Archive for August, 2009

Despite my occasional brushes with law-enforcement (generally related to either my lead foot or my crazy ass neighbor), I am not much of a criminal.

I know that is hard for you to believe.  But I have proof.

This is a bit of graffiti that has been on the fence at our office for close to a year.

Last Friday it dawned on me that it is indeed not directional signage to the Alpha Tau Epsilon Fraternity.  So I was telling a co-worker how I felt like such a moron that I did not get that it actually says,
“Ate Up,” for a year.  He gave me a funny look and said, “Oh.  I just thought the cable guy put it there to mark the cable.”  Sadly, I felt much better about my graffiti interpreting skills after that remark.


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I do not recommend driving around town without a left blinker light.  You will get honked at a lot.  A whole lot.

Which reminds me of a story about my youngest sister.  She has a friend who is the sweetest girl, but is not mechanically inclined.  Her blinker went out so my sister told her she needed to go get some blinker fluid.  The poor girl went to the auto parts store and asked for blinker fluid.  Personally, I do not know why she still speaks to my sister after that.

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Show of hands … who has been frantically refreshing my blog in hopes of a new post?  32 people?!  Wow!  That’s awesome!  (Sometimes it’s good to have conversations with oneself; it can be a real boost to the ego.)

Anyway, my sister has been pretty sick and in and out of the hospital.  But she seems to be mostly recovered now so you, my fearless readers, can have me back!

Yesterday there occurred an incident which I will tell you about momentarily.  However, I first have to tell you about another incident so that you will see that I come by my … quirks … quite honestly.

One day my dad was fishing the bank on the lake by his house.  There happened by a boat with an arguing couple on it.  My dear ever-vigilant father felt that it was really his duty as a stander-by to find out exactly what they were hollering about.  However, the man is hard of hearing.  So he inched ever closer to the arguing couple in order to hear the fight better.  He got closer and closer and closer until he could hear them perfectly fell in the lake.  That’s right.  He fell in the lake!  [At this point it is quite appropriate to issue forth with a hearty guffaw.]

So, you see, when I hear neighbors screaming and hollering, I just have to go out and watch.  It’s in my genes.  I can’t help myself.  And watch I did.  I won’t get into details since I’m not sure who reads my blog regularly, but there were 2 couples.  Apparently, the fidelity of 2 of the group was in question.  There was much gnashing of teeth and several fists were flying.

I stood at the end of my driveway, 15 feet from the melee and watched respectfully with another one of my friends from down the street.  Meat Galore is one who believes in discretion.  His exact words were, “If you want to gawk, at least do it from the kitchen window like me so it isn’t so obvious.”  My reply?  “Well, that’s stupid.  We live in a town of 6000 people, they already know that everyone will know within 12 1/2 minutes what happened.  They also know that everyone is watching – even if they are hiding.  So why bother?”  (Besides that, Meat isn’t really as innocent as he’d like you all to believe.  He did go over at one point to try to break up the fight.)

The man whose fidelity was in question came over to my house this afternoon to apologize for the fight happening in front of us.  I was like, “No big deal.  If we hadn’t gone out to watch, then it really wouldn’t have happened in front of us anyway.”  He was not amused.  But I was and – since this is my blog and all – that’s really all that matters.  Right?

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I found this moth on my back deck this afternoon.  To give you some size perspective, the post it is attached to is a 4×4.  I would guess that this thing’s wingspan is a full 4″ or very close to it.

Can you see in the 3rd picture how he has 2 sets of wings?  I know these aren’t artsy fartsy pictures of the bug, but to be quite honest with you, I didn’t relish the prospect of getting all that close to it.  I have never seen a moth anywhere near this big.  I’m going to send his picture to the Missouri Department of Conservation to see what they have to say. 

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This probably falls under the heading of “Too Much Information”, but you sort of need to know it for this craft to make any sense.  My husband and I wrap towels around ourselves after we get out of the shower.

Our child loves to do what we do and her newest thing is to want to wrap the towel around herself.  But it’s a little bit difficult impossible to keep a towel wrapped around an almost 2 year old.  I have one of those spa robes that has a velcro closure and I thought to myself, “Self, I’m pretty sure you bought some iron on velcro 3 years ago for some unknown reason.  I’ll bet you could put that on a hand towel and make a spa robe for Little Folks.”  And that’s exactly what I did.

I have to make a confession though.  Last night I was sure this was going to have to be filed under “Craft Fail” since my daughter ran screaming from the room every time I tried to put it on her.  But she took right to it tonight, so I don’t know what her deal was last night.  I guess she was just being moody.  And all the mothers of almost 2 year olds will understand why I put the closure in back when I wrapped her in it tonight.

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Speak Up!

When I was a kid, my mother used to say, “If you want to talk to me, come in here.”  I never could figure out why I just couldn’t holler from the living room like a normal person.  But, as I get older, I’m starting to understand.  Exhibit A: the conversation I had with my husband when I got up to get a drink last night.

Me:  [Tiptoes to the kitchen to get a drink of water.]
Him:  [Hollering from the bedroom.]  What did you say?
Me:  What?
Him:  Huh?
Me:  I asked what you said.
Him:  What did you say just now?
Me:  I didn’t say anything.
Him:  WHAT?
Him:  Why are you yelling?
Me:  Because it’s easier than stabbing you.
Him:  Oh.  Okay.

So, short story long, I’m starting to understand my mother.

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In the spirit of summer-time family vacations, I want to share with you this postcard I found at a garage sale a couple weeks ago.

Here’s the back.

No, Wren, the front explains nothing!  Where the heck are you?  I mean, based on my experiences in this area, I have to guess that you were on a float trip.  Just going by the corncob pipe and the sail tied to your toe.  Except I know of no rivers in Missouri that look like the ocean!  This is a terrible postcard!  Do you wish L.E.O. was there?  What kind of amusements are there?  Are we talking boardwalks or hookers?  You really need to be more specific.  Next time you write a postcard, please be more considerate of posterity and their voyeuristic tendencies.

I couldn’t make out the postmark, so I checked online.  Postcard stamps were 2 cents in 1952.  (First class stamps were 2 cents in 1919.)  I’m guessing this was sent in 1952.  I was amazed that a google search for “historical post card stamp prices” rendered an answer.  But I suppose if “I hate mashed potato flakes” is a fruitful search, then anything I could dream up would be.  That was Angie over at The American Homemaker who googled her hatred of mashed potato flakes.

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