%^&# 2009

In all honesty, we had a great year.

I feel like I should be all depressed about some of the stuff that happened in 2009. Maybe it is just that I’m heavily medicated or something, but really I’m pretty happy about the way the year went down.

I made a New Years resolution this year that I wouldn’t eat any doughnuts. This wasn’t so much in an effort to be healthy or lose weight or save money or anything logical like that, it was just that I wanted to make a resolution I could stick to and while brainstorming, I walked by a box of doughnuts and voila—the perfect New Years resolution!

Today holds my last chance to muck up my doughnut resolution and as a result, the cravings are coming in strong today. My mind is simply determined to make failure my destiny, but this year it is going to lose. Ha! Take that, brain! (Mmmm...doughnuts...only 15 more hours…)

Moving on to 2010 (I’m so excited to say twenty ten instead of twoooothoouuusssannndddddwhatever, we'll save so much time). Craig decided to join in with me in my—pick-an-attainable-and-somewhat-ridiculous-resolution—idea this year.

We had decided on not going to any movies at the movie theatre in 2010, but then we watched the Alice and Wonderland trailer and lost confidence in that plan. In light of that, right now, our resolution is pending, but I’ll be sure to keep you posted as soon as we are enlightened. I know, you’re waiting on pins and needles, right?

Christmas Spirit

As we don’t have a tree up this year and the economy has kind of crunched our purchasing activities we have had a really tough time getting into the “Christmas spirit”.

I tried several things—listening to and performing Christmas music, making cookies, drinking lots of Abuelita, and incorporating winter smells into our house, but nothing really worked.

Then the following happened:

1) The ladies in my performing group invited me to participate in the gift exchange that I had bailed out of due to the aforementioned crunched purchasing activities.

2) Went to a Christmas party.

3) Then the big one—three of my co-workers, acquainted with the lack of Christmas décor in my house (due to it being staged), brought me a wonderful little silver tinsel tree and tiny colorful bulbs. Serious turning point.

4) Went to another Christmas party.

5) I worked on some gifts.

6) My grandpa (who had fallen down the stairs and broken his neck and spent 3 weeks in the ICU, 3 weeks in a long term acute center, and 4 weeks in a care center) went home!!

7) My brother (who I didn’t think was coming home for Christmas) will be home next Wednesday!

I guess the biggest thing I’ve learned is that the Christmas spirit seems to be a lot more about having people who care about you than I ever really understood before. Also, having the little tinsel tree on my desk really helps, but probably half of what makes me so happy about that is the fact that there were three people in my office who cared enough about me that they spent the time/money to bring me Christmas joy. I hope I never forget how I felt when they came up behind me and sang “We wish you a Merry Christmas” and I saw the tree. If I can remember that, then I’ll always be able to feel the Christmas spirit.

P.S. I’m entitled to write two cheesy posts devoid of cynicism twice per year. This is one.

Green Eggs--no seriously!

I always thought Dr. Seuss was just being goofy when he asked if “you like green eggs and ham” but did you know that some chickens really do lay green eggs?

Check it out!!

I love to eat farm fresh eggs but they are so astonishingly expensive at the grocery store. Turns out that one of Craig’s scouts raises chickens and sells the eggs for $2 per dozen. Totally worth it and totally green (pun intended).

Of all of the blogs on my daily blog roll, I think ours is about the only one who hasn’t posted anything about a Christmas tree or decorations.

Truth is that we’re trying to sell our house and it is staged which means that we’ve completely removed every ounce of personality from our house (except for our cat) and it has become Pottery Barn central—gag. Yes, I gag, because it looks nothing like “us” but actually it looks awesome. For some reason the decorator was not a fan of our Cosmo Kramer portrait or the large empty frame on our living room wall, or our Dia de los Muertos dolls…or even our piano for that matter, but I won on the piano.

Our house has its very own URL for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy.  

Art.

I’m a perfectionist (stupid 1st child syndrome). When I was in 2nd grade, we had an assignment in art class. I don’t exactly remember the specifics other than we were (as I understood it) supposed to find a picture in a magazine and then paint this picture (as best we could). I wasn’t exactly an artistic kid, but I did my best on the assignment and was pretty happy with the finished product. I showed it to my art teacher and she said “that wasn’t really what I had in mind”. I think I cried and then decided that I was not artistic and that was the end of my career as an artist.

About 6 months ago, I decided that it was about time I got over being offended by my 2nd grade art teacher and I was going to learn to be artistic. The internet is full of people who produce such amazing, peaceful, inspiring things and they have me enchanted. Unfortunately this doesn’t seem to be the kind of skill you can just decide to develop and voila, you’re an artist. I’ve been trying really hard, but I’m not sure that I’m progressing. (See my fully developed art skills here.)

One of the things I love about my husband it that he is such a “guy”. Between the two of us, we couldn’t paint our way through a halogen lit tunnel. The colors would clash, the figures would be unidentifiable, and we’d both sit down halfway through and decide that it was a stupid project and we should go eat pizza or something.

My mother-in-law made me a shirt for my birthday. This was really sweet of her and I wanted Craig to take a picture of me in the shirt so I could send a thank you card and she could see how well she estimated my size (I was pretty impressed). Craig and I had the following conversation yesterday morning.

Maryn: Will you please take a picture of me in this shirt?
Craig: Why?
Maryn: So I can send your mom a thank you card.
Craig: Oh, that’s nice of you. (He is so sweet.) (Retrieves the camera.) Smile.
Maryn: No, not in here, I want the picture to be more artistic.
Craig: okay, what do you mean?
Maryn: I dunno, you know how people have pretty pictures on their blogs? I need pretty stuff in the picture or something.
Craig: You’re pretty. (Aww, he is so sweet)
Maryn: I think I need to be holding something.
Craig: Okay, hold this Coke.
Maryn: Laughs. Okay, fine.

So, this was the picture we ended up taking. Craig did a great job—especially considering that a) he’s a boy and b) he has no idea what it is I’m asking him to produce something that is only defined in my own head.

I’m convinced that I need the following before I’ll be able to create an artistic photograph. 1) a 12.1 megapixel camera, 2) a Mac, 3) Photoshop, 4) an interior designer, 5) a chest full of vintage knitted pieces, 6) rainboots, 7) a personal trainer and 8) a weekly manicure. Alright 2nd grade art teacher, it is almost Christmas time. Pony up. *

*I feel really awkward joking about my 2nd grade art teacher since she died in a car accident. I’m not really trying to blame her for anything, I’m just screwing around like I always do. It is actually all my mom’s fault. :-)

Cruise Report

I try to keep this blog from being a) all about my cats and b) a photo journal. I wanted to write about our cruise though, so you’re gonna have to put up with a little photo journaling and next week you’re gonna have to hear about my cat (and yes, I know that gonna isn’t a word).

Our cruise started with a lovely bus ride to the port which I always love because it gives you a good overview of the port city. With a degree in urban planning, I like to pretend that I know a little about city development, suburbs, etc and I like to watch these things go by.

Since I live in a city with no big breathtaking bridges, I am obsessed with them and took about 20 pictures of this bridge. (Craig totally made fun of me.) I’ll just post the one which includes both the bridge and the cruise ship.

Here we are being cute in Cabo.

Cabo San Lucas was a beautiful port. We went scuba diving right next to the ship and the dive ship was outfitted with all of the gear so there was no long boat ride to the dive shop or to the dive site. Freaking awesome! There were sea turtles, hunting seals, a wrecked ship (still think that was orchestrated by the dive company), dolphins jumping in the ocean (that was in the morning before we got to Cabo, not while we were diving), and all of the pretty fish.

I loved Mazatlan because we went downtown instead of the tourist strip. I don’t think that Craig was too crazy about it, but I am a nut for culture and for old stuff, so I had one hell of a time looking at the old cathedral and shopping in the real deal Mexican grocery store. We also got to ride in one of these sweet little VW golf cart taxi cab things. I’m totally asking for one for Christmas. :-)

We decided to do a bike ride in Puerto Vallarta, which ended up being a lot of fun. Here we are at a little church. How quaint.

I think I’ll just leave you and your thoughts to come up with the story of this photo…

Okay, since Halloween is over, this was something at the distillery where we started our bike ride. I don’t know what it is, but I’m hoping that it has to do with the process of making tequila.

Craig and I go on cruises to have fun in the sun, but also to read…okay, we’re dorks, whatever. We always have to find our favorite reading spot, on the ship. This was it.

Comfy chairs, sodas, cookies, books, my favorite person, and peace and quiet. Oh yeah.

Here comes the sun...or perhaps the hurricane...

We're boarding this cat (spoiled rotten; but the alternative is to come home to a bird blood bath) and we're going on a cruise (tomorrow)! I'm so excited (wahoo!) to get out of dodge with my honey (husband of my dreams) and take a week to decompress. (Plus, they have cheese plates on cruise ships! I love cheese!)

Doesn't hurt to ask...or does it?

You know the phrase “it never hurts to ask”? Do people really mean that? I, for one, think that it does hurt to ask sometimes. Sometimes people say “no” and that can be unpleasant for both the inquisitor and the respondent.

Now maybe it just hurts me because I’m kind of a highly sensitive person, but I really wish people would start saying something more like: “if you want to increase the probability of getting what you want, perhaps you should ask—even if it crushes your heart into millions of pieces and makes you realize that everyone hates you”. See, isn’t that a bit more realistic?

(Okay, don’t worry, my heart has not been crushed into millions of pieces and I do have friends, this phrase has just been running through my head and pestering me.)

Story Time.

People often ask me what it is like to have an “insulin reaction” (low blood sugar).
Sometimes it feels like I have the flu and I’m totally unable to function.
More mild reactions feel more like I’ve had a couple of beers and can’t think quite straight. I had one of those yesterday and ended up with this:

Cereal in my Coke. Yumm?

Later on, after having eaten some sugar and having put cereal in a bowl as I had originally intended, I sat down to read some blogs and instead got this:


Seriously—this is Pavlov’s cat. He hears the chink of a spoon in a bowl and then bounds inside and waits anxiously for the little bit of milk that we leave in the bottom of the cereal bowl. He’s a dork. (Oh, and he really doesn't have that snotty look on his face--he's very cute, but the camera flash makes him blink so I can't ever get a picture of him with his eyes open.)

One last story for today. Let me preface this by saying that my husband helps around the house a lot especially with dishes and laundry, making the bed and edging the lawn. Plus he does all of the hard things that I'm to chicken to do like bug bombs and sprinklers and sawing big limbs. I’m very appreciative of his help and am in no way discounting it by telling this adorable story.

I was in California last weekend. I got home Sunday night and was home for just long enough to sleep; then Craig and I went to northern Idaho for three days. Upon returning home, I set to cleaning the house. As I was going into the dining room to sweep the floor, Craig cornered me and we had the following conversation (more or less)

Craig: Oh, by the way, Charlie spilled some chocolate milk. (5 days before)
Maryn: (Laughs) okay, I’m guessing you’re telling me this because you didn’t clean it up
Craig: (a little defensively—and really cutely) no! I did clean it up. I put towels down on the milk!
Maryn: (looking around the corner at the floor) And then you left them there
Craig: Yes.

I love my husband so so much.

A few of my favorite things...

Craig...Sangria...Mongolian BBQ...VW...cards...and The Eels (though you can't hear them in the picture).
It doesn't get better than that.

P.S. Forgive the attrocious color combinations that I've got on the blog today. It will get better soon.

Weekday Confusion

This morning Craig and I were discussing plans for Saturday and since things have been quite chaotic lately, we are planning a lazy weekend—specifically, we’d discussed renting a movie. That’s the background for the following Instant Messaging exchange. Ahem.

Maryn says:
How much money do you have left from the fair?
Craig says:
$28
Maryn says:
thanks
Maryn says:
so, you’ve got mad money (Craig’s $20 that he always has in his wallet) and $8
Maryn says:
well, at least we all had fun at the fair…for $100
Craig says:
agreed
Craig says:
$100, really!?
Maryn says:
yep
Craig says:
yipes
Maryn says:
no kidding
Maryn says:
well, anyway...
Maryn says:
so, now you have $8 to rent a movie and buy a treat for our stay at home date tomorrow :-)
Craig says:
date tomorrow?
Maryn says:
oh, remember how we talked about staying home and watching a movie on Saturday?
Craig says:
TOMORROW IS THURSDAY
Maryn says:
&$%*
Maryn says:
rofl
Maryn says:
so it is
Craig says:
LOL
Craig says:
sorry
Maryn says:
that's cool

Sigh...don't you hate it when you think it is Friday--and it is really Wednesday? The sad thing is that I'll probably forget again before the day is over.

Some Things Make me Laugh

You know how sometimes see something that makes you laugh? Not just chuckle, but like really laugh?
This humidifier did it for me. We ended up buying the Dragon instead as I was afraid I would laugh at the duck all night rather than sleep.

Do you have the time?

I’ve worn a watch EVERY day religiously for as long as I can remember. I’m thinking that it has been since I was about 12…and before that I wore one at least semi-religiously. So, I’ve been completely dependent up on a watch for at least 15 years—I mean--I go nuts if I forget it. Besides being a time keeper, my watch acts as my life management system as I time most things that I do. This rigidity has also contributed to my anxiety (and not in a good way).

Anyway, a few weeks ago I lost my watch. Don’t even ask me how this is possible, I still think my husband hid it from me. (Just kidding Honey.) I do have two backup watches, but one has a really annoying watchband and the other has a dead battery. For some bizarre reason I forgot my backup watch one day and that night didn’t look at the clock to see what time it was when I went to sleep. (Another compulsive behavior I have is to count the number of hours I’m going to sleep when I close my eyes to sleep.) It was the weirdest thing when, the next morning Craig asked me when I went to sleep. I had no idea! I had read a blog post written by a diabetic girl who said that she never wears a watch because her pump has a clock on it. I think I had this in the back of my head and I felt so liberated by not knowing when I’d gone to bed that I deliberately did not wear my watch that day and then didn’t wear it the next day and the next day and it has now been about two weeks since I’ve worn a watch. SO WEIRD

Life is so much more enjoyable when you only look at the clock when you NEED to know what time it is rather than compulsively checking the time every 10 minutes (or every three minutes if I’m bored). I’ve been running without a watch. Seriously, you should try it. Running is more fun when you can’t look at your watch every two minutes. It is actually relaxing. I’m aware that my performance will probably suffer in doing this, but um, I’m not exactly the performance running type. I’m more the—I’ve made the general observation that old people who have made exercise a lifelong routine seem to be more healthy—runner.

Yes, I do think it is mildly annoying to both Craig and I when we need to know what time it is as either he has to get his phone out or I have to get my pump out, but seriously—it is worth it! You should try it…but don’t blame me if you are late for work

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore"

Our cat--Ottoman--has proven himself to be quite the hunter of moths and spiders. This has come to my great satisfaction as I have an irrational paranoia surrounding moths. I'm afraid that I may have encouraged his behaviour a little too much because he's found other things with which to play...none quite so helpful as moths and spiders.

We woke up Saturday morning and found an earthworm on our bedroom floor. It was in four pieces. A worm? Really Otto?

We came home from a VW event on Friday night, I rushed in the house to visit the bathroom and almost wet myself when I looked in the toilet and found a bird (gross!) It was not a small bird either. I don't know whether it is normal for cats to put their prey in water, but Otto routinely deposits all of his toys in his water dish when he's done playing. Weirdo.

This morning I woke up and could hear Otto playing with something...turned out to be a baby bird. Come on Otto. Pick on someone your own size.

I am at a total loss as to what to do about this. I mean, I'm glad my cat has found a hobby that he enjoys, but cleaning up animal carcases really isn't my thing. He's lucky he's so freaking sweet (to me anyway...perhaps not so much to other animals).

Our street makes a perfect campsite anyway.

We had arrived at our campsite on Friday night, had started a fire, popped the camper top, and thrown rocks into the river.

Craig: Guess what we forgot.

Maryn: Oh blank (insert your favorite curse word.) The kids' bed.

Note to self. When taking the kids camping, remember to put their bed in the camper.

Fortunately we were at Grime's Creek rather (45 minutes away) than Challis (5 hours away)--as originally planned.

So competitive.

Craig and I like to play games. I like it when Craig wins. I like it when I win. Craig likes it when I win. He, however, doesn’t care much about winning himself. Additionally, I HATE to win unfairly.

Sometimes Craig will try to give me a sympathy wedge in Trivial Pursuit if I got the question half right, or took two guesses to come up with the correct answer. I’m not really sure why, but I hate doing this. I simply hate to win unless it is 100% valid.

We’ve been playing Skip-Bo frequently lately and I’ve been experiencing quite the winning streak. My great luck had surprised me a little as Skip-Bo is a game of a lot of luck and a little skill and I don’t often excel in the skill area. We finished up a round on Tuesday night and as we were cleaning up the cards, we had this little exchange.

Craig: have you ever noticed how you always draw a bunch of Skip-Bo cards right at the end of the game?

Maryn: Yeah, I guess so, weird, huh?

Craig and Maryn continue to clean up cards.

Maryn: Wait a second, you’ve been cheating, haven’t you? How are you cheating?!

Craig: Well, you don’t really pay attention when I am drawing, so I hoard the Skip-Bo cards and then slip them onto the top of the pile after I draw, so then you draw them on your next turn.

...yep, that's just how sweet he is. Cheater.

The cheerleader's houses probably look good on Google.

Remember those embarrassing yearbook photos? Not the “professional” pictures, but the ones taken candidly by the yearbook staff throughout the year. You never know it is coming until the day you get your yearbook and flip through it excitedly only to find that the only picture of you in the whole yearbook is one taken in the hall on that day when you spilled OJ on your white sweater and you didn’t do your hair and your face looks stupid because you didn’t know anyone was taking pictures. The problem, of course, is that you will forever be remembered by your peers as that kid whose clothes were always dirty, who never did her hair and whose face looked weird.

Ten years later—enter Google Street View. Craig and I try to keep our front yard looking presentable. I mean, let’s just face the facts—people judge you buy the condition of your front yard. I got on Google maps this morning and thought I’d check out our house on Google street view. Remember that ONE day like two years ago when we got home from a camping trip and tipped our cooler upside down to drain on our front lawn? Oh, and then there’s the sandbags in our gutter drain placed there by the shoddy construction crew down the street. I mean, these sandbags look unsightly to everyone who drives by, but most of them know why said sandbags are there (yes, they are still there two years later...well, we did a secret ops mission on the first set...the new and slightly less shoddy new construction crew quickly replaced them). Without further ado, I give you—our house on Google Street View for all of the world to see:

So, now for the rest of time (I assume Google will not be updating residential street view anytime soon) when we tell people our address so that they can Google directions to our house, this is what they’ll see. Then I’ll inevitably receive the—oh, something came up, we can't make it—call. Thanks Google. There for a second I thought I was going to be popular next year.

*A little disclaimer here--our house is actually very cute. Really, it is. Use those Google directions and you'll see.

Crazy Knitting Lady

I set out Saturday afternoon at about 3 o’clock with the goal of getting the materials for a new knitting project.

The afternoon ended up being so infuriating that I have spent the last ten minutes trying to piece together the chronology and CANNOT figure it out. My mind’s ability to suppress is astounding.

Here’s what I know. I went to our new supersized JoAnn’s and I went to Michael’s. I’m not sure where I went first, but I think I may have gone to JoAnn’s twice. I found free instructions for an afghan at one of these stores, got chicken nuggets and a Diet Coke, and changed my clothes at some point.

I came away from this chaos with 5 balls of yarn (I needed 32) and no properly sized needles. I buy my knitting supplies at these sorts of big box craft stores because I am kind of a crappy knitter so if my supplies are inferior, I can’t see that it really matters. I have, however, wanted to visit a certain specialty knitting store near my house and I figured that they’d have the needles I needed. I went to said store, where a really haughty saleswoman informed me that a) they didn’t have the right needles for my project b) she didn’t think this size even existed and c) the closest thing cost $18 (about twice what these needles cost at the big box stores). Um, thanks…

Infuriated, condescended upon, and tired of shopping, I decided that I’d give Craft Warehouse a chance and then would forfeit. By the time I reached Craft Warehouse, I’d been blatantly cut off twice, turned in front of at a dangerous distance, and almost run over. I walked into the store and quite literally had to use every ounce of restraint I had to refrain from pushing a kid out of my way. Hey—he was standing in the middle of the aisle! Pathetic, I know.

I reached the yarn and my frustration melted as I looked up and saw the brand and colors for which I had been searching; in fully stocked bins, floor to ceiling. I think I pronounced my excitement audibly. After gathering the yarn into my basket, I was also thrilled to find that Craft Warehouse also stocked the needles I needed.
I was so excited that I almost gave the girl behind the register a hug. I suppose that would have been weird.

So, back to the afghan instructions I found. They contain a typographic error. This is not a problem, I figured out what was supposed to happen, no big deal, but I wanted to let the company know about the error. In reading the fine print, here’s what I found.

I understand why they feel the need to say that they’re not responsible for typographic errors, but seriously, isn’t this something for which they SHOULD be responsible? I guess that’s why the instructions are free.

I came along, I wrote a song for you.

When I was in high school I had a sort of freaking fascination/passion/whatever for the color yellow. My car was yellow, my bedroom walls were yellow, I wore something yellow every day (sometimes it was just a yellow hair band).

This disapated somewhat during college (along with my passion for everything else), but has somehow gradually returned. I can't describe the feeling other than to say that I want to absorb and simultaneously be absorbed by everything I see that is yellow.

That sounded weird. I'll try to think of a less odd explanation, but for today--a tribute to yellow.

I'm Back

Welcome back. As we've started taking on our VW restoration project with ferocity, I've decided to resurrect MinnieMag. I don't have anything to post about at this particular second, but I'm sure I'll have something enrapturing to talk about very soon. (Ha!)

Because Change is Good.

I’m tired of maintaining two blogs.

After having installed tracking devices on both and realizing that this blog gets significantly less traffic than my other one, I’ve decided to discontinue posting on this blog. Apparently most people would rather read about happenings than the randomness of my brain. That’s cool.

So, to those of you who have actually followed this blog—thank you—and please keep reading at http://www.pennyntranny.blogspot.com

Explanation Required

I have a very serious question.

Does anyone know how the word “inaugural” is supposed to be pronounced? Neither people nor dictionaries seem to be able to agree on this and it is driving me crazy!

I have a feeling it may be one of those irritating words that has dual pronunciations. Someone please save me from my own obsessive insanity. Petra, please tell me you have an explanation!

V-Day (Saying that always makes me think of D-day)

I imagine that it will come as no surprise to anyone reading this that I’m an incredibly private person. That's why I'm so cynical--my cynicism makes it so I never actually have to express my true (and very vulnerable) feelings about anything! This is especially true when it comes to things like publicly expressing my love for my husband. I always see people writing on Facebook or blogs about how amazing their husband is, and I never really write that kind of post. I feel all of the things that these people express (seriously, I am not just saying that—I love my husband way more than any of you love your husbands, he he), but I just don’t like writing about it on the internet.

In light of this and since it is Valentine’s Day, I thought I would post a link to a blog post I read today which made me think of my husband, and it is really sweet. It is by a girl (lady? Woman? Chick?) named Kerri whose blog I read primarily because she also has Type 1 Diabetes but also because I'm convinced that we'd be friends if we didn't live on opposite sides of the country...does that sound creepy?

http://sixuntilme.com/blog1/2007/02/the_peanut_butter.html

Craig, my dearest most wonderful amazing incredible husband (I’m totally tearing up right now)—“I’ll always write your name in peanut butter.” (If you are confused, it is because you haven’t read Kerri’s blog post!)

My Most Shallow Post Ever

Craig and I each have a list of five celebrities who, if they…you know—offered themselves to us, we are allowed to accept said offer. (I do realize that this would ever happen. I’m also aware that most of these people have STDs, and that’s really not the point. Just don’t take this post too seriously, okay?)

We re-evaluate our lists about once every six months or so, when we are bored or are stuck in traffic. I don’t know whether it needs explaining, but men look for something different than women do. I asked Craig this morning whether he had any reasons for his top 5 choices other than that they are hot. He said "no...you have reasons for yours, don't you, like--"I like #3 because he is so talented and when he was only 15 years old he dedicated him to helping locusts in Florida". Well, Craig, you were spot on (mostly). Here are our current top 5s with accompanying explanations:

Craig's top 5:

#1 Angelina Jolie : because she’s hot

#2 Jennifer Aniston : because she’s hot

#3 Leryn Franco : because she’s hot

#4 Paris Hilton : because she looks trashy

#5 Amanda Bynes : because she’s hot

Maryn's top 5 :

#1 Rivers Cuomo: Musician with degree from Harvard, so he’s got to have some kind of brain…and because he’s hot.

#2 Billy Corgan: Amazing musician and something draws me to his creepy mysterious side.

#3 Brad Pitt: okay, well, he’s just hot

#4 Anthony Keidis: I saw him in concert and he is a fantastic performer. His music is incredible and he’s had a tumultuous life…I guess it is the nurturer in me. Plus he has nice arms. (The Hep C is definitely an obstacle…)

#5 Wayne Brady: Saw him in Vegas. He is freaking hilarious…and has nice arms.

Having said all of this, I do want to be clear that I am not criticizing men for the way by which they choose women. I love this about men. They are easy to figure out (at least most of the time), and for this I am glad.

Words That Should Die

I’ve been working for a while on compiling a list of words (or things that people use as words) that I hate.
Here it is (in no particular order):

Woot
Missy
Hubby
Princess
URL (not the way you should say this—U-R-L—but the way people have started saying it—pronounced—earl.)
Binky
Maverick (Who doesn’t cringe right now when they hear that word?)
Nummy
Ginourmous (not sure how to spell this, but my spelling can’t be incorrect, because this is not a word!)

There is an explanation behind my distaste for some of these words, but some are inexplicable. My mom has pointed out that by saying I don’t like the word “woot”, it means that I’m old. I disagree, because 1) I’m only 27 and 2) I was young when it was cool to say that something was “da bomb” and I hated that too.

I’m pretty sure that I’d upset at least 77% of the readers of this blog if I went into detail about why I hate the words on this list, so I think I’ll take the high road…just this one time.

Lyndon B. Bush

Craig and I are currently in a—we love documentaries—phase.

This week we watched a documentary on the 60s. This was produced by PBS and was titled something like—The 1960’s: The Decade that Shaped a Generation.

The film was absolutely fascinating and led me to two conclusions: 1) no wonder we don’t protest anything anymore, getting massacred by the police doesn’t look like much fun and 2) Wow—history repeats itself SO fast.

Craig and I found ourselves looking at each other with dropped jaws and astonished guffaws each time we heard a phrase that could have been re-worked and used to describe present day America. Once we ended the documentary, we concluded that by using the following substitutions, PBS could re-market this video.

Original Title: The 1960’s: The Decade that Shaped a Generation
New Title: The 2000’s: Another Decade that Shaped Another Generation…In the Same Way.

Original: Vietnam
New: Iraq

Original: Laos and Cambodia
New: Afghanistan

Original: Communism
New: Terrorism

Original: Johnson or Nixon
New: George W.

Original: Bob Dylan, or Peter, Paul and Mary
New: Green Day or Sheryl Crow

Finally—this one is up for debate—who was the Barack Obama of the post Vietnam War period?

The Gears That Won't Stop Turning

Just a reminder that: if you are actually interested in knowing what goes on in our lives, you can see all of that kind of crap at www.pennyntranny.blogspot.com . I maintain the blog, therefore, I can call it crap. If you want to read about the twisted way in which my mind works, then stay right here. I like to hear what you think about it.

I possess a classic case of what is referred to, at least in highly reliable (ha) magazines as “high trait anxiety”. This means that I worry about everything, am convinced that everything will go wrong, and think somehow my worrying controls my fate and prevents things from going further into the toilet. I’m pretty sure it is genetic (no offence intended to my progenitors). Some people call me pessimistic; I just think I’m a realist. Tomato, tomato (second one pronounced with a soft ‘a’).

It has come to my attention recently that there may be a correlation between how long you think you are going to live and how long you actually live. Huh…so, I guess that means that lying in bed every night worrying about how tonight is the night that I’ll die in my sleep might not be the greatest for my health. I really, really like my life. This fact, along with both my husband and every other medical professional I interact with telling me that I try too hard and over-think things, gave me, for a while, motivation to 1) stop trying and 2) stop thinking. Ha! That plan was entirely counterintuitive to everything that defines me, so I forfeited rather quickly.

I am now working on a more realistic approach, which entails:

1) Think really hard about how to relax (hey, over-thinking things is in my nature).
2) Think about meditating
3) Think about puppies in snow (a guaranteed relaxation technique)
4) Take half a Xanax whenever people who suck or the kids are around.

I like this plan. I’ll keep you posted on my progress (because you care).

A little action in Garden City

This blog is normally reserved for thoughts and observations, not purely events, so, if you’d like to read about our
rather interesting weekend click here. (It’s a great read, I highly recommend it.)

My Head Even Tilts to the Left

When I was in 3rd grade, we had this project in art class. The assignment (at least as far as I understood it) was to pick a picture out of a magazine and paint the picture. So, I did. I was pretty happy with my painting. When I got done, the art teacher looked at the painting and said rather brazenly “well, that’s not really what I had in mind”.

I blame this one incident for my lack of creativity. (Screw genetics—when you’ve got an event like that to use as an excuse, run with it, right?)

My husband thinks I’m creative, and for this I’m grateful. I’m glad I’ve got him tricked—what he doesn’t realize is that every single creative idea I’ve ever exuded was an act of desperation—a survival technique which exists only when I’ve made a mistake. Basically, I’m only creative when I’ve screwed up and don’t have the time or resources to start over.
Sometimes, this means that we buy pizza instead of eating my mistakes, and other times, things turn out incredibly well. I just wish there was some consistency.

I want to be more creative, so I’ve decided to go on a sabbatical from responsibility. No more grocery lists. No more making lunch ahead of time. No more measuring the fabric I buy, or writing things down, and no more instruction manuals. Ultimately, I am going to create as many panic situations as possible, thereby optimizing my creative genius. I see this going really well…watch out world, here I come.