a really cheesy double take? That was me; throw some synchronicity my way and I'm in the Catskills.)

"Dance lessons?" one of the others enquired. "What kind of dance lessons?"

"Any kind, I just want to get my heart rate up," came the reply. "Anything but ballroom."

"What about salsa?" I asked, casually.

"Yeah," he answered, "but I don't have a partner."

Remember, earlier ("Hey Everybody, This is Ted and Annette Fleming"), when I talked about the universe being a literal thinker? Having a sense of humor? Oh, wait, is that a hearty chuckle I hear?

Why, oh why, Universe? Why didn't I be more specific? Why didn't I spell it out?? Why didn't I specify taking dance lessons I could afford with someone I actually like?? What was I thinking?!

Is this a case where there is a higher lesson to be learned? Does the universe want me to open myself up to this person; could I really risk spending personal time with a person I'm not entirely sure of? I honestly do not know.

Or perhaps I'm just meant to note this synchronicity, this literal-minded answering of my prayers, to realize that the universe is paying attention to my desires.

And, in future, to be a little more clear about what I want.