Okay, bye

Scary storm here. So scary and boomy. If I do not live through it, it was nice knowing you all. Most of you in the biblical sense!

Also? MacKenzie Phillips was arrested for drugs today. Why do I always believe people when they say they are sober?

Finally, if this really is the last time I ever write you, you need to get you some Archer Farms Blueberry Granola with Flax. It is perfect.

Myn Statistics


I'm done!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Done! Dun dun dun dun!

I have proofread every ding and also not to mention dang word of that 468-page statistics textbook, not to mention the answer key and the index and the 11 appendices and 14 tables at the end of the book and also the math supplement.

And the answer key for the math supplement.

The stupid thing is in a box and Marvin is taking it to FedEx tomorrow. I was proofing in my car at lunch today and realized I had left the answer key at home. So I had to call beleaguered Marvin and have him read the answers to me. He said if the FBI were listening in, they'd totally think we were speaking in code. "Null hypothesis?" "No, standard deviation."

And do you know I still can't tell you one thing about statistics other than it is hard? I just invoiced the company, as you can imagine, and this was the FORTY-FIFTH invoice I have sent them. Which means at least 45 times, I have read something about statistics. And still? You say statistics and I say "?"

So that is done. Now I only have to worry about my one busy job, and not two. And did anyone notice annoying Sleeping Beauty wanted to know if I was still training for our half-marathon? And the answer is yes. I ran five miles on Sunday, and I am thinking I had better get in another six-mile run before we leave for our trip.

Also, I am doing pretty well on being a vegetarian, other than the chili cheese dog from Sonic during a particularly proofready day. But that is it. I have been having delicious lunches, including the one I had before 10:30 today. Minestrone soup, (I knew someone whose now-ex husband pronounced it "myn-strone" and in my head I always say it that way now), peaches, strawberries, sunflower chips from some hippie chip company and cheese. Some days it is tomato soup instead of myn-strone. And it's all so delish!

Anyway, I am off to not do much of anything. Hmmm. What should my first leisurely activity be?


Nuttin’, honey

I'm blogging at work again, which is going to make Tee decidedly nervous. I'm on my LUNCH hour, what possible harm does it do to blog at lunch? I guess I will find out when they fire me and I have to wear a barrel.

Why did people wear barrels? Weren't there potato sacks or Nordstrom's or anything they could have utilized instead? I mean, how dramatic. Barrels.

So, regarding my post yesterday, I was NOT trying to let you all know my birthday was coming up; I would never be that subtle. Besides, I won't even be reachable on my birthday, as Marvin and I will be at my mother's cottage in northern Michigan, or "up North," as they say. Not at all redundantly.

Next week is not only my birthday, it is also the 10-year anniversary of being married to the Gardensalad. Who I got really mad at about cream cheese this weekend. Anyway, we are taking Tallulah and driving to Michigan, where my mother is going to give me some furniture that she has been wanting to give me just forever, but I always lived in California and it was not possible to get said furniture to me.

Well. I didn't ALWAYS live in California. If I did, my mother would not have ever met me.

Anyway, after the receiving of the furniture, we will all drive en masse to my mother's place on what I guess you could call a lake, but that makes you think of some massive body of water, which isn't really accurate. Maybe we could say my mother's place on a pond.

I just love it there. There is a dock, which is basically my favorite thing in the world. I love sitting on a dock and watching the water. There is also badminton, which is my second-favorite thing in the world. There are also board games, which my mother will try to get me to play for the 6,740th time, and which I will refuse to play for the 6, 740th time.

After our days on the pond, Marvin and I are returning to the bed and breakfast where we got married, and we're spending our 10th anniversary back in the wedding suite, where we hope to again open lots of checks.

Okay, I'll just tell you, cause you're all gonna comment asking what about the cream cheese. So, since I am working full-time and driving 80 minutes a day and then proofreading that 468-page statistics textbook in my "spare" time, I told Marvin that he had to take over everything else for now, including food. So when I woke up Saturday I asked Marvin to go get bagels.

He came back 487 minutes later, because it always takes Marvin a lot longer to go do things than it takes me, and he said, "Now, don't get mad."

You guys. So many, many times, Marvin and I have gotten in fights because I have sent him to get something and he came back with the wrong thing. Like, once we were having a party and I was doing everything frantically and I gave him a list of things to run and get at the store, and he came back with half the stuff on the list. "Where is the garlic?" I asked him, naked with wet hair and 15 unblown balloons in my hand. "I figured we had to have garlic, so I didn't get any."

You do not know the blows we have come to. Don't even ask about the time he got tomatoes and not tomato paste. One wonders why I don't just give up and go get the stuff myself, but I always seem to forget that these tragedies are gonna happen.

So on Saturday when he said, "Don't get mad" I knew I was gonna be mad. It alllllll comes rushing back to me every time it happens again.

Marvin got (are you ready?) onion bagels and HONEY WALNUT CREAM CHEESE.

Now, what freak would think that was a pleasant combo? How did the bagel store even allow him to leave like that? Don't they have measures in place?

And what's worse is when he does this, he acts like I am the fussbudget. Like annnnnnnyone else would be HAPPY to eat an onion bagel with honey walnut cream cheese, it is just diva me, over here, who cannot abide by it.

Anyway, terse words were exchanged, although I did apologize later. And I ate the onion bagel with the honey walnut cream cheese. If I am lost at sea for a week and a half, and the boat that finally rescues me presents me with only onion bagels and honey walnut cream cheese, I promise you I will wait till we get to shore.

Anyway, we're celebrating 10 years of this next week. I think 10 years is the honey walnut anniversary.


Is it okay to let your dog chew a pine cone? Cause clearly I am letting her. And photographing her while she does it. Look how proud she is of her find.


Is someone going to send this in to Animal Services and Tallulah will be ripped from me for abuse? Somebody needs to report me to Lawn Services. LOOK at how that lawn needs help.

If I hadn't spent eight-and-a-half hours proofreading statistics yesterday, perhaps I could have turned my attention to the yard. But no.

Oh, and SAVE THE MONEY? SAVE IT? Look, I learned a lot of things from last year's no spending experiment. I still use one lipstick at a time, and only when it is cutting my lips do I buy another. I still haven't replenished the wardrobe, and I take my lunch to work a lot. And how do you think we came up with a down payment for this house with the dry lawn? From not spending, that's how.

But this freelance project. Oh, it is terrible. I have to have a reward at the end or I will die of sadness and ennui.

Save the money. Hah!

But that is not why I gathered you all here today. I did want to tell you that a faithful reader sent me some vegetarian recipes and Marvin, who has suddenly become my wife and personal secretary, is going to make one of them. Yesterday he got me three sides from Boston Market, so I could enjoy me the Market and not eat meat.

He also went to the store the other day and got me all the food I had mentioned in the past several days: strawberries, spinach calzone, salt-and-vinegar Pringles. I know Pringles aren't healthy. But I had just gotten off the treadmill and had no idea he was going to present them to me, and it was almost as good as if he had presented me a baby lion.

Okay, but here is where I need help today. Can anyone come proofread a textbook? No, no.

The problem is Ruby. My beautiful black cat, who no picture does justice. She is 12, or she will be on Tuesday, (same day as Princess Diana). But instead of Dodi being the trouble, doodie is.

I have had Ruby since she was eight weeks old, and this cat has NEVER gone outside her litter box until now. We have moved six times, other cats have come and gone, and she has had asthma, but NEVER has she screwed up.

Well. As I have mentioned, someone has been peeing on the bathroom throw rug. I suspected her, because sometimes there would be large pieces of black fur on the rug, and her asthma has been acting up, which makes her shed.

Marvin just took her to the vet for said asthma yesterday, and the vet said she's fine. Now, my suspicion is she is doing this because Tallulah is much bigger and she was away from Tallulah for two months, and last time she lived with this dog, the dog was a bitty puppy and not scary.

OR, she is sick and it's not the asthma.

So, seven minutes ago, as I sat to write this, she came in here, meowed at me, AND POOPED! She dropped Mrs. Brown off at the pool! See how handy it was to have you all send in your poop phrases yesterday? It was like Providence.

I think she could not be more obviously trying to tell me that something is up. I mean, other than cross-stitching me a sampler: "Mom! I am miserable!" this was the best she could do.

So what do I do? Do I go back to the vet? Put a diaper on her? Have a blog giveaway after all? Sign up to win a poopy 12-year-old kitty! Squeamish people need not apply!


We're going crazy, over here.

But meat is so TASTY!

Someone once told me it is funnier to read my blog when I screw up, so today will be a laugh riot. You will be stitching your sides. Is what you'll be doing.

King Henry VII called. Wants me to stop eating all the meat.

Oh, you guys. They had a cookout at work. And the guy doing all the cooking works in my department. And I have the office with the sink. So all morning, he was cooking the five-bean baked beans with bacon, he was cutting giant red fat tomatoes for the burgers, he was setting out the brown mustard, RIGHT IN MY OFFICE. And the two enormous grills? RIGHT UNDER MY WINDOW. It was like The Last Temptation of June, there.

And I ran really hard last night, and didn't eat much for dinner because I am busy, and so I was STARVING. STARVING, I tell you. Those hikers who were gone 11 days? Not nearly as hungry as I was.

By the time noon rolled around I was like a pack of lions on one of those jackals in the nature shows. I was totally on my haunches, growling and pulling with my teeth.

Oh, that hamburger was good. It was clearly ground round or whatever expensive hamburger meat is. And those beans! I know I of all people should abstain from beans at work, but I snorted them, I rolled around in them, I tossed them about like Ann-Margaret with the chocolate in Tommy.

It was delicious. The coworker who thinks I'm weird said, "You seem awfully…happy."

You know what I said, right? Num, num, num, is what I said.


But I am DONE now. It was a SETBACK. I had stir-fry for dinner. With nice carrots. And our good friend rice.

And by the way, it is getting to be the busy time at work, and naturally the place I freelance for sent me a 400+ page book to proof. I wrote them today and said after this, I cannot read books for you any more and for a while I can't even read flyers for you. Get over it. Go eat some meat, I told them.

They seemed relatively okay with it. They seemed like they are going to try to sneak in a book or two, but I will not fall for it. I can't work 10-hour days at my real job, then drive home and proofread, which is actually what I am going to be doing for the next 14 days, but then I am done.

I am done with meat. I am done with too much work. Done done done. Dun-dun-DUNNNN!

Riding the wagon wheel coffee table with Clark Gable

I am home from work, and Bitey the Pit Bull is in here with me. She is spread out on the concrete floor, cause why is it always so hot in the South? You never saw Scarlett O'Hara looking perspire-y, except for the day Atlanta fell, and anyone would be sweaty if your whole town was on fire. And you were sitting next to Clark Gable on a wagon.

Do you have a list of favorite men from different times? Or is that just me? I have Clark Gable circa 1938, Jim Morrison circa 1968, Barry Gibb circa 1978.  Years ending in "8" are apparently good for men. Oh, and Cary Grant anywhere from 1940-1965.

My in-laws are in town and will be here shortly to go to dinner. I am sorry to say that we will likely be returning to Pastabilities. I am only sorry to say it because the name still makes my asshole pucker up and twitch, as my grandmother used to say. Other than the dumb name, the food is delish.

Also, my mother-in-law said I could just not blog about it if I got dessert yesterday, but I did have one bite of pots de creme — one bite of the vanilla and one bite of the chocolate. But that is ALL. And we were sitting outside at dinner yesterday, and as a result I felt not all that hungry, so I had three side dishes of vegetables for dinner. The fact that one of those vegetables was some creme-filled, pretentious version of scalloped potatoes is beside the point.

Aren't scalloped potatoes wonderful? Who invented them? Could you ever get tired of them? I don't think I could. Whenever I am at a buffet, I go for the potato/cheese things first, way more than I would sweets. Am I alone on this, like I might be alone on Barry Gibb circa 1978?

And I guess after all that waxing about potatoes, you will all be glad for me when you hear that the nurse at work is starting up a Weight Watchers on site. I am excited. I remember back in 1992, at my first real job, they started a Weight Watchers and I wanted to join up just to be like everyone else, and they wouldn't let me because I weighed less than 127. I want to go back in time and date Clark Gable, then slap myself.