you lousy mammals

2008-05-07T21:33:00.003-04:00

Highlights, for childrens

Someone's world was rocked by the fact that everybody has a butt. And Spiderman? Spins webs with his butt.

2008-04-28T12:15:00.002-04:00

The rain in Spain

Fellow humans, I am living proof that all it takes is one rainy day to undo a month's work of feeling pretty spiffy! I should just live in a gro-light.

Instead, I live in a place where someone parks lengthwise across three parking spots, one of them being mine! I live in a place with a husband who snores and refuses to get his sleep apnea mask properly fitted to render it comfortable enough to wear and thus stop the snoring. I live in a place with a small child who pitches an unholy fit about sleeping in her special big girl bed, preferring to climb on top of me at 2 AM and 4 AM. I heard tell that at 4 AM, I actually snarled "You and your waking up and you and your snoring! I hate you all!" before jamming a pillow over my head and crying myself back to sleep. Or I don't know what I really did, because I don't remember even saying this. Someone claims I said this. Maybe someone is lying. Maybe someone is delusional due to oxygen deprivation from extreme sleep apnea.

The small child had a fit at the library this morning. Last time she assaulted the sign language bear, and this time she wept 10,000 tears when transparent scarf time ended. I am enjoying a fine cocktail of "Am I horrid parent, or is there something legitimately wrong with her?" This cocktail is a multivitamin and a glass of water and empty promises that someone is going to bring me back lunch soon.

While at the library, I overheard one lump of a woman say "Oh, I never know what to order at Starbucks. Everything on the menu is different." Starbucks should take a memo and introduce a menu with only one thing on it. Or 30 things with the exact same name and constitution. The other lump who was the target of this declaration replied "Lattes! I love lattes! Get a latte!" And then I wept 10,000 tears, and I fell on the ground and kicked my legs in the air until a janitor came and removed me. That exchange, plus the fact that the LOL, MA newspaper, the Lowell Sun (motto: "We never spellcheck, and we call hot dog restaurants gourmet"), reports that a new wine and cheese shop called "Cest wine, Say Cheese" [sic] is opening, causes me to fling myself on the bed like a be-kneesocked school girl and scream "Get me out of this god-forsaken town!" Can't you see that I am destined for bigger things? I'm packing my bag and heading to the bus station right now, like Axl Rose in the "Welcome to the Jungle" video. You'll never take me alive, LOL, MA.

2008-04-17T14:52:00.002-04:00

Is there an awareness pin for this too?

The weather has been delightful for a change, so ybab and I are making the most of it. We were at the park, and a ybab dominated the top of the slide like a 33 inch colossus. Some antsy pantsy older kid scrambled up behind her and started crowding her, and then he started whining and muttering. I was thinking "You little shit," and I looked back at him and saw he was wearing a button that read "I'm not misbehaving. I have autism. Please be understanding." Oh, oops. No arguing with that. But where can I get a helpful button for myself?

"I'm not disdaining you. I'm aloof and avoidant and afraid of you because you seem nice."
"I really don't recognize your face out of context. I would say hello if I realized I knew you."
"Your parenting style makes me uncomfortable. I am not going to talk to you at all."
"Your child is simply horrid. Would you like a paper bag and some rope for that?"

I'm imagining this working more like an L.E.D. belt buckle, I guess.

2008-04-15T11:46:00.002-04:00

Situations

A ybab has learned to say "I don't like it!" this week. Now everything is "I don't like it!" Mr. H speculated that she's just saying it because she can, but I believe that she has been seething for months and has a backlog to work through now that she can express the sentiment properly.

We can't go do our normal crazy crap this week because there is a movie shooting in LOL, MA. There are trailers and giant heaps of equipment and security guards blocking the way to our STUFF. We have to do our STUFF. This is not fair. If we even attempt to do our stuff, we look like the rest of the slack jawed yokels lining the streets hoping to see people half of them never heard of before. I do not wish to bother anyone, but I do wish to get a snack once in a while. Snacks make the world go 'round. And obese, for that matter.

Yesterday I asked a few different yokels in the space of a block what was going on at the place being filmed. I knew exactly what was going on, but I stayed for the Rashomon-like variations. Apparently there are about 72 different people starring in this movie, for starters. Then I asked if the yokels thought there would be any dogs in this movie. Oh, the opinions! This will be less amusing after a few more days of this.

2008-04-10T12:29:00.002-04:00

Busting out all over

It was the first really nice day of Spring yesterday, and ybab and I ventured out for a cup of batshit crazy. We passed by a local bank right after it got robbed. I wouldn't have stopped there anyway because their ATM charges $2. Can you imagine! I go to the one two blocks away. We were just in time for every cop in town converging on the scene and throwing the guy on the ground, depicted by Norman Rockwell here. Ybab tried tripping him first, but he was just too fast.

We watched the prodding for a minute, and then we strolled to the coffee shop, where we ran into one of the cops who helped with the slamming on the ground. His throat was hoarse from running, so he changed up his regular drink and got an iced mocha. Again, can you imagine! He regaled everyone with cop stories, but we had to leave because someone had opinions.

Opinions are a condition shared by the residents of the neighborhood we walked through to get to the playground. They are a giving lot, rolling down their car windows so you can hear their music, fancy free with favorable input on one's physiognomy. I still test well with certain demographics, it seems. Ybab still tests well with drunks, one of whom chucked her under the chin at a stoplight. She bit him, no doubt feeling like she had something to prove after letting a marginally armed robber get away.

At the playground, we made the acquaintance of a woman with two jailhouse tear drop tattoos under her eye. And cell phone dad was there, blissfully unaware that I pulled his toddler out of the street several times while he was busy chirping people. Father who throws a ball at his own son's head on purpose was there too. Father had either poor or exceptional aim and also managed to hit Vomits truly in the temple, knocking my sunglasses askew! At this point, I called Officer Mocha, and he settled the whole thing on the ground. You go to the playground with the army you have.

The moral of this story is that we live in a very good town. You should move here too. I have a condo to sell you.

2008-04-06T21:05:00.003-04:00

My filing technique truly is unstoppable

You do not want to know what I did with three days of naps, one father-supervised walk to feed ducks, and a P-Touch. I feel a deep sense of calm in my soul. A place for everything, and all the other stupid crap shredded and recycled.

I even went through a stack of proxy cards and voted them, generally installing incredibly old rich white men on boards everywhere. Sample additional question: "Some tedious meddling killjoy shareholders feel we should not invest in companies that profit from genocide. The board recommends a vote AGAINST this measure, as we wish to swim unfettered in our money bins." Well, a vote for genocide is OK with m--- whoa, wait a minute, reading messes things up again! I voted against profiting from genocide. So far, I've lost 3% for the year, so genocide can't be that lucrative anyway. Don't worry, the 3% was in retirement accounts, and I'm only 25. Indefinitely. The government is going to have a tough time making me take mandatory disbursements. I have a portrait in the attic I'll use as ID.

OK, I made the 3% back last week. But still. Genocide!

2008-03-27T23:13:00.002-04:00

Conquer existentialism in 72 easy steps

Can you believe I can go to the grocery store without a dissociative episode or panic attack? It was not always so, blogarinos, although that was still not enough to keep me away from the grocery store. Sometimes it's kind of fun when the stuff on the shelf dances. Hell, I've paid for that experience before. But anyway, such vapors are a thing of the past. They took away my fainting couch down at the Hannaford. They also stole my debit card number, but that's another story for another time. I got a new card, and the expiration date is no longer a very lucky 08/08, which was very popular when calling for Chinese takeout, trust me. Oh right. So anyway, to conquer your existentialism, try doing all your errands with a small conscience who yells at you, passersby, and dogs and fire trucks, just in case there are any. Your conscience should also throw things at you, like a grocery list, a pen, a travel magna-doodle, and a bag of organic soup beans. This works wonders for the constitution, if not the complexion. You might also substitute fire juggling if you do not have a conscience. You'll be far too busy and concerned with your own survival to be crazy, at any rate.

The other day the conscience ran right over to that giant plastic car shopping cart, and I grudgingly soaked it in rubbing alcohol and secured her with a well-gnawed rope. A litter of other children saw her riding in splendor and made comment to their mother as to how they wished for a similar experience. MOMMYIWANNACARCARCARCARMOMMMYYYYYYYY. Their mother glared at me and said "No, we can't do that today."

"YAY! DRIVE CAR! FUN! WHEE! BEEP BEEP!" opined the conscience. Her timing is impeccable. The other kids dialed it up to about 12.

I decided to run with it, since other lady glared at me. "Yes, honey, I love you! You are driving! This is so much fun! I love it when you have fun with me at the store! Yay! What does the car say? Who's the best little girl?"

Then I had to leave without all my groceries so I wouldn't come out and find my tires slashed. On the way out, I realized if you go in the other entrance, there are no fucking plastic cars stored on that side. Oh. This is what it's like to have low concerns.

2008-03-20T12:06:00.002-04:00

March madness

It's a good thing I am in good with the powers of the universe because the last few weeks have been bumpy. Emotionally, March is like landing a duct-taped regional jet with a wicked crosswind on the twelve feet of runway Logan Airport can afford. At the end of the twelve feet is the harbor and an LNG tanker, so you see how the stakes are high. November of course stabs me, but March sees me hanging by my feet twitching as the last drops of blood drain away from my head. And then something wondrous occurs from all that oxygen deprivation, and god starts talking to me.

Now, don't get too ruffled. My god is a pretty lowercase kind of ultimate love, a safety net of interconnected interests rather than a personification. I call it god because I simply do not have a better word. This year, god is telling me we're in for a flood, but it will be OK. I kind of preferred three years ago when god told me to take up learning Chinese and buy tickets to Spain, but apparently god is not a fan of the exchange rate now.

Last night, Mr. H took it up on himself to show me many links about horrible things happening to dogs. An artist in Honduras, or possibly Guatemala (all those countries look alike), tied up a manky stray dog in a gallery and instructed gallery patrons not to feed the dog. The dog starved to death over several days. The internet responded to the news with all-caps comments about castration, and the pictures were quite sad. Horrible point about how human are sheep and horrible point about how we walk by starving animals and people in the street on a daily basis and also do nothing. I like to think I would have fed the dog and called the damn police, but I am not sure if the Honduran P.D. would have been all that moved.

Then ol' Mr. H showed me a video of a Marine holding a puppy, and whaddya know, he throws that little fuzzball off a cliff! I live under a rock, and I had not heard of that one. Apparently some people are making the point that the average YouTube looky loo cares not for actual people dying in Iraq (brown or otherwise), but puppies? Do NOT fuck with puppies! I was going to a candle-lit vigil for ending the Iraq war yesterday, but it was sleeting, and I decided not to take a ybab out in that. Oh. ALL-CAPS COMMENT ABOUT PUBLIC FLOGGING.

I was so pissed that now I have to pray for all of these assholes, including Mr. H, who could have kept these things to himself. In fact, I have to pray for the whole damn internet. This is going to take a while. If you need me, I'll be in my cave.

2008-03-04T08:15:00.002-05:00

Make mine a Listo and OJ

Only 17 days until Spring, goldendoodles! And it is with great regret that I only just remembered there is an enormous bottle of high-quality gin (oxymoron?) in the liquor bunker in the kitchen. Where were you in November! No on-the-job accidents since...what time is it now?

Next week I am vacationing in style in a location ten degrees warmer than here. Break out the winsome safari shorts! The Simpsons are going to my parents' house. Oh, come on. It could be worse. I could have a gummy smile or cankles. My parents will feed us for a week, and when ybab gets up at the crack of dawn, I will say "Go find Grandma," and she will gleefully race down the hall. Whether she actually finds Grandma or just ends up rooting around under the kitchen sink is anyone's guess. Grandma is the one without the Mr. Yuck sticker, if that helps. No, Grandma routinely gets up at 4 AM, outfoxing even a ybab. It's what Laura Ingalls Wilder would do. I trust ybab will be intercepted and drilled with flash cards until I awake from my beauty rest.

2008-02-29T08:39:00.003-05:00

Clinging tenaciously to my buttocks

Darlinks, I have had nothing to write. I have been experiencing excellent customer service, and thus reeling in shock. Why, I got a letter from Blue Cross, Blue Shield, and they said "WE WILL NOT PAY! NOOOOOO!" And I said "Surely this is but a minor misunderstanding, for I always operate within policy," and I called and said "Surely this is but a minor misunderstanding," and they put me on hold for 30 seconds while I listened to their selection of "Everbody Have Fun Tonight." Then the representative came back on the line and said "You are absolutely correct! This is our mistake, and we will reprocess the claim on our end. You need do nothing further but prop up your feet and book a massage. Here is my name, direct line, and confirmation number. Have a pleasant day."

So then I died of joy, and I will probably have to call them again about the whopping bill I will receive from my ybab for use of a defibrillator to revive me. Only it was more like a few fridge magnets and a rolling pin that she used, so I am NOT paying for that.

Right now, on this blessed leap day, ybab is feeling poorly. She has come down with some sort of rhinovirus owing to her father placing her in that filth-encrusted plastic racecar shopping cart. Why, did you know, he did not wipe it down with carbolic acid, nor did he steam clean and Simonize her upon returning home? I publicly shame and renounce him!

And double renouncing for even putting her in that hellish chariot in the first place, because now she will accept no substitutes. There is nothing quite like getting a dirty look from an enormous woman (who probably drives an enormous SUV and routinely straddles two lines on the public thoroughfares) because one cannot maneuver past the onions quickly enough for her liking when one is pushing a disease-riddled Sherman tank of infant entertainment. One thinks "My life has come to this." One moves on, stiff upper lip. One gives up and weeps openly as the wheels of the beast get stuck on the freezer case for the sixteenth time. My willowy arms are simply not powerful enough!

2008-02-13T12:02:00.002-05:00

Quagmire no more!

Now, did you think "giggity giggity" or "Iraq" when you read that subject line? I meant Iraq! Read my mind! Then I thought "giggity giggity." Then I had to go check the spelling of "giggity." Then I saw other open browser windows, little magpie that I am, and I had to check Facebook not-Scrabble and stuff like that. It is a wonder I returned here at all. But I thought I would take a few moments of my precious ybab nap time to rejoice in the fact that Congress and Roger Clemens are finally hammering out an exit strategy for the Iraq war! YES! It is about time, don't you think? Jesus H. Jones. That is what they are doing, right? I only get to look at CNN for three seconds every day.

2008-02-08T17:34:00.000-05:00

February: worse than October, November, December, and January?

I think I just came down with scurvy or rickets or something! Aaaaaaaaaah! I hereby declare it St. Croix's Day! I'll be at the airport if you need me, pre-spending my tax bribe that consists of my own money anyway.

2008-02-07T21:36:00.000-05:00

Bubbly hatch

Thank god I found the emergency bottle of champagne! Oh shut up, you have one too.

2008-01-30T22:17:00.001-05:00

People still think they are me

Or am I actually the wrong person? I am not sure anymore. My secret disposable Gmail account keeps getting appropriated by others with similar names, and it's like having a window into arcane and hideous secrets of existence. I live in my own head, first and foremost, and some of my scariest moments as a child involved seeing myself in a mirror and realizing "I am a person! I am three-dimensional! I am ME!" But in my old age, I have realized that it is far worse to be other people.

January 29
Heidi to Alan, Nina, Lisa, me, Eric, Maggie
not sure if you guys have seen this..but i love this audition. I've seen the video many times. haha...
the beginning part made me laugh so hard because Nick does that a lot also.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=HifybwoujTk

January 29
Y. Lisa to Heidi, Alan, Nina, me, Eric, Maggie
Hehe, Alan and I saw that last week on American Idol. They were awesome!

Which part exactly does Nick do all of the time? I'm curious....

January 29
Heidi to Lisa, Alan, Nina, me, Eric, Maggie
the "chicka bow wow" part.

It's from axe deodorant comerical. Of course Nick doesn't do it with such skill.

January 30
Y. Lisa to Heidi, Alan, Nina, me, Eric
Oh, haha...do you chime in with your "ow wow"? Hehe! A duet!

November 14, 2007
Hello [my first name],

I was talking with Louise the other day and she mentioned that you were curious about me and what I looked like.

Jody and I have a Wedding website you are more then welcome to check out. You probably haven't seen Jody in a while either. We have our engagement photo on the site.

http://www.weddingbells.ca

If you can't get it to work just let me know and I can email the photograph.

Take care,

Kate C--

P.S. Louise said she had told you I was of a German background. Actually, my Dad was in the military and I was born in Germany because he was posted there. My family name is actually Old English, the first part Cowper ( should be Cooper, the ancestors couldn't spell) means a barrel maker and Waite means a clearing. We have done some genealogy and we can trace back 14 generations in England, which is kind of cool, though, both sides of my family have been in Canada for several generations.

September 26, 2007
Someone in Australia named Marena requested that someone named Janet forward this along to me!
FW: no 83 [I am itching to read numbers 1 through 82, let me assure you]

"....
While all this was happening Gordon was in South Africa. We always give him a list of stuff to buy there, and he is very good about it. So on 26 July he arrived back, armed with a suitcase filled with drugs: Sudafed, Codis, Bezerol, Rohypnol (stuff we can't buy here), his own medication, and lots more. As he approached Quarantine he noticed a big sign: "Channel 7 is filming 'Border Patrol' today". He almost had a heart attack ? what if they find all those pills and he is filmed on national television for the whole world to see him as a drug dealer! Fortunately he seemed small fry and he shot through without a hitch.
....
We joined John and Carol for an evening of Peruvian singing by one of that country's famous singers. Not my cup of tea. It was a long evening, everything in Spanish (she did not have one word of English) and the music was pretty much the same ? uninteresting and loud. Pity to waste so much time and money and not enjoy the evening.
....
The Ski Saga

Before Gordon knew that he had to go to Chicago, we had planned a trip to the snow fields. (We haven't been for a few years, due to knee ops and such.) We booked our usual Adaminaby cottage and to make it a bit more reasonable, we invited several people to join us. One after another they fell by the wayside, and then Gordon got summoned to Chicago. I was willing to cancel the whole trip but he insisted that I still went. In the end only John (40, unmarried) was still able and keen to go, and then I managed to cajole and bribe Maria and Eric to join us for the weekend. John and I were leaving on the Thursday and coming back the Monday. Then, the day before departure, the owners of the cottage phoned to say the sudden warm weather had the snow melting and did we still want to do it. I consulted John and my children and all of them said they'd still like to go, whether they ski or not. So the trip went ahead. I bought the food, packed the car, made the padkos, locked up the house and when John arrived we were on the road within five minutes. We had a few hitches along the road with wrong directions and ended up driving the last hour in the dark through a kangaroo infested national park on a dirt road. But we got there in the end, had our liquid refreshments and psyched ourselves up for the morrow.

We woke to a rather miserable day, with rain hovering on the mountains tops. John had never ski-ed before and booked in for a lesson straight away. I tried out my ski legs on my own and found that the few years of absence and the increasing years have not been kind to me. In addition, by the time we got to the slopes, it was raining quite hard, also sleeting and snowing at intervals. We were sopping, dripping wet, but determined to persevere. I had about an hour of braving the elements when I decided to take a brief break. I took off my skis, put them in the ski racks that are all over the place and went to the loo. By the time I got back, about 2 minutes later, some low life had nicked my skis!! I was devastated, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. My lift pass, a whopping $70 for the half day, was useless and a waste of all that money. I was not happy. Not at all. After John's lesson (by then he was a wreck ? he is not very fit) we went home, calling in at the ski hire place. They were very kind and I only had to pay TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS instead of $600+ for new skis, and then I had to hire more for the rest of the time. There was a bit of ranting and raving that night, and I still get viciously angry when I think about it.

Maria et al arrived that night, but well after midnight. We had a brief visit together in the morning but John had booked another lesson, so off he and I went, leaving the young ones to amuse themselves. In the end they didn't even attempt to ski and just had a lazy weekend, showing Becky the farm animals and chilling out together.

That night we had a lovely braai outside around a big fire with the Murrumbidgee River flowing a few metres away. By then it had turned cold again and every morning we woke to heavy frost.

Sunday morning we left for the ski fields again, and Maria and family went home. John was getting on quite nicely, but unfortunately my enthusiasm had disappeared and I found it quite a struggle to go to the toilet and everywhere else with my skis glued to my body. There was no way I was leaving them anywhere again. So I had a few runs, a few hard falls, and started wondering if I was not getting too old for the game.

Monday morning we left for home. What a to-do about almost nothing, as far as I'm concerned.

Well, the rest of my letter contains just a few incidental snippets, like

Eventually getting the cleaners in again every fortnight (Gordon: "So I don't have to feel guilty about not helping".)
.... [and then the incidental snippets continued for another 2 pages]
"

Life is a miracle. What a to-do about almost nothing.

2008-01-25T08:58:00.000-05:00

Waiting for dumbo

A child persists in climbing on the dining table, and she listens to me not. I definitely should have gotten a dog. But then again, I couldn't teach a dog to shout "Banzai!" when it jumps off the table. Life is a series of agonizing trade-offs. Fast, good, and cheap? Choose two. I am so cheap that I only chose one.

For example, I attended a condo board meeting last night in order to find out about the status of our association being charged 293k for the mistakes of a real estate developer and an insurance company. And while I gained somewhat valuable information (we're screwed), I had to listen to a woman repeatedly ask "What can the board do to prevent floods?" Everyone's eye drifted to the window, where the river is clearly visible. Yes, what indeed can we do to prevent floods? "Well, did they KNOW this place would flood when they built it?" You mean 100+ years ago, prior to global weather patterns shifting? "Well, what can we DO?" Finally, I yelled "Move!"

Captain Obvious that I am, we are still dragging our feet on putting our place on the market. Various online estimators show an approximately one zillion dollar drop in value. We don't even have an idiotic sub-prime loan! And we can pay our bills, so there's certainly no remedy available. It's just collateral damage. Not looking forward to paying a ton of money for getting out of my apartment. It's actually a perfectly good apartment, especially since we hammered out how to prevent the river from flooding. The trick was to get in good with the beavers, and they will tell the river to stay the course. We just have to dump beaver chow over the scenic walkway railing at various requested locations. Beavers want "Just Tomatoes" dried mango from Whole Foods, though, and that crap is like $5 for a little tub.

That poor woman went on for another fifteen minutes. Another woman brought her dog to the meeting, and the dog finally ate the first woman. This was a relief to all. I think I am going to look into getting a service tiger for just these situations. Maybe the tiger will learn to yell "Banzai!" too.

2008-01-18T09:01:00.001-05:00

What r u into???

I went to the library yesterday, and it seems that the Dewey Decimal Classification had been downgraded to a "fun suggestion." Did I miss a state law? I could not find any of the books I sought. My life is the poorer due to my inability to locate "Let's Sue Ourselves: A Guide to Dissuading Idiot Condo Association Members From Frivolous Lawsuits," "Arson for Profit," "How to Force Your Toddler to Eat," and "So, You Can't Remember What You Used to Enjoy Because You've Been Slogging Through Functional Depression For So Long."

Oh, hell, I just have January! It is related to November in the DSM. I am going to knit the world's longest scarf!

2008-01-11T09:44:00.000-05:00

The CEO is an illiterate cat with a food item on its head

I get emails from Morningstar goading me into affluence, and I see that today ORLY has been upgraded to "consider buying." Great! This will go nicely with my core holdings of OMG, LOL, and WTF.

For the purpose of making that dumb joke, I found out that besides ORLY, only OMG is a real ticker symbol. What? You mean most of my portfolio is imaginary? That much I know is true. But the good news is that I only need to save one million dollars a year in the last three years before I retire in order to reach my retirement savings goal! I am not going to bother saving until then. I am positive I will make enough space bucks then. It will be a breeze. A chilling breeze, from the depths of outer space.

Also, the river is rising abruptly ahead of predictions. My flood insurance does not become active until the 26th. Timing, schmiming.

2008-01-02T22:09:00.000-05:00

Is this stuff a business expense too?

The murderer across the hall further surprised us by heavily dragging in an inflatable rubber boat. When we next went into the hallway, we found a crumpled piece of gauze on the floor outside his door. I wanted to poke it with a stick, but Mr. H reminded me that this could accidentally link me to scores of heinous crimes. Wouldn't that be a pisser? At any rate, I hope he got the full value of his FSA for murderers contributions for 2007. It's so important to keep good records. Did you know rubber gloves and electrical tape are allowed, but not kitty litter? Use it or lose it. I'd refer him to my accountant, but he's already dead, unfortunately.

I recently celebrated a triumph by liberating an old retirement account that had been misappropriated by former employers, halfassedly refunded under supervision of the Department of Labor, and then frozen in time and avoidance for the next five years. I had to track down people who don't enjoy remembering I exist any more than I enjoy the reverse, and it took several months of calls and emails and pleading and wheedling and third party involvement to finally resolve. I got my check in my pasty little paw right before Christmas, and I sent it in to my new evil empire, feeling a sense of great accomplishment and relief. At last, this unpleasant chapter and even more unpleasant paperwork was but a distant memory.

Then I got another check for $1.12. MAYHEM FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE. I should put this in my IRA for zombies.

2007-12-29T13:25:00.000-05:00

The murderer next door

I was out kicking cans around the parking lot the other day when I noticed the serial killer who lives across the hall had a new accessory for his brown serial killer car. I mean, come on, who drives a brown car? No one but a serial killer, right? Dead giveaway, pun intended. So on top of his brown Ford Focus hatchback he had balanced a small personal watercraft. A rowboat. This is a departure from the random pieces of lumber that he usually keeps on his roof rack. He is a perpetual putterer, always working on his makeshift chamber of horrors (MCOH) and no doubt assorted holding shanties in the woods.

Now, it's December. And cold. Water tends to freeze in the cold. But I guess with great fortitude, one could hack a hole in the ice at the edge of a lake and shove off into deeper water. One is already used to hacking things up! The name of the boat is "Wait a Bit," which is a perfect analogy for all that time-biding he must do in selecting his next victim. Or maybe it's a clever nod to dropping weighted bits of a body into the inscrutable deep.

He just finished dragging the boat down the hall to his apartment, which I know because I made Mr. H watch through the peephole. I am afraid to get too close to the murderer, limiting my interactions to passing him in the hall. He's always carrying power tools or bags of orange soda. He eyes my ybab, saying "Oh...what a cute...little girl..." in a hollow tone. I hear loud sawing noises coming from his apartment, and sometimes a tuneless attempt at the scales being played on a recorder, as if a child were just learning. I can only assume he is carefully immuring school children or prostitutes dressed as school children in a corner of his apartment and then dismembering them post-mortem.

From the outside of the building, I have carefully noted that his windows are blacked out with garbage bags, flouting the "white window coverings only" rule of the condo association. I guess they are too scared of him to enforce it! Why wouldn't you decorate with garbage bags if you already have a bulk pack sitting around from wrapping bodies for storage in your chest freezer? It makes economical sense, and it adds a nice panache to your MCOH.

I would like to ask my other neighbors, the ones who dress as Klingons, what they think about all these shenanigans, but come to think of it, I haven't seen them in two months. Not since their "Romulans Suck" dress-up World Series party. You don't think....

2007-12-11T18:09:00.000-05:00

Holiday Gift Guide!!!!!!!

For my Christmas miracle, I am getting the bathroom professionally painted. Our painter looks kind of like Perez Hilton, and it is super tempting to ask if Britney is really preggerz or not!!!!!

WHAT I WANT: someone to READ MY MIND and pick the perfect thing for me, just like I would. Since I am totally proactive, I ordered myself a book from Amazon while I purchased things for my nieces and nephews.

However, I could not read the mind of Amazon.com and know that the 1-click default shipping address is not the same as the default address book address for Stone Age Slow Checkout. "Turn on 1-click," the button said, so I obediently did, and then I 1-clicked a few times, and then I got some emails today to let me know my order was winging its way to my address from two years ago. Oops. I suppose this is all my own fault for not being a proper steward of my address book and being ever mindful of the awesome power of 1-click, but you'd think the 1-click elves might have noticed the address in that profile is different from the one where I have received eleventy jillion other orders. I ask too much, I know.

So I called Amazon and confused poor Nigel in the customer service holding pen. It sounded like it just might be in India. "Well, who lives there now," he asked, when I told him the order was accidentally going to an old address. "Not me, and that is my problem." He was able to re-route things with UPS after thirty agonizing minutes, but for another part of the order, I had to contact that "Amazon Partner."

It turned out the consenting adult partner had shipped it via the regular post. They suggested I return the one going to the wrong address and order a different one. Since I can't return something destined to remain out of my physical custody, I then made a bizarre series of phone calls to the USPS 800 number, my local post office, and the local delivery center. "Oh, you'll need a supervisah, honey." Luckily, I was put through to a saint named Wayne, and Wayne was able to flag the tracking number so it will be rerouted when it scans in to the delivery center. And moreover, he has a close friendship with both the carrier for my former route and the carrier for my current route. He also has friends who live in my building, so he is intimately aware of the location. Bless us all, Tiny Tim! I think I may get the $12 spy pen for my nephew after all. Lead poisoning ahoy! That was certainly worth an hour of my life. I am sending Wayne a bag of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. I will walk it over myself.

WHERE IS MY DINNER?

2007-12-06T13:30:00.000-05:00

May cause inability to LOL

We are sailing the high seas of December here at the Vomitorium. Two-thirds of us were violently ill for a protracted period last week, and one-third of us is on drugs. One-third of us is planning to snitch the drugs from the other third as soon as humanly possible because one-third of us never met pills we did not like! Shiny, shiny, ooh! Like a magpie, one-third of us is.

One-third of us may already have diabeetus!

One cat makes annoying noises under the bed.

One UPS driver once again claims we are not home when we are! We are very much at home. So at home that we wear slippers. We are super relaxed and ready to receive a UPS delivery.

2007-11-28T14:08:00.000-05:00

You're kidding me, right?

Today I was reminded that a jury of my peers is a pitiful bunch. My peers have dry skin, unflattering haircuts, ill-fitting clothes, and scuffed shoes. Naturally, I fit right in, except for all of those things. Only one of my peers is non-white. 33% of my peers are men. 54% of my peers wear glasses. One of my peers did not bother to show up at all. If only I had known this was an option!

We the jury watched a video about jurying, and the presenter was a judge with a Barbara Wawa accent. Perhaps you have seen it? It is a gweat wesponsibility to one's countwy, to be on a juwy. That looks a little more Elmer Fudd when I wead it back in my head, but it was classic Wawa, I assure you. Our spirits were collectively broken, because I was the only person trying not to die of laughter. Suburban jurying is a little different, I found. On my last round, in Roxbury, the video was greeted with catcalls and errant "DAAAAAMN!s" But here, everyone just sat glumly, all Lester Burnham.

Then I took a bathroom break and stood outside the court room glaring in the little window and shaking my fist until everyone settled. Two hours, start to finish. My powers are getting better. Then I felt rejected: why they no want me? Is it my stench? Is it my hideous undereye circles? Is it the foul breath from the vending machine crackers I ate for breakfast? Because? Seriously? 8:30? That is too early.

2007-11-20T16:23:00.000-05:00

Life in these outrageous states

Indignity watch: I receive THREE copies of a really boring promotional magazine from my insurance company, all addressed to the same name. There is no contact information for cancelling this to be found on the magazine, on the Web site, or via their 800 number. I am about to write a letter addressed to Snoopy and hope that works. Also, I have a cold. This is a separate problem.

UPS: I WAS HOME AT 10:24 THIS MORNING. Do not make a fool of me. I thought we were friends!

A few weeks ago at the grocery store, a man nearly knocked me over to get to the dairy case. He pumped his fist, half-whispered "YES!" and reached in and grabbed an egg nog.

2007-11-17T22:32:00.000-05:00

I write Andy Rooney's best stuff

OMG! Target double-charged me for something, and I did not notice. This is what I get for being so super rich that I do not care what things cost. Er, this is what I get for shopping with a Tasmanian devil and blindly clawing at the "AMT OK" button. So I was all bitches, give me back my $40, and we played a round of "Well, where's the item you are returning?" Not returning, there is nothing to return (how EXISTENTIAL). I am keeping the one thing I did want. It is at my house kthx. "Well, why didn't you bring it in?" Why, indeed, when I am keeping it. So they were all "Oh we do not believe you. This is clearly an elaborate ruse to defraud us out of $39.99 so you can go buy crack." At last the sullen millenial or whatever we call college students now allowed that the security guy was back from lunch and could review the tape of the transaction. That $39.99 went right back on my titanium card. You better believe it. YOU KIDS TODAY.

Then I got my new glasses prescription filled, and everyone in the world got 22% less attractive now that I can actually see. Oh no!

I also bought a turtleneck.

I had a surprisingly good experience with Verizon Wireless the other day. I called, someone answered, and changed the thing I wanted changed. How pleasant! And unlike the rest of Verizon. I didn't even have to shout "HUMAN! HUMAN!" at the automated system.

I lost a sippy cup at airport security because it contained water instead of the allowed juice. Oh, the ethical dilemma! I "declared" my cup as suggested, but then when asked what was in it, I ~~forgot to~~ could not tell a lie and admitted it was water. I asked if they could dump the water for me, and they said they could not open containers because a container might contain something hazardous to a screener. Fair enough, but then how on earth can you enforce the juice rule if you never see what's in the cup? If I said "This kerosene jug is juice for my ybab," they would take me at my word? They gave me the option to take my bags, ybab, and the friendly sky cap sherpaing the carseat back through security to empty the cup myself, and I said "Oh no, you keep it! I insist. Look, it has a ladybug on it!" And then they dumped the potentially hazardous material in a trash can six inches away from the screener. Oh well, consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, and there are nothing but big thinkers at the Department of Homeland Security. Also: no one asked to see i.d. for my ybab. Note to evildoers: free pass if you are under 36 inches tall!

MarthaStewart.com ruined my dinner by not seamlessly porting over all my recipe bookmarks after their redesign. I tried making "This page no longer exists. You will be redirected to the home page in ten seconds," and it totally sucked. Mr. H felt I used to maybe put in milk before I put in the oven, but neither of us could really remember. I'd complain about this, but they still provide no discernible way to reach a human. What really gets me is that I bet the Web staff sit around in meetings patting each other on the back about how they have a 100% decrease in Web site complaints. I am going to disconnect my phone and email addresses to achieve the same goal!

I am sure many other taxing things have recently happened to me, and I will be sure to return and recount them in detail as painful as the initial experience. Caring is sharing! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go invest in gold and trip a skateboarder.

2007-11-14T17:33:00.000-05:00

Mr. H and the case of the haunted poor life choice

I pawned jewelry for the first time today, and that was very exciting. I got to fill out a form for the police department and everything. I feel slightly bad that a nice man named Mahmoud is now the proud owner of our CURSE, but oh well! Then I had extraordinary I'm soaking in it parking, and later I came home and found a check in the mailbox. Parking spots and checks are the first delicate spring robins of changing luck. Also, I met two sets of twins at the playground, and I only have ONE CHILD. Luck is as plain as the nose on my face.

Mr. H had an old engagement ring kicking around from when he almost married a nice substitute teacher who would have probably born him triplets. He could have twelve-year-old triplets had he played his cards right! We found this ring stashed in a box when we recently rearranged the house, and I tried it on and felt pure evil wash over me. I believe he purchased it at an ancient tomb in the mall, and no good can come of this. I am going to be so pissed if a ybab starts sleeping and our house immediately sells now that this is out of my space! We had the power all along. Now I have to sell a vintage camera once owned by a Nazi, and we might get to go on vacation. And then I should probably do something about the possessed painting too. Dammit.