As Usual, In No Particular Order:

• I'm thinking about knitting a hooded sweater. I don't know where to find a simple hooded sweater like the one in my head, so I'm half-expecting that my first sweater ever (did I mention it's my first sweater ever?) might be of the sort I make up in my head. I'm not sure if this makes me really creative, or really stupid. Probably both.


• Huckleberry had his first nail-clipping today. Ok, I know he's really old for the first time. Your visions of him as some sort of Freddy Krueger-esque monster are more accurate than you know. We didn't have a nail-clippers, and although we tried using the dremmel on him, he didn't like the noise or the way we had to hold him, and I ended up with lungs full of dog-nail-dust. It wasn't pleasant. I have to say that he took the trimming VERY well. He didn't like standing still, but the clipping didn't bother him in the slightest.


• I'm getting behind on my actual "blogging". My brain hasn't been working in a storytelling manner lately. I suspect it'll come back soon.


• This weekend is Oktoberfest in Appleton. We really want to go - Bruce has been reading about it for weeks. I'm excited to check out the yarn shops in the area. And beer. I hear there might be beer.

Does Anyone Remember..?

A few years ago I saw a "reality TV show" or "documentary" or something about an upper-middle class family that was sent to Africa to live with a tribe. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? I want to see it again, and I have no idea where I saw it the first time.

Definition

Sarah -- [noun]: A person who is a master of making ravioli 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I totally ganked this from Jess, too.

Whose Space?

Well, I don't know about the rest of you people, and probably you've hit this point well before I had a chance to, but there are a whole shitload of people on MySpace. I know you guys are smart - it probably hit you waaaaayyy before it hit me. Which was about two days ago. In case you haven't realized yet, THERE ARE A SHITLOAD OF PEOPLE ON MYSPACE!

Yeah, I know, I know. Therein lies the beauty of the site! Therein lies the charm!

Well I say, therein lies the uncomfortableness! Therein lies the awkward silences! Therein lies the OH-DEAR-GOD-I-WAS-SUCH-AN-ASSHOLE-TO-THEM*ness! Therein lies the I-was-sort-of-hoping-not-to-run-into-them-ever-againness, and the Wow-I-can't-stand-them-and-am-yet-compelled-to-look**ness.

Anybody else getting not only the good vibes, but the really really creepy ones? Oh, just me? Well then, carry on.

*I can't think of a single person who reads this who might possibly be an asshole to anybody, so that one's probably just my own. It involved a very shady few months in my history.

**Mostly in the form of former friends whom you no longer speak to. For good reason.

Passing the Buck

Most of the time, I wish I could pass it off. What, you ask? Well, pretty much anything. Everything, even. I wish I could assign tasks to people around me (most notably, B. He's a good person to look to for tasks of the gathering-information-online sort, for example. Or the taking-out-the-trash nature. You know, the stuff I'm really not interested in.  

I look to various people for various things. Most of the mundane stuff at work I can laze my way out of - nobody works a full day, and there's always somebody there to pick up my slack.

I think this way of thinking is biting me in the ass, not to put too fine a point on things. I can't really expect to get the most out of life by sitting back and letting someone else do the dirty work. For one thing, I'm being a major pain in the ass. For another, no one is going to figure out what I want to do with my life for me. It sucks, but I can't just lay around and expect to reap the benefits of being self-sufficient.

So, long story short, I'm going to try to take an active role in, well, myself. The Buck Stops Here, as some politician or other might put it. Only I mean it. For reals.

In light of this new variety of thought, I've been thinking about going back to school. Someday. In the meantime, I think I'd better get a better idea of what I want to do. After twenty-odd years of trying to figure it out, I'm thinking Veterinary Technician might be a good prospect for me. So let the research begin.

Dad

I was looking through the website for the school district here, and saw that they had a "meet our staff" portion. Someone I know is on the staff of the school district.

I may have found the best picture ever taken of my dad.

The only way this could possibly be more amusing is if it was on a badge he had to wear.

Boring Assesment of Network TV (RE: Scheduling)

Mondays- Prison Break at 7 (Fox). Bruce likes it, I won't let myself watch, just in case I like it. I have strange ideas about what is acceptable for me to watch. Also, I have a feeling I hate it, and I'd rather be able to say, "Oh, I've never seen it," instead of truthfully saying, "Oh, gak, I hate that show." I guess it's How I Met Your Mother at 7:30 (CBS)

At 8, there's *Heros* (NBC).  More a Bruce show than a Sunny show, but we'll see.  

At 9, it's all about the new Aaron Sorkin show (which is what I've been calling it since I heard about it, but it's real name happens to be), Studio 60. Mondays are full!

Tuesdays- Gilmore Girls at 7 (the CW). After this summer (we borrowed all the seasons from a coworker of mine), how could we miss it? I just hope they get back to the basics and stop being so... well, rich. Rich people annoy me. I shouldn't say that, it sounds richist. I don't like hoity-toity people. There, that's better.  It may have already happened, they might already be more down-to-earth.  We haven't seen the sixth season yet.

House at 8 (Fox). We love House. How can you not?

Wednesdays- America's Next Top Model at 7 (UPN). I'm willing, Bruce will probably play Yahoo! Pool for that hour. The only thing potentially holding me back is Bruce's insane desire to watch Bones. Seriously, he's no Angel. Period. The nice thing is, this year we have more than one TV. We're going to leave the first slot of the night kind of open. After all, both of the sitcom-ish shows on NBC (30 Rock - Tina Fey show, and 20 Good Years - John Lithgow and George Sr.) seem like they'll be good, and maybe Bones has gotten better, and I have a car crash thing going on with ANTM, so who knows where we'll end up?

At 8, it's Veronica Mars, which apparently Joss Whedon is a huge fan of. Anything getting his seal of approval will probably get mine too.

Thursdays- Smallville at 7 (the CW). Bruce is obsessed. I've promised to never tell anyone he's a comic book guy, but luckily very few people read this. Hi mom! Survivor isn't even going to be a part of my decision this year, because well, seriously? They're dividing people into groups based on RACE? Haven't we as a country gotten beyond that?  Since like, sometime last century? Rosa Parks dies, and all of a sudden segregation is hip again? I'm going to sneak into the basement for (NBC) My Name is Earl at 7, followed by The Office at 7:30. It's great timing, really, because Bruce doesn't like The Office.

At 8 we're stuck with deciding between CSI (CBS) and Grey's Anatomy (ABC). I like CSI, but I don't LOVE the characters. I've heard amazing things about Grey's Anatomy, but haven't actually seen the show yet. I've got a feeling it'll be one of those shows I don't want to admit to watching, if I get into it. We'll see. Bruce is interested in Supernatural (the CW), so that's what we're probably watching.

Oh, and at 9 I want to check out Six Degrees (ABC). I like the premise, we'll see how far it takes the show.

Fridays- Apparently, 7 on Fridays will be a toss-up between America's Funniest Home Videos (ABC) (gag me) and WWE Friday Night Smackdown (the CW). As good an excuse as any to go out and get effing plastered at the bar, I say. Especially considering that...

At eight, we'll be watching Trading Spouses (FOX). Oh, the drama. Oh, no thanks.

Saturdays- Nothing. Nada. Zip. Not even anything warranting mentioning for comedic effect. It's that dull on Saturdays.

Sundays- at 8 it will definitely be The Amazing Race (CBS).

Chop, Chop!

Yesterday afternoon, I saw my dad start up the lawnmower and thought I'd give him some help. So out I went, poop-scooper in hand, to take care of the leavings of our precious puppy.

I walked out the door, and noticed that all the poop seemed to be gone. I gave my dad a questioning look, and he smiled and shrugged. Apparently, he's the bomb and had it all taken care of already. Then he stopped the mower.

"Well, I'm sure I missed some," he said. "I'll point it out as I go around."

This was not what I had bargained for, and he proceded to point out all the piles after he'd gone over them with the mower. I can handle my poop as well as the next guy, but when the poop is all smooshed into the ground and has been mowed over, it turns out it makes me a little nauseous. Go figure. So the next time my dad had stopped the mower, I suggested another way of dealing with it.

"Can't you just, you know," I gestured frantically mowing over the same spot a few times, "chop it up?"

You should have seen the look he gave me.

An Honest Living

There is some serious shit going down here, mostly in the financial sector - we both have ghosts of Christmases past coming back to haunt us - but I have to say that I'm the luckiest girl in the world when it comes to having a support system in place. The people in my everyday life are freaking AWESOME.

Todd and Lisa came over for, well, TV, actually, but it's not as lame as it sounds. Actually, it's MUCH LAMER! They came over to watch today's Days of Our Lives. Well, Lisa did. Todd came over for the excellent company and to play a guitar with one string missing in my old bedroom with Bruce accompanying him on bass.

Anyway, as I was saying, the ghosts of Christmases Past are all ganging up on us at once here, financially. I know it's just a matter of time until we're through the metaphorical woods, but right now I can't see the trees for the forest. What I mean is, I can't see how we're ever going to get through it because all I see is this giant blockade, not a bunch of singular things in our way. Singular things are easier to conquer. You knew what I meant.

The good news is that the car will cease to be an obstacle in a short time, and that Todd is going to do what he can to my car, and we're working on the other stuff, going to talk to some people tomorrow. All is not lost.

Well, wish us luck!

I'm So Vain, I Probably Think This Blog is About Me

Well, after the little mix up in the comments last week, I decided it 
might be time to dye my hair again.  It was a little joke in my head when I called it "Redneck week", because... Do you really want to see how bad my roots were? I thought you might.



You see, after I posted this picture of last Monday:



The lovely Jess commented ever so kindly that she noticed that I'd gone dark with my hair and she liked it. It was really very sweet (and let's face it, sort of funny) and it got me thinking. So I decided to dye my hair dark. And now my roots look like this:



I think I like it better. What about you?

Log Cabins (Or to be PC, Log Homes)

I think I have fully converted Bruce to the idea of life in the north 
country.  We were talking through the hole today (remind me to 
show you pictures of the hole),and started discussing log cabins.  
My great-grandpa planted forty acres of his farmland with white pines,
somehow knowing that it would be profitable and useful to future 
generations.  I'd brought this up to Bruce in the past, but it hadn't 
really sunk in until tonight.  

Lisa came over this afternoon to watch Days (of our Lives), and 
instead of bringing my long-forgotten knitting book, she brought 
two real estate magazines featuring properties from northeastern 
Wisconsin.  For some reason, after she left, Bruce sparked a 
conversation about building a log cabin (home) up here, and how 
much money we would save by providing the logs.  It's really a 
fantastic idea, and I've always thought about it - not in a realistic 
sense, but in a "Maybe, someday..." sense.  We were looking at 
some log cabins (homes) and their websites tonight, and a few of 
the designs really struck our fancy:

Of course, I would like to take full credit for this transformation, but I can't. He did it on his own. Wish us luck!

PS: If any of our dear friends wished to build a log cabin (HOME) nearby, we would happily share our secrets with you in order to live near our friends. We would also probably give you a discount on the wood, if you promised to plant equal numbers as you harvested.

This Week: Redneck Week

Monday, Lisa and I went to the demolition derby at the Shawano County Fair. That's how much of a redneck I am this week. I also loved it. I had a lot to learn, this being my first demo. For example, when the cars are ready to go, they start out by backing up into the other cars. Kind of scary, if you ask me.

 

And then, of course, they all smoosh each other to pieces, and there's schrapnel everywhere, and somehow it's all very loud and cool and people turn into heros. My favorite moment was in one of the eight heats when one guy was getting bullied out of the ring by two other cars, and he totally fought back and pushed them both back into the ring. He overpowered two cars. It was pretty spectacular. I was going to climb down the stands and offer to be his woman and have his babies. Then I remembered that a) I'm married and Bruce is pretty cool too, and b) I'm probably not redneck enough for him, considering this is my first demolition derby.

To prove that Lisa and I were there, I have a picture of us in the stands.

No Harm, No Foul

Earlier today I noticed that there was a beetle in our bathtub. This doesn't really bother me overmuch, because we haven't used our bathtub since roughly 1988, when my little brother graduated to taking showers. Sure, there were those years we used it as an impromptu laundry hamper (because walking three steps and throwing the clothes down the steps into a random pile is just too much work for teenagers), but really, it's been out of commission for almost twenty years. (Jesus Christ, I'm old.) So I decided to let the beetle have his way with the bathtub. No harm, no foul, right? Right.

[side note: For a few weeks now, I've been yelling at Huck for walking around by my computer and crunching on what I assumed were random pieces of the basement. Yesterday, I was doing some laundry down here and noticed that two of these beetles were in close proximity to my feet. The next thing I knew, there was a crunching noise, and I noticed that Huck had followed me down and was munching away at the bugs. Good boy!]

So naturally, being who I am and remembering the crunching, I began to feel a little sorry for the beetle in the bathtub, because unless it wants to crawl back into the drain (which, face it, probably isn't that appealing), it will have to live out the rest of it's meager life in the bathtub. And it hadn't moved in a while. Then I started thinking, no food, no water... It's like dying in a desert made of porcelain veneer. So I collected a few drops of water in my palm and dropped them near the bug, thinking that if it was dead it couldn't hurt anything, and if it was alive it couldn't scramble up the sides of the tub to kill me or anything.

Unfortunately Linus noticed me screwing around in there and jumped in to investigate.



Don't worry too much. Linus lost all interest when the bug stopped moving, as usual. I figure if the bug wants to die quick, he'll just move in front of the cat, and if he wants to live out his days in the porcelain desert, that's OK too. Or tomorrow I'll rescue it and take it outside. You know, whatever.

Quite Possibly Worth the $4.00 Admission

We went to the county fair on Thursday, and on the first trip (before the drinking), we wandered around the buildings and looked at a crapload of rabbits and beef. I mean cows. We also took a gander at the various 4-H projects that weren't breathing. Some of the art was pretty amazing.

I'm posting one of the drawings that struck my fancy, and I'd like you to please remember that this is original artwork and remains the copywrite of the artist.

When you laugh, remember that you're not laughing at the artist, but at your own sick and perverted mind. The artist is not at fault here, you are.

Ok, enjoy!



I might have to go back this weekend and gaze upon it again.