Some weekend miscellany and a question

This is my 99th post. Isn't there something I'm supposed to do on the 100th? Or did you guys have a big surprise planned? The champagne really isn't necessary, although I appreciate the thought. But if someone could enlighten me as to the protocol for the 100th, I'd be forever grateful.

I shall await your wisdom.

I feel so dirty

*originally posted March 08

I'm reposting this ostensibly because Lost just came back on, but really because I haven't thawed out from the inauguration yet. I'll be back with a post about the goings on when I can flex my hands again. Until then, revel in my mortification.

I prepared this post in the spirit of revealing something embarrassing, like the post I read about someone having a sex dream involving Bruce Willis and their mother!? Now, after searching for more than an hour, I can't find the post to link it, nor can I remember who wrote it. The curiosity is eating mah brain! Drop me a comment if you know who it was so I can link it, please.


This revelation occurred to me when I last watched LOST. Now I'm a Sayid woman myself. My order of preference, should I ever have the opportunity for a little island lovin' would be Sayid, Sawyer, Jin, Locke (what? The pepaws need love too, poppets), and Jack (total pity fuck, waayy too whiny). Sorry Ben, too creepy, and Hurley, too immature. OMG! Desmond! I can't forget Desmond. Put him after Sawyer (or with Sawyer, hmmmm). But I digress.

Whilst in the midst of lusting after my next husband Sayid, SweetieDarling walks by and with one offhanded remark, tossed carelessly over her shoulder like a grenade into the psyche, shatters her poor mothers' fantasy. She said "Who's that mom? He looks just like The Dude". Oh my dear sweet Jesus on a motorcycle. My son looks just like Naveen Andrews. Right down to the curls, the eyes, the long nails. How did this escape my attention during the years I've been lusting after him? (NAVEEN, lusting after NAVEEN, you sick pups!)
Now what's a woman to do? I have to reconstruct my whole elaborate fantastical island adventure. Poor Sayid will be heartbroken to be cast aside, but he'll understand I'm sure. And hey, Sawyer's not too shabby as a backup. Just let me do a quick check and make sure he doesn't resemble anyone I'm related to.

Can I get a FINALLY?

Christmas flower my ass.

It's all about ME!

I've been interviewed, poppets! I'm really feeling quite important and full of myself. The lovely Jennifer at Spaghetti Harvest was kind enough to relent to my begging to be included and sent me some questions. A funny thing happened on the way to the interview though. Now, we've been commenting on each other's blogs for, oh, about a million years now. I recently joined facebook (as most of you know from my incessant pleas to please be my friend). Well facebook apparently goes into your email account (honestly, I felt a bit violated!) and invites peoples to be your friends. Which is wonderful except for when you don't know those peoples real names, only their blog names. So Jennifer's all "and how do I know you?" and I'm all "Pfft, I have no idea". (I should've been tipped off by the 'pastafarian' religious notation.) But we figured out who we are and lived happily ever after. On to the interview!

1) What is your favourite smell and why?

I have two equally favorite smells. Woodsmoke in the winter and sawdust.

2) If you could live in any other country in the world, where would it be and why?

I answered that one here. It's England and I honestly couldn't tell you why. I have always, for as long as I can remember, wanted to live in the english countryside. Perhaps on the moors, maybe inland, who knows? Should the British wise up and ban me, Scotland will do.

3) What would your focus be if you went into politics?

I would have several. In no particular order:

No one should have to be hungry in a world that produces enough food to feed ALL of it's inhabitants several times over.

No one should have more than they need while others have less. (to excess. I'm mostly referring to the excessively rich and exceedingly poor. We that are comfortably in the middle are safe.)

No one would be punished for who or what they choose to worship.

I could go on and on. I'll stop here before I get all riled up and go out and run for office.


4) What is it that you love the most about yourself?

This one shouldn't be as hard as it is, should it? I have to say my ability to feel for others. I am able to have some sort of empathy for just about anyone or anything.

5) If you were to reincarnate into an animal, which would it be?

Normally, I'd say a dog, since they are my favorites. But I think my personality would be more suited to being a cat. Since they have staffs and all. and don't get bothered by people unless they want to be bothered. Works for me.

Now, if you want to join in on the fun, do the following:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions. I'm giddy with the power of it.

3. You then update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

So come on folks! Who wants to open themselves up to the nosiest, most invasion questions I can think of? Actually, I think I'm going to switch this one up a bit. If you'd like to be interviewed, I'll base my questions on things I've learned about you through reading your blog that I would like you to expound on. I can't wait!

Please send help, the wabbids got me

Poppets!! Oh how I've missed you! Santa brought me a Wii. And the wabbids game and I've been protecting you from their nefarious forces since.

Ever vigilant in my quest to save us all, I've barely dropped the remote for a week. You're quite welcome. I consider it a privilege to serve you. I'm purposefully leaving out the part about the game being for Silas and it being set to "easy" and my still being on the first level. He's also stomped me at bowling.

I hope you had a lovely holiday. We here at Casa de Silence made it through relatively intact, save for a minor skirmish with the plague. While rendered prone with my suffering I finished reading Wally Lamb's lastest doorstop novel. While I found it quite enjoyable as a whole, one thing in particular grated on my nerves. This style of writing? where you ask a question? in the middle of the sentence? and then answer it? Me? I promise I will never everevereverever use it again. Pinky swear. I'm not sure what he was trying to accomplish but it felt forced and out of place in an otherwise extremely well written novel. Thus ends my literary critique of The Hour I First Believed.

In other news, I got an award! I did! My first one. As soon as I figure out what to do with it, or how to get it and pass it on, I'll let you know. I also have an interview to do (I'm so important) and several memes, one of which involves a photo. Where will I find the time? I may even post more than twice this month. If I can drop the wii remote, that is.

Monster

Dis mah bird. He's the coolest bird ever, except when he bites the blood out of me, which is daily. He provides endless hours of entertainment in the form of various utterances. He makes the sound of the phone ringing and then answers it in my voice. He laughs exactly like me. He calls the dogs and whistles, then laughs when they come running, looking all stupid. He will walk across the floor to where I'm sitting and pluck at my shoes until I acknowledge him. When I look at him, he'll hold one leg up and say "wanna get up? Come on". When I pick him up, he'll bite my finger, then yell at me: "No Monster! Bad bird. No biting." Yet I pick him up, every time. He's trained me well.

When we go to the vet, he walks out of his carrier and says "It's ok, I won't hurt you". He curses like a drunk sailor on a week of shore leave too, interspersed with various acclaims to fame such as "Monster, you rock" and "get in the forking cage, you little shit". He whistles the Andy Griffith theme and sings Sweet Child O' Mine. So far, I have two favorite Monster stories.

The first occurred several years ago when I was having work done on the kitchen. During a time of considerable marital strife in our household, the arguments resulted in my calling my husband all sorts of unsavory names after he'd leave the room. The contractor had to walk by Monster's cage several times a day. One morning, several days into the project, the contractor came to me and asked me if I was happy with his work or if he needed to change something. I was puzzled because I had told him several times how pleased I was with the progress of the job. He then asked me why I persisted in calling him names when he left the room. I could not figure out why he thought this. I hadn't called him any names at all. He insisted that he could hear me cursing him when he went into the other room. I put his mind to rest by walking out with him into the other room. When we got in there, we heard, very softly, from the other room, my voice say "that's right, get out of here, you stupid mother f*cker. I don't know why I even keep you around, you dumb shit." Yep. Busted by the bird.

My second favorite is the tummy story. Monster was getting a bit of a tummy on him, as Greys tend to, especially if they eat table scraps. Since Monster rules the roost around here, he gets first pick, then he'll let the dogs have some. Yes, they are terrified of a two pound bird and clear a path when he walks by. When I walk by the cage and Monster is sitting on the playbar on top, I stop and rub his tummy and say, in my best singsong, baby talk, nerve grating voice: "Look at that belly! Just look at that belly! It's a huge, huge belly!" So naturally, Monster was absorbing this phrase. He is the type of bird that has to hear something many times before he repeats it, but once he starts saying it, he never loses it.

Last night Sam was going to the kitchen for a bag of chips a gallon of ice cream and a spoon something or other. He was wearing only boxers and slippers. When he walked by, I heard Monster say "Look at that belly! Just look at that belly!" Best. timing. ever. I love that bird.

Nurse Ratchet can bite my old ass

Silas had an appointment for his physical yesterday. This was an appointment made back in August, that's how far out they book.

The poor thing vomited twice on the way there and I actually considered calling and rescheduling his appointment. Upon further consideration, I realized how silly that would sound. "Hi, my kid's too sick to come to the doctor!". That and the fact that he would be close to six by the time they rescheduled his 5 year appointment.

When we arrive, there is a sign on the door that says because of the increased volume of sick children, expect a delay. Joy! Happiness! More time to stew in the crockpot of viruses that is the waiting room.

We were taken back rather quickly to my surprise. The nurse sends us to the exam room and joins us shortly. She flips through his chart and asks who I am. Um, I'm his mother. She didn't even try to hide her incredulous look! "Oh, you are? " You could just see the fifteen question marks at the end of that question. I affixed her with the laser beams of death and asked "why wouldn't I be?" She had the temerity to look at me and say (with her hand on her hip, no less!) "well, frankly, I thought you were his grandmother". Yes! She did! So I killed her with my bare hands and we left.

I didn't really have a problem with her thinking it (ok, yes, I did) but more with the attitude in which she said it. I am forty one years old, so biologically I could be his grandmother, but she could have at least had the decency to be mortified, apologetic, and offer his appointment free of charge because of her error. Instead she's all "well frankly..."

I was still schooling Miss Thang in the error of her ways when the pediatrician came in. The pediatrician who is the same age as me. The one whose daughter was born six months after Silas. The one who was infuriated that she had just been mistaken for her daughters grandmother and complained to me about it at our last visit. Yeah....her.

I have an idea that even if Miss Thang thinks it, she'll never say it again. Never piss off two old broads with eighty years between them.