Everything I Like Causes Cancer

With a bunch of my friends moving to other states (Was it something I said?) and another bunch getting hitched (brown chicken brown cow!) we have all been playing hot potato with furniture these past couple weeks, leaving me to score some beautiful pieces for next to nothing. Behold my latest acquisition, a beautiful Mission dining set that is period-appropriate for my Arts and Crafts home:

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I pulled up behind this SUV on my way home yesterday and for about three seconds I thought their bumper sticker read, "KEEP AUTISM WEIRD".

I was more than non-plussed until I figured it out. And then I wondered if the local community college offers remedial reading classes.

Mmmmmm . . . whiskey with Whiskey.

H, you are one of a kind. You are adorable a doorbell. You are funny and kind and smart and wickedly clever. Your capacity for love is amazingly limitless. I can't imagine a world without you and honestly, I don't want to.

Hey, Glamourpuss! What's your name?

I love you to bits and pieces . . . eentsy tiny bits the size of chip dust at the bottom of a bag. Yeah, that small.

I dedicate this video to you because you take the wheel when I'm seeing double. I know you are reading this at work so honey, I want you to listen to me and do what I say . . . kick off your shoes . . . turn this one up . . . shake out your hair . . . and dance in your chair like no one is watching.

It's your day, screw those morons and dance, girlfriend!

I love you!

My friend Mary brought this to a party and I fell in love - with her and the dish. It's simple to make and has everything you could possibly want: pasta, salty meat, fresh veggies, and cheese. It makes a lot so either serve it at a dinner party or be prepared to eat it for several days. That said, it was still very good as leftovers and there might even have been a midnight raid where I ate it straight out of the fridge. Still delicious.

It's no big secret that I love my city. I do. It's the biggest small town in America and I like it. But today? Well, today I fell a little more in love with it. See, a couple months ago the City opened a new park/art exhibit/playground called Citygarden and I went there today. Holy smokes, is it fantastic. I was amazed by the size of it, how beautiful it was, that there were actually people congregated somewhere downtown on a Saturday, and by the amount of fun everyone was having. Projects like this are supposed to bring communities closer together and this one certainly does.

The other day I published a post and as I did this ad popped up on the right side of my screen:

WTF? Making electricity at home? Does this involve gathering and processing my own urine? Hamsters, a tiny bike and a huge battery? Am I going to have to wear electrodes? Because I get a rash from tape.

• HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY VERY DEAR CORA!!!!!! Sugar, I hope you have the best berfday weekend in the history of mankind. Tell Scope I said hi, assuming the two of you come up for air at any point in time over the weekend. Y'all should go wish her a happy-happy because I said so.


• A while back my friend Leslie and I decided to class our asses up, formed a two-woman Shakespeare Club and bought season tickets to St. Louis Shakespeare. (Special thanks to my pop for the birthday money that bought my tickets!) Tonight is our first foray into classical theater with Merchant of Venice. She just called a minute ago to say she found a gastropub around the corner from the theater called Wm. Shakespeare's. It doesn't get great reviews but we've decided that we just have to go get our English on before the show. I mean, I won't likely be eating kidneys or a meat platter anyway and they can't really screw up fish and chips, can they?


• Speaking of getting your English on, you should also go check out how Girl Interrupted spent last evening. I still giggle thinking about dropping the eff bomb in front of her mom and grandpa from thousands of miles away. Hee, hee!

1. It's Saturday morning and you have many errands and chores to attend to over the course of the weekend. You:

Max (grey tabby): This new chair that giant hairless cat got us is purrrr-fect. Now you won't sit so close to me. You know your ass stinks, right?

I thought about this earlier, figured you'd all make do so didn't say anything, and then finally concluded that this picture is kind of small, meaning it has little room for words.

1. For those of you participating in the "design this Kim Jong Il blog award" contest, or for those of you who want to, you have until midnight Sunday (in my time zone, central) to submit. I'll announce my pick Monday. Or Tuesday. Or when I feel like it. I've loved everything submitted so far so keep it up! Make me laugh, monkeys.

The lovely and talented Lady Who Doesn't Lunch recently tricked me into meeting her for lunch - I should have known! - to accept an award and then slipped me a meme when I wasn't looking. I don't want to talk about waking up, groggy and wishing I could have caught the little man who shit in my mouth while I was out. I don't want to talk about how later I discovered a list of suggested, mandatory topics for my blog. I just don't want to talk about it. OKAY? How's that saying go? "Beware of geeks bearing gifts"? No, that doesn't sound right. Or does it? Anyway, the kiss she left on my forehead was a nice pink that went well with my complexion so I'm telling myself that she was gentle.

Well, we've got a lot of ground to cover so we'd best get to it . . .

Things I'd Bore You With If We Met In Person

Craigslist. Oh, Mary, Mother of Jesus, have I gotten sucked into craigslist. It all started when I was checking it out to sell a couple things - a pampered chef mandolin slicer that was crap and overpriced I got two of as gifts and a cat-litter tub full of monkey poop (great for your garden!) - when I discovered the furniture section. PEOPLE, I CAN SHOP FOR ANTIQUES AND THINGS I WANT FOR THE HOUSE IN MY UNDERWEAR. And it's cheap! When I die, I want my ashes sold on craigslist. Here's what I've gotten so far, for only $65 total, a sum which does not include the value of not having been murdered:

Vintage sewing table and chair, $40.

It even came with old electric scissors in one of the drawers.

And the chair seat flips up for storage.

Mission style chair and ottoman, $25.

Big enough for a girl with a book and a cat or two.

Still needs a home. I foretell a lot of furniture getting moved on Sunday.

Cooking. Ever since the weekend I made a weekend's worth of great meals out of a can of beans and a cucumber, I can't get out of the kitchen. Maybe I should get pregnant and take off my shoes. On second thought, I'll just take off my shoes. Anyway, behold last weekend's super fantastic late Sunday lunch:

Of course I was the one drinking out of Kirk. Duh.

Brined pork chops stuffed with fontina cheese and fresh basil (from my garden) with a mixed-greens salad topped with cucumber and fresh mozzarella with a vinegar/lemon/soy dressing. The dressing made the cheese taste nutty which makes me think I should have added a nut or a seed for some crunch and to amp up that flavor. Either way, it was better than awesomesauce.

The Grapes of Wrath. I cannot believe that in the four years I spent in college-prep English, in the four years I spent earning a degree in Journalism and English, and in the lifetime I've spent as a voracious reader I have never read this book. It is awesome. Beautifully written and poignant and engaging. I get lost every time I open it. I picked it up during the five minutes it took my work computer to restart today. Both times. I'm not very far into it, and outside general themes, I've kept myself in the dark about it so please, I'll cut you if you spoil anything no spoilers.

My garden. I just had a week or two of full bloom and it was spectacular. I took some video of it to post here but the video was too big and I'm too blissfully ignorant to edit it. As soon as things bloom again, I'll try again. I also can't stop planting new things. So many of my friends garden so we swap a lot of stuff and once people know their plants will be safe at your house, they freely give away their cast-offs and overgrowth. This week I added artemesia, lantana, a ton of herbs (sage, thyme, lemon balm, a lemony mint, cilantro, rosemary), some vinca, some begonias, and I moved a Japanese barberry bush. Yes, this is definitely an obsession.

Eating babies. Well, not actually eating-eating them. Let's be clear, I have never eaten a baby. But I can't stop daydreaming about it. I can't sleep and nothing tastes the same anymore. I mean, come on, they just have to be the most juicy, tender thing ever. Right? And they already live on milk. I image they'd be like veal, only better because you wouldn't have the hassle of building a fence or anything. I think a pack-n-play only runs about $50. Even at $100, you're saving some serious scratch.

Things That Will Make Me Mad At You

People who tell you that the person you are trying to reach by telephone is in a meeting so you should call back in an hour. Listen up, lazy asses, if you had the energy to pick up the damn phone and answer it, you've got the wherewithal to take a fucking message. I've made myself clear. Let's not have to discuss this again.

See above. New clip art. Remember? Sheesh, that was only a couple paragraphs ago. Typical Americans.

Whiskeymarie. I know, I know, I know. We're supposedly best blog friends - blog wives, she even said once - and I did love her. I loved our playful banter, with its give and take and hilarity. I loved how meeting her was like meeting a taller, prettier, more awesome version of me, even if she does have man hands. I loved it all and I'm sad to see this love affair friendship end, but this time she went too far. A week or so ago, she started a rumor over at Benny's place that I eat babies. Disgusting. I have never. And I have no fucking clue how she could have concocted such a libelous story. But it didn't end at Benny's. No, she had to go and make up some addle-brained letter from me wherein I supposedly admit this grotesque villainy and that, monkeys, was the straw that broke the juice box. Maybe in time I'll be able to forgive her but I'll never forget.

People who keep teen-aged Chinese contortionists as pets. Now if this isn't the most inhumane thing I've ever heard of, well, I certainly don't know what is. Baby seals? Terrible. Wild birds stuck in an oil spill? Horrific. But we're talking people here, people. If you cut a contortionist, does he not bleed? Does he not FEEL? And yet, there are people, PEOPLE WE THOUGHT WE KNEW, that are keeping these tiny, bendy souls in cages in their basements for their own amusement. It's sick, I tell ya, and I'm going to do something about it. Call the authorities or something. I know! I'll call Geraldo. Wait, is he still alive?

Bugs. They're just icky. Can't stand 'em.

Big portions of this post are fictitious and don't necessarily reflect the upstanding morals of the management or her BBFF. I've never been in her basement so I can't CONFIRM or deny the Chinese teen story but I can assure you that I don't eat babies. Unless you count Sugar Babies because I like those. Mmmmmmm . . . creamy and sweet, like a baby. Oh, crap.

After pulling an all-nighter Saturday night (hello, mr. sun, so upsetting to see you) I woke up a short four minutes before I was supposed to be meeting the gals to celebrate miss ttmac's impending nuptuals with brunch. A harried "fuck! i just woke up!" call bought me some time but I was still showered and dressed - we all wore old bride's maids dresses, as you can see - and out the door in under 30 minutes.

A friend recently gave me one of those "free song" iTunes cards that Starbucks gives out with coffee on Tuesdays. The cards are programmed with one particular song, as opposed to getting a choice, but I love trying new things. Heck, 95% of the time I like their Free Single of the Week and not just because it's free.

As some of you know, I spent a couple days in Chicago this past weekend. To be honest, I spent a day more than I intended but we'll get to that part of the story later. This trip is my annual summer junket to see my MacMurray peeps. You know, the ones who introduced me to burning Christmas trees last year? Yeah, that trip.

(This year the neighbor, Roger, had a new fire-pit toy: a beer launcher. It's a welded metal pyramid with a hole in the top. You put an unopened beer into the hole, upside down, and then set the whole contraption into the firepit. The pressure caused by the heat vaults the can into the air and makes it explode. It was wicked. He also burned a plastic chair for me. I felt bad for the environment until the legs buckled and it got all drippy and Dali-esque. Not surprisingly, the mosquitoes disappeared after we burned it.)

Anyway, I flew Southwest, aka Cattle Call Airlines. On my way up on Friday my boarding pass number was B44 so I was one of the last people to board. As soon as I stepped into the plane I started scanning the seats for an open one next to (or between) skinny, clean people. Right away I spotted a guy sitting on the aisle toward the front who resembled a guy on whom I had a little crush several years back. (It wasn't unrequited but it never went anywhere. The kissing was nice, though.) Intrigued, I pointed to the seat next to him and whispered, "Can I sit there?" He seemed pleased that I asked and nodded emphatically. I mean, c'mon, I'm skinny, clean and cute. Duh.

He started chatting me up as soon as I sat down, asking about the picture on my phone (his was similar), commenting on my breakfast, wanting to know what had made me laugh out loud while I was reading, and expressing regret that the flight was so short, all while looking right into my eyes. His approach was subtle, not at all icky, and I was enjoying it but for some incomprehensible reason I clammed up. I sat there, really enjoying his company, absorbing all the wonderful grown-up attention, but failed to engage. It was like I was 13 years old again. From our conversations I know that he works for a corporation whose headquarters are in a small(ish?) town in Oklahoma with offices in St. Paul, he has a farm with horses, he writes (swoon), and he teaches at an Oklahoma university, but I'm not sure which one. I think he said Oklahoma State but I can't be sure. He grew up in Connecticut and New York and was traveling to see his family out east.

So yeah, I'm a gargantuan dumbass. A cute, succesful man was interested in me and I chose to read and look out the window rather than learning his name. As soon as I got on the ground and realized what I had just done, I texted H and told her about it. I also spent a fair amount of time telling the story over the weekend. Even Cora had to listen to it.

By the way, that woman is an absolute delight and perfect for Eric. They are super cute together and I am thrilled for them both. I still wonder what impression I left as it's a wild weekend and I can be a handful in these situations. Loud. Gregarious. Exuberant. Overbearing. Let's move on with the story before I insult myself further . . .

Come time to go home on Sunday I was ready. The weekend is always a busy one filled with kids and dogs and parties and me moving from one house to another like a nomad in search of greener pastures. I was tired and I'd had enough. It was time for detox and solitude and quiet. Unfortunately, my friend JohnnyB . . . you remember the one? The one who made me miss my flight last year? Yeah, he did it to me again. Only this time there weren't any available seats on the remaining flights to St. Louis.

I'm still not sure what happened, exactly, but I think the first third of the trip to the airport from his house is the same as the route he drives to take his son to his mom's house and he flaked and drove to her house instead of the airport. By the time he realized what he'd done it was too late. He tried to convince me we would still make it but I just knew better. And then we ended up on a highway with more construction than Dubai. We had about 26 miles (or more) left and we were stopped. And it was 5:20. We turned around and I got to spend another night with my friends. Right? Right?

When we got back to the house I got on the phone with Southwest and was making arrangements for a flight the next day. The customer service rep couldn't have been sweeter. At one point she asked me if I missed my flight because I was having fun. With John sitting right next to me I replied, "No. I missed my flight because my friend is a dumbass." Everyone in the group rode his ass all weekend for last year and you know, that story might have died a natural death in ten years or so but this one? Never. He will never hear the end of it. Never ever.

After hearing my story, the nice Southwest lady told me that she was convinced that this happened to me for a reason and that something good was going to come of it. You know where my head went, right? To boys. Specifically, to Oklahoma boy. I spent the rest of the evening daydreaming about running into him in the airport and finally learning his name.

When I got to the airport on Monday - I made it because I insisted that John's wife Laura drive me - I was immediately delayed two hours. With only one chapter left in my library book, I headed to Hudson Booksellers. I took my ole sweet time shopping since I now had two hours to spare and as I was checking out I felt someone walk up to my right. I turned to see who the hell would be so bold as to enter my personal space and there he was: Oklahoma Boy. I almost fell over. He was grinning from ear to ear and said he had seen me out of the corner of his eye and just had to find out how the weekend went.

I couldn't believe my eyes. I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a second. We chatted for a bit about our respective weekends while I finished checking out. I could tell he was on-the-go so spent the whole time mentally screaming at the check-out lady to PULL HER ASS OUT OF THE MOLASSES AND MOVE FASTER, DAMNIT!!!! instead of implementing my plan to obtain a name or other identifying information. Sadly, just as I was poised to make my move, he raised his arm and said, "Gotta run! I'm glad you had fun!" And he was gone. Just like that. Poof! Gone.

With my friend Jeannie coaxing me over the phone, I did what I could to find him again. We decided that it wasn't stalking but rather a scavenger hunt for a human and that any reasonable judge would agree. The bookstore was directly across from Gate B5 and a quick check of the arrival/departure board confirmed that passengers gathering at Gate B5 were headed to St. Louis. Score, right? Not so much. I never did see him again and can't imagine I ever will but the whole experience was a kick. I may not have gotten his name but I still get a rush when I think about looking up and seeing him standing there. Maybe next time I'll act like a grown woman instead of a dork.