I'll Tell You What it Shwas

When Kelly begins a sentence with "Mama? The thing is…?" we know that something troubling is going to follow. She developed this warning system as she was learning to talk. Mama? The thing is…?" is always spoken as if it were a question, and over the years has been followed with statements that include, but are not limited to:

I need a protractor by 7:30 tomorrow morning (that one has been uttered multiple times).

I forgot to ask you to sign a form. Can you come to school within the next ten minutes?

I was going to give you change from that twenty, but this cute shirt was ON SALE so I had to buy it.

So this morning, five minutes after she'd left for school, the phone rang. It was Kelly, and and as soon as she said "Mama? The thing is…" I rolled myself off the couch and started putting on my shoes. By the time she got to the point and finished with "… I'm in a snowbank," My coat was on and I was waking up The Referee. We both stumbled out to the car in our mismatched hats, mittens and scarves, threw the shovel in the trunk, and were on our way.

Now, "in a snowbank" can mean different things to different people, I suppose, especially when you consider that snowbanks vary in their depth, slope, iciness, and dastardliness. Sometimes you get stuck worse than other times.

Fortunately, Kelly is not hurt, and nobody happened to be out for their morning stroll on that particular piece of sidewalk. Also fortunately, the car seems to be okay. We took it into the dealership for a little checkup, and they didn't find anything bent, spindled, mutilated, or punctured and leaking fluid.

My web host moved my site last weekend, and the new one takes issue with my feed, because its name has spaces and an apostrophe, and now it won't let me upload, so I had to make a new one. If you ordinarily read through a feedreader, just click the little blue rss button over there and subscribe to my new, named-within-the-rules feed, okay?

If you ONLY read the feed and never stop by the website, you'll never even get this message, will you? You'll just assume that I dropped off the face of the earth, or stopped blogging, or sustained a severe injury that prevents me from updating. You'll be worried sick about me, won't you?

Disclosure: I most definitely Photoshopped away the wrinkly bags under my eyes in the first photo. I've come to terms with all my other deformities, but those puppies are the reason God sent me to graphic design school and taught me how to use Photoshop.

In the second photo, my constantly flapping pie hole is yakking on and on and on about "high energy" and "your job to set the tone of the game, right from the beginning, because you're the point guard," because if there is one thing I have learned throughout my years, it's that professional basketball players who grew up in the projects savor the advice they get from flabby, middle-aged suburban housewives. We are the true basketball experts.

Did you guess the event yet? Okay, I will tell you. The Referee and I were the Season Ticketholders of the Game yesterday, and the Wolves-Mavericks game! That meant that we got to watch warm-ups from the bench, see guys getting stretched every which way by the trainers, and have a 10-second conversation with a randomly-assigned basketball player while he was signing a special basketball for us. They announced our names and put us on the giant scoreboard, too, during the time right before the game when nobody is paying attention.

It was really very much fun, even though The Referee said I couldn't ask Sebastian Telfair to sign my boob instead of that weenie ball, and I also was not to mention that I know where he lives or that I know he has a twin brother name Sylvester, whose nickname is Vest, because that could be considered "weird." And also, I'm told that whether or not he got a card from Stephon Marbury (they're cousins) on his last birthday is "none of my bizness."

Oh, and yelling DIRK! really loudly while standing five feet away from Dirk? Frowned upon. Whatever.

Okay, now let's talk about my really bad hair, shall we? Remember that haircut I got in Miami last October? The one that was short in back, longer in front? The one that I thought was really quite stylish and cosmopolitan until I took a glance around the produce aisle at Target and realized that every single suburban mom had the very same one? Yeah. That haircut is a real bitch when you try to grow it out.

After midnight, Sunday night. Rose sends me a text. Jimmy Kimmel has made a video in response to Sarah Silverman's video, "I'm effeing Matt Damon," and it called "I'm effing Ben Affleck." I jump from my chair, rush to the tv, but due to my ineptitude when it come to using the newfangled remote-control TV technology, I find the channel too late.

It's been ten minutes. Why isn't it on Youtube yet? I don't have all night, you know. I have to go to bed!

For the past couple of weeks, there has been half of a five-dollar bill in The Referee's car. I thought this atrocity was caused by the errant money clip he'd been complaining about, but today I got the real story, and I cannot believe he didn't tell me about this, and very loudly.

So…The Referee went to the carwash, and it was the automatic kind of carwash where you can slide your credit card through the little machine, and then the door opens, you drive in, and the washing and drying takes place. Well, on that particular day, the credit card machine would not accept his credit card.

Wanna know why the credit card was not accepted? Because his charging privileges had been suspended. Wanna know why his charging privileges had been suspended? Because the bill hadn't been paid. Wanna know who in our house is supposed to pay the bills? That would be me. Oops.

When the credit card didn't work, he gathered some cash and fed it into the machine. The first five went in okay. Second five was fine. The third five? It must have had machine food residue on it, because the machine sucked it in halfway, then started to chew it. The Referee fought for the fiver, and was able to wrestle half of it away from the hungry machine, but the other two fives had already been digested, evidently. He didn't get them back.

He then pointed his filthy car toward the dry cleaner, where he again attempted to use his credit card. Nope. Sorry, sir; declined. He scraped together the rest of his cash to pay for his dry cleaning.

By then, I had realized the error of my ways, and corrected the situation. We have a credit card and a car lease through the same bank, and since I pay the bills online, sometimes I send money to the wrong place. That happens about three times a year, and some would say that's too often, but The Referee is a patient, patient man.

Anybody who knows me is well aware that my favorite kind of conversation begins, "Hey, I have an extra ticket to…" Whatever it is that requires tickets, I want to go. I especially like it when the next part of the sentence contains the name of a play, preferably a musical, and even more preferably, a high-glitz, big to-do, Broadway spectacular kind of musical. Like, say, My Fair Lady.

That kind of conversation took place this evening, as I was getting ready to go to the Wolves-Spurms game with Wendy. My sister-in-law called to say that, sadly enough, the friends who were going to join them for My Fair Lady were sick. Fortunately, Wendy has 8700 friends, so she easily found somebody to go with her to the basketball game at the last minute. I missed photographing Tim Duncan's tattoos, which is my favorite thing about attending a San Antonio Spurms game, but there will me more opportunities for that, and really, I don't notice any change in the tattoos from game to game, so I don't know why I keep taking more photos.

So, this production of My Fair Lady. I suggest you find out when it's coming to your city, and purchase tickets immediately. It was absolutely wonderful, from the cast and their voices to the amazing sets and lighting. The Alfie Doolittle "Little Bit of Luck" number really stood out. The choreography was traditional, with a healthy helping of STOMP stirred in. They used washboards and tin cups and garbage can lids and other loud garbage-y things, and I wanted to jump out of my seat, it was so good!

The really great news? I get to see it again in a couple weeks, with my regular theater-going pals, Lisa and Tracey and Poop Tooth.

Okay, back to basketball games. The Timberwolves lost by ONE point. Again with the one point! I checked the score at intermission and they were up by two in the 4th, so I had high hopes. Oh, and the Wolves traded the Birthday Candle Blower-Outer today, too, which I guess is okay, because he was sooooooo unhappy playing (or not playing; that was the problem) here that he couldn't even really enjoy defending his title in the slam dunk contest last weekend. Happy trails to you, Gerald Green!

In other basketball news, here is a picture I took at Tuesday's game. During the first quarter, we became aware of the presence of a bootlegger. The bootlegger stood right behind Wendy, in the aisle, for a good five minutes or so. We are not sure why. The bootlegger's seat was in the row behind us and down a few seats, and next to him was one of the few Sixers fans in the arena. Every time the Howl-O-Meter was on, the bootlegger took the opportunity to stand up, bend down, and howl right in the Sixers fan's face. A trash-talking bootlegger at the Target Center. Who'd a thunk it?

-- The U.S. Navy successfully shot down an inoperable spy satellite before it crashed to Earth, the Pentagon confirms.

Now I'm very confused. How does shooting something down keep it from crashing to Earth? Doesn't "shoot it down" mean "make it crash to Earth?"

Oh, goody! Gather 'round, boys and girls! It's time to see what sorts of heinous crimes have been committed in the suburbs of Minneapolis/St. Paul this week!

Theft. A purse was stolen from Major's Sports Bar. The owner reported she hung her purse from a bar stool, left it there all night, and at the end of the night it was missing.

Hmmmm. She left it there ALL NIGHT. On a bar stool. In a bar. ALL NIGHT. And then it was gone. How shocking.

Assault. Police responded to a call from a woman who said there was abuse taking place in the townhouse next to her. She said she could hear a woman yelling for help and it sounded like she was being physically assaulted. Police arrived and investigated the incident. The residents next door said they were excited about the end of the Super Bowl game. No assault took place.

This is why we need immigration laws in Minnesota. We're being overrun with goddam Boston sports fans.

Animal complaint. A person living in the 12700 block of Germane Avenue called police shortly after midnight to report seeing "two very large wolves in the woods next to the mobile home..." The caller thought that perhaps a couple of wolves escaped from the zoo. Officers responded and found no sign of the animals. Police are confident that what the caller saw were actually coyotes.

LOLOL! Remember a couple years ago, when The Referee called me at work, freaking out because there was a wolf in the yard, and it turned out to be a coyote? Good time, good times.

Medical. Around 1:45 a.m., Officer Wayne Criger was contacted by a woman who lives in another city. She said she has heart issues, called the medical clinic and was told to have her husband bring her to the hospital. The woman told Criger that her husband wasn't home, so he suggested that she call 911. The woman said she didn't want to do that, but she wanted Criger to go to her husband's girllfriend's house in Apple Valley and tell her husband to come home. Criger went to the house and delivered the message.

It makes me feel safe knowing that the cops in my community have time to deliver messages to cheating SOBs. I wonder if they'd bring me some Diet Dr. Pepper, Limited Edition Chocolate Cherry pop from Target. I just drank the last one, but it's too cold to go out and get more. I'm going to give 911 a call.

Burglary. Misty Mountain Games North, 2113 N. Burnsville Pkwy., was burglarized. Magic playing cards, value $1,546, and magic card dispensers were stolen.

…or maybe they just *poof!* disappeared! Oooooooh! Ahhhhhh! How did they do that?!

Property damage. Tires were smashed on eight vehicles that were parked at Burnsville High School, 600 E. Hwy. 13.

Oh, those tire smashers, smashing tires with their nice, heavy, blunt objects. What choice to they have, though, if they want to ruin a tire? Smashing is the way to go.

Theft. A woman reported that her daughter stole her credit card to buy pizza for her friends at Metcalf Junior High School, 2250 Diffley Rd.

I wish they published the names of minors. You can bet this little brat's name is Ashli, Brittni, Cherriti, or Kennidi.

Burglary. Someone forcibly entered Sweet Lou's Waffle Bar, 301 S. Division St., and stole keys to the business.

If only I had the keys to that place, I could steal all of Sweet Lou's Waffles. I know (twisting my mustache and peering over the top of my monocle)! I'll break in and pilfer the key, and then the waffles will be MINE! ALL MINE!

Animal complaint. A person in the 6300 block of Oxbow Bend reported a mountain lion chasing a herd of deer.

Lost property. Hertz Corp. reported that a Chevrolet Cobalt valued at $13,000 was missing, and it was not known if it was rented to someone or stolen.

It's hard to keep track of all those cars, I suppose, but you can bet they know exactly how much gas was in it, and if it comes back with less, somebody is going to be paying $7.50 per gallon to replace it. If it was stolen? Way to go on stealing the cheapest car in the world.

Auto theft. A Chevrolet El Camino valued at $25,000 was stolen from an underground garage in the 7400 block of Cahill Road.

An El Camino is worth twenty-five grand? That's about as likely as a herd of deer being chased by a mountain lion driving an El Camino.

Suspicious vehicle. Police were alerted to a suspicious vehicle leaving a business in the 400 block of Water Street early in the morning. An officer located the vehicle, and it was being driven by a newspaper delivery person.

Okay, let's take it down a notch on the Neighborhood Watch enthusiasm, okay Scottie?

Lewd conduct. Someone called police after seeing a person moon someone in another vehicle on Hwy. 7 near County Road 19.

Mooning people is lewd now? That butt offended your sensibilities, did it, caller? Well, register me as a sex offender, then!

Burglary. Coins and an antique beer mug were stolen in a burglary of a house in the 6600 block of Berkshire Lane.

I'll bet that burglar got bonked on the head with a rolling pin when he came home with that haul. You break into a house, and that's the best you can come up with? Choose a better house next time, burglar. Mrs. Burglar can not be happy with that.

Theft. An employee of DHL reported that the company received a shipment of Apple iPhones that are now missing from the warehouse at 1225 Hwy. 169. He said between eight and 20 phones were missing.

Don't get me started on DHL. That's an entire blog post, but anybody who would trust DHL with a shipment of iPhones is retarded. What a terrible, incompetent group of people make up that company. I don't understand how they can survive. Oh, wait! They survive by stealing stuff they're supposed to deliver, maybe?

That's that, children! Looks like no crimes took place in the East Metro or the North, because there aren't any police reports for them this time. I'll keep my eyes peeled, and update you as soon as I hear any crime news.

Today is the 18-month anniversary of the date Kelly and Jimmy started dating. They celebrate the 18th day of every month as if they were celebrating a jubilee. I don't remember doing that when I was a teenager, do you? In fact, I married my teenage boyfriend, and I have no memory whatsoever of beginning to date, or an "official" start time to that. I couldn't even tell you the date we got engaged. Sometime in May is all I remember.

So anyway, last week, Jimmy called me on the phone to consult about his idea for a plan. He said that since Kelly always cooks for him on special occasions, he would like to return the favor, but, uh, he only knows how to cook breakfast, and, uh, since neither of them have school on Monday (today), he wanted to know if Kelly could sleep over Sunday night.

That's what my brain said, but my mouth said, Sure. When she's about 28. If you're married to her. I offered an alternative, though, that he could come over early and make breakfast, then wake Kelly up and surprise her. So that's what he did.

And here are the two of them, Kelly fresh out of bed, enjoying some deliciously healthy fried meat and chicken embryos and carb patties:

Sometimes, you might take your adult daughter, your young nephew, and even younger niece to the Really Good Pet Store in Mankato, the one with the Unusual Animals, for something to do. You might look into a glass cage that has lots of fluffy stuff on the bottom, and you might see lots of wiggling under there, but you can't see the animal itself, and then somebody who works there might say, "I'll show you" when you wonder aloud what it could be. When the lady who works there reaches beneath the fluffy stuff, she might scoop up a couple of these baby dwarf hamsters, and before you know it, your daughter and your 7-year-old niece have fallen in love and selected a pink and purple cage that is called "The Palace" and looks like Cinderella's Castle, if Cinderella's Castle were made out of plastic and had lots of stuff to climb and places to hide.

Today, while I was busily working away at my computer, I was vaguely aware of a phone conversation Kelly was having with Jimmy. OMG! There's this guy and his wife, and they have like, seven kids! And both of them have college degrees, but they refuse to like, get a job because like, the guy says that God has led him to this life of no electricity and like, no running water and like, cement floors and stuff, and now their house is being foreclosed upon and like, that's ka-raaaazy!

Just as I was about to look up to see the ka-raaazy, I got an email from my brother telling me that Dan Blair was on Dr. Phil. Dan Blair used to spend a lot of time at our house, because for a few years, he and Eddie were inseparable. Watching the show, it seems like Dan Blair has gone off the deep end. The fact is that he made that jump many years ago. Dan Blair is the ka-raaazy.

Eddie told me a bunch of interesting stories about Dan Blair this afternoon. I'd forgotten most of them, other than the one about how Dan used to like to jump in the pool from the roof of his house. Dan likes risk. Most of the stories, I probably never knew. I remember liking Dan, because he was Eddie's friend, but for as much time as he spent at our house, I didn't know him well at all. I thought he was really good looking, and that his eyes were especially beautiful, but there was always a weirdness I couldn't identify.

Weirdness isn't a problem, but violence is. Mr. Led-by-God has a mean streak. Dan Blair likes to fight. Sometimes he could get somebody to fight with him, and when he did, he tried to pummel the holy living hell out of his opponent. Dan liked to try to knock people unconscious. He'd get a real sense of satisfaction out of delivering a good beating, and he didn't see anything wrong with this. He's certainly not a man of regrets.

On the show, I thought it odd that he didn't seem to regret any of his failed business decisions, like being a PGA golfer, or breeding tropical fish, or growing mangos (?). It doesn't seem to bother him that his parents and his wife's parents have spent their savings on bailing him out of his irresponsible schemes. He doesn't seem at all concerned that his children, including a two-week-old baby, have no heat in their house. He seems unconcerned about what will happen in a few weeks when he and his family are tossed out of their home. When Dr. Phil grilled him about these things, he just looked sort of blank and uninterested, and mumbled about how God will provide. He has applied for some jobs, but nobody has called him yet.

Eddie said he has seen that unconcerned, blank response, the complete lack of regret. Once time, Eddie drove Dan to court. He had been ticketed for driving his car 100 mph on the way to Wisconsin, where he was late for his skydiving appointment. When the judge laid into him about careless driving, and how many innocent people are killed because people drive like selfish idiots, Dan just sort of shrugged. Eddie was more affected than Dan was.

Another time, Eddie and some friends were in the backyard, probably slugging around and playing hacky-sack like they did for hours at a time, and Dan suddenly roundhouse punched one of the guys, knocking him cold. Eddie and his friends were horrified, of course, but Dan thought it was the greatest thing ever. I think they told Dan to leave, and later, Eddie had a heart-to-heart talk with him. He told him the obvious, that punching people out is not acceptable, and that if he wasn't careful, he was going to lose every one of his friends. Dan was oddly comfortable with this. He said, "So what? I only need one friend, and I'll always have you, right?"

Wrong. They grew apart from this point. The guy was dangerously crazy then, and I'm worried that he's dangerously crazy now.

Dan, I can only hope you googled yourself and are reading this. Something tells me that even though you're destitute, you have access to the Internet, because you need it for all your schemes. If you are reading this, drop me an email. I'd like to help you. I won't give you a single dime, but I will help you find a job. I'll help your wife and children find somewhere to live. I'll help you get a psychological evaluation, because I suspect that you are not mentally healthy. I'll help you find a church you like. I'll find some counseling for Janna, to help her learn how to love you without enabling your craziness and endangering your children. I'll help you enroll your children in school, and I'll help find somebody to watch the little ones so she can work a little, too. There are programs to help, but you absolutely have to work in order to be assisted by them. Really. Get in touch.

If some kind soul would agree to take a look at my jacked-up code and tell me why, oh, why I can't get the stoopid dumb page to align at top left (background-position 0px; 0px in the body tag, right?), I will turn into a genie and grant you one wish, the value not to exceed fifty dollars, the amount of the Visa Check Card I won at the Timberwoles game, which I will mail you immediately. Should you choose to accept this mission, email me or comment or something.

An artistic movie where Suzi and Wendy get an inordinate amount of enjoyment out of stilt guys doing the Souljaboy dance

Okay, as you can see, I have been watching a lot of internet videos lately, and as Kimmy pointed out, it's addictive.

I saw this one last week. I thought it was on Fidget's blog, but when I tried to find it again, it wasn't there. Then yesterday, they were talking about it on CNN. I couldn't hear it, but could read the headlines, and it turns out that Bob Dylan's son made it. So take a look. Whether you are a supporter of Barack Obama or not, just look at it with an artistic eye, not a political one. It's really pretty. I want to make movies like that when I grow up.

I'll write something snarky tomorrow, okay? Cuz I know you like that, baby. Pretend I said that like Jermaine from Flight of the Conchords. It's really funny that way.

Why has nobody introduced me to Flight of the Conchords until now? Isn't it obvious that I would love them, that they are speaking directly to me through their very humorous music? You know they're New Zealand's 4th most popular folk parody duo, right?

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Find this little boy

Update: Never mind. They just found his body. Unbelievable.

This child, Demond Reed, has been missing since Wednesday evening, about 6. I first heard about him on Thursday night's six o'clock news, about 24 hours after he'd disappeared. The story was the third or fourth one from the beginning. I had lots of questions that the 15-second story hadn't answered, and when I googled, I found one tiny news story about him, and no photograph.

Tonight, they debated whether to issue an Amber Alert, and decided against. Initially, police had named one woman as being suspected of taking the child, but now they think somebody else, another acquaintance, has him.

He was staying with relatives in North Minneapolis, having come to Minnesota from Chicago for a visit his incarcerated father. From the StarTribune:

Reed, who is black with a medium complexion and short afro, was last seen wearing SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas. Williams, who also goes by the name "Shawn" is black with dark complexion. She has a tattoo reading "Shawn" on her arm and wears a small stud nose ring. She was last seen wearing a dark rust-red leather jacket, white skull cap, white gloves, white shoes and faded blue jeans.

She is of thin to medium build and is 5 feet 5 to 5 feet 7. Williams has a cousin named Joanne who lives in Minnesota, according to police.

Lots of unanswered questions here, but I'm irritated. No, I'm pissed off, but I'm not sure where exactly to direct my rage. The kidnaper, obviously, but who else? The media? The family? Law enforcement? Society in general? I don't know, but what I DO know is that if a little blond child from Eden Prairie or Apple Valley had gone missing, there would have been an Amber Alert. There would have been photographs plastered everywhere, press conferences, interviews with the child's family, and pleas for the child's safe return.

Why isn't a little guy from Chicago important enough?

Friday, February 8, 2008

Funny vs. not funny

Not funny: finding three babies floating in the river, over the course of several years.

Funny as all hell: Composite images of babies found floating in the river over the course of several years—

river babies

Hey…for the record…I didn't put those those ratings stars there. That's a haloscan thing, and I'm trying to get 'em out of there so I don't appear so needy of your approval. Not that I don't need your approval!

Friday, February 8, 2008

Is this thing on? The Dreamweaver Conversion

Okay. I think I have it all the way converted now. Shall we see? Here comes the upload.

Hey, do you see any weirdness here? In Firefox, I see a little bit of background above the heading image at the top. Anybody else see that? If you do, or if you see any other oddities, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd let me know in the comments, and tell me what browser and operating system you're using, wouldja? THANK YOU! Really, you're a gentleman/gentlewoman and a scholar, as well as just cool beans.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

The part where I tell you there are new pictures

I am very busy with a very lot of work things, but not so busy that I couldn't add a few pictures that Rose took during her maiden voyage to Mardi Gras. Click the first ten over there on the left if you want to see them, along with my usual snarky comments.

I just deleted a big long paragraph about how I'm currently switching from GoLive to Dreamweaver, because it occurred to me that nobody cares. But that's what I'm up to today.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Things I wonder when it's late at night and I'm waiting for software updates to download so I can go to sleep

Do we sneeze in our sleep? Does a sneeze ever wake us up? I don't remember ever having been awakened by a sneeze. I just sneezed 57 times, and it's 1:26 a.m. What if I had been asleep? Would I have sneezed even once?

What is it about dog fighting that is appealing to a druggie kind of culture? Is it the gambling aspect, because there is money to be made, and more money equals more drugs? If so, why not bet on horses, or play poker? How 'bout we leave the puppies alone, and stop taking advantage of their desire to please, huh? Come on, gangsta boy. Take your sweet puppy to the doggy import this afternoon, huh?

What has become of Randy Foye's mom? She dropped him off at school one day when he was about five, and then disappeared. Did she leave on her own? Did a bad guy get her? Every time he takes to the basketball court, I want to wrap him in a blanket and make his childhood all better.

How did my daughters acquire such top-notch, excellent boyfriends? Tonight at dinner, Jimmy ordered asparagus, and Kelly told him it's going to make his pee stink. Who says that? Alex left me a sweet voicemail last night, telling me that Rose just ate fried alligator, and that she loves me. Meanwhile, Rose is kind of whiny about "crowds" and "noise" and "activity" and "humidity." Moms are supposed to think that nobody is good enough for their babies, but I tell you…Rose and Kelly have found excellent boyz, both of 'em. I'm thankful for that.

What the heck is the difference between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama? They seem to have the same answers on all the issues that I think are important. I took some of those candidate quizzes tonight, and oddly enough, republican candidates tended to show up third or fourth in my results sometimes. I think it's because, on the issue of the war in Iraq, I don't favor immediate withdrawal. I think it's too hateful and irresponsible to go in and start a civil war, and then high-tail it outta there without cleaning it up. Hillary and Barack each make the same point about the Iraqis needing to take control, and maybe it isn't possible with US Troops there.

Why, oh, WHY is it so hard to make yourself go to the gym? I swear, working out makes me high. Seriously! I feel absolutely, chemically high when I finish working out. We belong to this unbelievably fabulous health club, so fabulous that they filmed national commercials there, so WHY is it so hard to stick to a routine of showing up there? It's so weird. It's almost like fear. Where does that come from?

Why do I have so much Christmas music in my iTunes, and why did I fall for this iTunes bizness in the first place? Geez! I wish I'd bought a regular ol' MP3 player and downloaded my music from other LEGAL places. It's such a pain now to put music on Sophie's (my most excellent and wonderful seven-year-old niece with my exact music taste and I'm not exaggerating when I say she is an incredibly wonderful human even though she's only seven OH MY HEAVENS HOW I ADORE THAT CHILD) MP3 player. I have to put my music on CDs, then import it onto her player, then rename and sort the songs so they play in order.

What is my cousin Mary Kay up to these days? I'm going to email her right now. I miss her. Be right back.

Okay. The Phoenix football stadium. WHY do they have that mechanism that rolls out the grass so it can get some sun and rain? Uhhhh, wouldn't it be more efficient to just OPEN THE RETRACTABLE ROOF? Good heavens! We in Minneapolis, where we NEED a retractable roof, couldn't fund that, let alone the roll-out grass bizness.

How long does this crap take to download? I paid over $500 bucks for it. Should be instantaneous for that price, right?

Women are supposed to be multitaskers. Why am I so bad at that? Is my brain floating in testosterone or something? I'm much better when I handle one thing at a time. Like a boy.

Why are people raving about Idina Menzel's new CD? I don't think it's that great. Maybe I shouldn't listen to ballads to motivate me on the treadmill.

Honestly! This download is taking forFRICKIN'ever! It's been over an hour. Why?! Interrobang.

Okay, where is my gum? I just got up to urinate, and while urinating, I realized my gum had lost its flavor. I meant to spit it in the trash, but while I was thinking about it, it sploofed out of my mouth. But where did it land? I couldn't find it. Not in my hair, or stuck to my Vikings sweatshirt (okay, The Referee's sweatshirt, but I'm wearing it because I'm cold), or on the bathroom floor, which isn't even all that clean, even though the cleaning lady was here just yesterday, but that's an embarrassing admission/rant for another time.

Why do people with teenagers in their houses have guns? There are SO many stories about teenagers getting hold of their parents' guns and doing dastardly things with them lately. Everybody know that teenager=crazy. Why take the chance? Oh, okay. So the referee owns guns. He keeps them in a safe with NO BULLETS, people! Why? Because we still have a teenager in the house. Teenagers are NUTS. You can't predict what kind of whacky decisions they are going to make, even when they are of the non-messed-up, drug-free, academically-decent, seemingly level-headed sort. And mostly because they have whacked-out friends.

Good heavens! It's. Taking. Forever. For. Adobe. CS3. Premium. To. Download. And I've make a mental commitment to myself to blog for as long as it takes, much to YOUR dismay.

Why is The Referee allergic to dogs? I really want a dog. Just a tiny one, like my granddog, Stanley. I loved when he stayed with us for all of January last year. I didn't used to be a dog lover, but then I worked at Imagine Design (what the heck. I can tell you now that I don't work there anymore, and haven't for a long time), the owners of the place had dogs, and they turned me into a dog lover. I LOVE THOSE GUYS! I've told The Referee that if he dies in a fiery plane crash, or by some other method before I do, the first thing I am going to do is go to the humane society and adopt a dog and name it Steve Nash. I'll call it Nash. That's the best dog name ever.

Email spam: who buys that stuff? Does anybody ever go, OH MY GOSH! WHAT AN OPPORTUNITY! I GET TO TEST A DELL COMPUTER AND THEN KEEP IT! LUCKY ME! or "40+ HAS A CRUSH ON ME? WHO COULD IT BE? I'LL GO AND REGISTER AND MEET THE MATE OF MY DREAMS! Okay, I'll admit—I do. I have sent pajamagrams to many people, and my mom sent me one once, and I loved it! I'm deciding whether or not to link them, because they are WAY overzealous on the email marketing. Okay, whatever. I love the product, so go check out pajamagram.com.

No way! The download just started over again! Acccccckkk!

Just found my gum. Stuck to the crotch of my pink thermal bunny pajamas from the Target clearance rack. Note to self: one point in favor of the modern gine-shaving protocol. Consider for future reference.

What is the appeal of Sondheim? Ugh. My iPod is filled with mostly Broadway musical soundtracks, but OH MY SWEET DISSONANCE how I hate Sondheim. Nails on a chalkboard. I want to see Sweeny Todd, but I can't make myself sit through the stoopid, dumb, grating Sondheim version. Blech. I'd rather inject 40cc of battey acid into my uvula through a heavy-gauge needle.

Ahhh. Download is finished. I'll install tomorrow. Goodnight!

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Don't be a baby, Kevin Garnett

Dear Kevin,

You know I miss you, don't you? I'll never stop. It took at least a dozen games before I could hear Al Jefferson announced in your place before I could hear it without tearing up a little, and even now, it sometimes feels like a kick in the chest and makes me want to cry like a girl.

Last July, when the schedule was announced, I wrote "KG" inside a little heart on the February 8 spot on my calendar. I didn't reschedule any meetings or trips, but I would have, had there been a conflict. I barely remember my own birthday, but February 8 has been imprinted at the accessible part of my brain for 7 months.

So now you're hurt. I'm so sorry about that. You haven't played in a game since you acquired that abdominal injury when the Wolves played in Boston last month, and now your coach tells us that it is unlikely that you will be able to play Friday. I realize that nobody hates that more than you do. I understand that to you, sitting out of a basketball game is like me running out of caulk. It kills you. It kills us too, Kevin. We KG fans want to see you play. At the same time, we understand that sometimes people get hurt and can't play. Them's the breaks.

The word is that you may not even travel with the Celtics when they come to Minneapolis. What is that all about, Kev? I guess it makes some sense, because you don't even sit on the bench with your guys when you're hurt, but instead you watch the game from the locker room. What's that all about? I have to tell you Kevin…that's so weak.

If you are so proud of your team that you yank your jersey and stomp around the court like a gorilla beating your chest after a win, like you did after your team beat the Wolves, then how can you abandon your teammates during the games you don't play? I'm guessing that you find it too depressing, painful, and difficult to be on the bench when you can't jump into the game. I bet that really is hard. But so what, Kevin? So it's hard. It's your JOB to do what you can for your team, whether you can play or not. Isn't it? They're counting on you, and hiding in the locker room? Well, you're acting like a baby when you do that. You're not Da Kid anymore, Kev. You're all grown up, and people are counting on you. STEP UP.

Come to Minnesota on Friday. Please? For me and the other zillions of fans who have loved and supported you for your entire adult life. We want to welcome you back with the loudest standing ovation since you came back from winning the All-Star MVP in 2003. We want to hear you say that you loved your years in 'Sota, that you'll always have a place in your heart for us, your Minnesota fans. We want to say goodbye and wish you well, because we haven't had a chance to do that yet. As heartbreaking as it will be for us, we want to see you sitting on the visitors' bench with your new team, encouraging them.

Come on, Kevin. Put on your big boy pants and come home to tell us goodbye one last time.

Love,

Suzi

Monday, February 4, 2008

It's Business Time

This morning I had a long meeting at the office, and by "the office," I mean Caribou in Shakopee. We kicked it off by watching this on an iPhone.

So, you don't need to ask me whether I like my new job.

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Mardi Groundhog

Tomorrow morning, which is really today because I'm writing after midnight, Rose is going to be cruising down a New Orleans street on a float in a Mardi Gras parade.

Rose, for those of you who just tuned in, is my 21-year-old daughter. Rose's boyfriend is Alex. The two of them met at college. Rose is still in college, and Alex graduated last year, then returned home to Louisiana to go to law school. Rose makes as many trips as possible to New Orleans/Baton Rouge to visit Alex and their sweet little dog, Stanley.

A couple of weeks ago, Rose called me from school, crying. In a dither, really. She had worked herself into a froth over the following:

A) Parades. Rose remembered that she doesn't like parades, and Mardi Gras is all about parades.

B) Skirts. Rose likes to wear skirts, and Alex told her that really, Mardi Gras events are much more casual, and suggested that she'd be more comfortable in jeans.

C) Airboat swamp tours. She wanted to purchase tickets to ride an airboat through a swamp (why???), but tickets are $70 (again, why?).

D) Alex told her to just relax.

E) Alex was making a whole bunch of plans for the two of them, and telling her to relax.

F) The plans involved mostly watching parades and being in a tent, and Alex said relax when Rose bitched about the tent.

My motherly advice went a little something like this:

Relax. Let Alex make the plans. Let Alex show you Mardi Gras. This is his, and he wants to make you a part of it. Bring one skirt and three pairs of jeans. Ride an airboat through a swamp some other time. Relax. Mardi Gras parades are nothing like the Apple Valley Fourth of July parade. Treasure this time, and realize that you are experiencing something really special, Mardi Gras from the perspective of a *Yat. That's something extremely rare, so appreciate the opportunity. Stop needing to control every part of your scheduled day JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER ALWAYS DOES. RELAX!

And then I might have laughed a little, which she did not appreciate, and she screamed into the phone, "YOU SHOULDN'T MARRY SOMEBODY, HAVE KIDS, AND THEN EXPECT THOSE KIDS NOT TO BE LIKE THE PERSON YOU MARRIED!"

And then she relaxed. Once she let go of having to control the schedule, she was able to start looking forward to it again.

I think I might be more excited about it than she is. I just can't wait for the phone pictures to start coming tomorrow! She sent me one a little while ago. It's not very clear, but it's clear enough for me to worry about the weight of all those people being on that deck.

I know what you're thinking. You think I should relax, right? I'll relax. But first I'm going to worry a teeny bit, because I'm the mom.

*A yat is a native New Orleansean. As in, "where y'at?"

Friday, February 1, 2008

Wearing red prevents heart disease

I learned a short time ago that today is National Wear Red Day, a day that we are all supposed to wear red to draw attention to women's heart disease. Oooookay. I don't so much understand that, but Toni Braxton drew my attention to it when she was on The View today, wearing a preposterous dress that said mmm mmm good all over it, because she and heart disease are evidently sponsored by Campbell's. I was working away at the computer and didn't even see the ridiculous dress until she said the word "pericarditis."

Now, I haven't blogged about this, because while it was happening it was just too terrifying and I couldn't stand to think about it, but my brother has pericarditis. The diagnosis didn't come right away, but December 2007 brought a long series of very scary events involving chest pains, severe fatigue, heart racing, weakness, ambulances, emergency rooms, nitroglycerin, EKGs, echocardiograms, doctor appointments, tests for all sorts of maladies (like pulmonary embolism), hand-wringing, worrying, fretting, crying, terrified red-head children, fear of going to sleep, examining the meaning of life, reducing stress, re-prioritizing, and just a general Very Not Fun time. Way to eff up Christmas, Eddie.

Pericarditis is an inflammation of the pericardium, which is a bag that contains the heart. Evidently, viruses can attack the pericardium and wreak all kinds of havoc, causing all the symptoms I listed above, but it's a great diagnosis, because it usually goes away on its own after about a month or so and doesn't leave any physical damage behind. About half of the unlucky shmoes who get it have it return for a second visit within two years, but then it's history after that. Pericarditis can be caused by nasties other than viruses, too, like heart attack, or getting stabbed, or having surgery. Stuff like that.

Hearing Toni Braxton say things like, "I have heart disease" and talk about how she has to really watch her diet sent me into a little miniature panic, because it had been my understanding that pericarditis is NOT heart disease, at least not in the scary, chronic, probably-going-to-die-soon sense. In fact, a doctor told Eddie that he had about a 1 percent chance of having a heart attack in the next five years, which is better odds than most people without pericarditis have, just because he's a healthy guy.

I consulted my colleagues at google, where I earned my medical degree, and it turns out that I was right. As far as prevention, diet has nothing to do with it, unless the pericarditis was caused by heart attack. Not saying it isn't a great idea to eat a healthy diet and get some exercise, but eating an entire pizza while sitting on the couch does not happen to cause pericarditis. I know, because I've tested it.

So thanks a lot Toni Braxton and your jacked-up sense of fashion, for your medical misinformation on National Wear Red Day. You drew my attention to women's heart disease, which is what you set out to do. Good job.

Thanks to WireImage, too. I'd have been more than happy to pay for a non-watermarked version of the photo, if only I had the patience to navigate their maddeningly slow web site.