PlazaJen: Passion Knit

Yesterday morning, I got up early & made a double batch of banana chocolate chip muffins. 12 muffins, and 5 mini-loaves. Mmm-hm! Even as I was making the batter, I was skeptical of the recipe - it seemed to thick. And, sadly, it was. Too much flour, and I'll never use that recipe again. They were a little more like biscuits. I had one muffin, and JWo had one & a half mini loaves. We joked that they were probably "dog treats".

Oh, how true it is when you have a black lab in the home....

Yesterday afternoon, a certain Miss Polly Purebred snuck off from the computer room, and ate ALL BUT FOUR MUFFINS. That means she had 7 muffins, and 3 & 1/2 mini loaves of bread. Like, over 3 cups of flour, some eggs, almost a bag of chocolate chips, a cup of sugar - hey! It's not exactly the BARK diet, but it was homemade! James saw her skulking back in, and thought, "oh, noooooo...." and the fact that she wasn't keyed-up dancing and asking for dinner. Turns out, she'd helped herself to a li'l dinner, right off the kitchen counter. That dog loves to stand up like a freakin' kangaroo, and she's not afraid to exploit her skills to serve her better! James was worried the chocolate would affect her badly, and I said, "Oh, hell, Ashley's dogs have eaten entire bags of Hershey's chocolates & been fine."

The baking plans I have for this weekend? Will be CLOSELY MONITORED. I'm not planning on making any more DOG TREATS. Y'hear that, Miss P?

You are Woodstock!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

So, last night, we went to the casino for dinner. They had a great shrimp (and prime rib, but I could give a rip about prime rib) buffet, and we had a yummy time. I don't frequent the casinos much at all, so it's like being in a foreign country for me. We decided to pool some money and play video poker. Of course we lost, and then JWo wanted to play some blackjack, so I idly lost more money in various slot machines in between wandering around and watching him play.

Here is my one succinct observation in a casino. If you walk around and say, "I lost it all!" even though you just mean the $10 you put into the nickel slot machine, people will jerk their heads around and look at you with abject fear in their eyes, fear you can spot clearly through the smoky haze. Because they think you lost your house, your car, your dogs and your mamma. I said "I lost it all!" quite cheerfully, about three times, to JWo, and by the third time, picked up on the fact that what I was saying was akin to shouting "Fire" in the movie theater. This reaction happened with men, women - all races, with the alarmed look and head jerk.

Which made me laugh, of course, because yes, I did not exit a winner, but I do not like to gamble, and once I'm in doing it, of course I'm sure I'm going to hit triple sevens on a progressive slot and get a quarter of a million dollars. But when my credits are done, so am I. I don't keep feeding the machine, for Las Vegas doesn't twinkle and shine because it was built on winners. And I AM A WINNER. If only in my mind. Now, if they had a slot machine that dispensed yarn? (Noro Slots!) I could seriously, seriously find myself putting the house on the line.
(just kidding, JWo!)

The internal phone ring at the Major Case Squad on Law & Order, Criminal Intent?

Sounds just like our doorbell.

I did not notice this similarity NEARLY as much as Miss Polly did.

BURF!

Unpack materials. Neatly stack non-recyclable parts of packing into one pile. Note one's precision and feel smug. Find instructions. Read them, carefully & diligently.

Cut out template for drilling holes; ascertain you DO have an overhang style cabinet, tape template into cleaned out shelf.

Discover drill will not fit in shelf. Plan B. Tape template to underside of cabinet.

Attempt to tape template.

Attempt taping over and over again, for it seems there is a special non-tape-adhering style paint that has been applied and enjoy squishing your face underneath the cabinet. Despite the fact the template is hanging on by a thread, drill first hole. Template falls off.

Now, template must not only be taped up, but must match first hole.

Find bamboo skewer in drawer. Put through hole, tape into place on shelf surface, which does not posess the teflon quality paint finish as the underside.

Put template back in place, apply more tape & hastily mark holes with a brown sharpie.

Commence with the drilling.

Drilling sucks.

Scream at the dog to return to her pillow.

Get all four holes drilled, finally.

Locate correct size spacers to accommodate depth of overhang. Realize one is not a Hindu deity, and recognize at this point in the installation, it has become a job requiring approximately six hands. Extra hands are not included. Illustration neglects to show any hands at all. Burn hole in instructions with eyes.

Attempt to grow four more hands by staring hard at the tequila bottle on the counter. Fail.

Say a prayer to your other favorite goddess, Necessity, and assemble the following into a tower: One oval Calphalon roasting pan, One large can of Kirkland brand Columbian coffee, One Fanny Farmer cookbook, One dilapidated Moosewood Restaurant cookbook, and One box of Betty Crocker SuperMoist yellow cake mix. Set undercounter CD/Radio/Clock on top of this pile, discover box of yellow cake mix makes the pile too high, and position radio under drilled holes.

Discover one hole ain't right.

Attempt to fix without drilling fourteen new holes. Or moving the Tower of Radio. Fail.

Lose temper. Consider drinking tequila and leaving project for husband. Note is only 9:30 a.m.

Begin tightening the three screws that do line up. Begin to think three screws are just fine.

Become incredibly frustrated drill/screwdriver has not magically grown smaller and (once again) will not fit in shelf, thus mandating all three screws will be tightened by hand.

As clock rises to meet the underside of counter, you will need the SuperMoist yellow cake mix. Jam box in.

Back left screw will continue pushing radio down. Jam half-empty bottle of margarita mix under radio. Note how it works just fine.

When all three screws are in, mutter many self-congratulations & replace the shelf liner & all the glasses. Plug in radio.

Set clock. Several times. Discover there is a military time feature. Turn off.

Wipe down all sawdust, put tools, tape dispenser, tower pieces & instructions away.

Note that headache has not gone away & in fact worsened through process.

Finally, put in new Madonna CD. Proceed to dance with your dog in the kitchen and feel very, very pleased. And know that if we ever sell this house, the $40 cd clock radio will be thrown in for $1,000. Extra. Because that's what it will take for me to reverse this entire process.

I'm watching footage of yesterday's shopping debacles, people getting trampled, maced & taken down over laptop computers on sale.

I understand having loss leaders to bring people in, and "Black Friday" is a huge day in the retail world. But surely there is a better solution than turning it into a melee-free-for-all that makes people RUN at 5 in the morning to push through the doors & race for the deal. I think they went through this a long time ago in ye olde Rock N Roll community, hm? I've heard that Best Buy gives people waiting in line coupons, to be redeemed for the product. That would be helpful, takes the panic Am-I-Going-To-Get-One out of the mix.

We are a consumptive society ..... I am not immune, and I do love to shop - but even I am exhausted by the behavior, the bad attitudes, the absolute disregard for other people that this Black Friday machine has created. Is that acceptable? Is it truly the cost of doing business?

Harrumph. I'm slowly turning into one of the grouchy old Muppet men in the balcony....

My friend Beth wrote me this morning & asked about how my shopping went. I thought, hey, I could copy & paste this & not have to type it twice, and then you will also see just how much I abuse the run-on sentence laws in email form.

Please keep your hands and legs inside the email at all times. Here we go....
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Oh, god, I was so irritated at Target this morning, all these people were behaving as though THEY were the only ones out and about. Literally before I got into the store. People stopping in front of the store (while driving) and then having the gall to give ME the hairy eyeball as I drove around them! I thought one person was going to hit me. And once I was in the store, it was the same thing. I can't imagine what WalMart was like at 5 am, and honestly, unless there's something in particular on sale next year, I am going to think long & hard about going out. (I say that now. Wait until next November....)

I got my Target stuff, the only deal/sale item being the undercounter radio/cd player I wanted last year & my BIL forgot my list, so I got a quesadilla maker and squishy pillow, instead, and then I went to Linens & Things & just bought the tv trays, plus the drink buckets were $6.99, buy 2 get one free, so I got chocolate martini, eggnog something & peppermint twist. Because this year the holidays are going to be about drinking, not decorating. Then off to Michaels, where, did you notice, it was like Fort Knox with the 25% off coupons? I'm surprised I didn't have to have a cavity search just to cap off my morning. And the frames I bought aren't deep enough to hold a matted picture, which pisses me off, so they have to go back & I haven't the strength right now. Maybe later this weekend, we'll see. I skipped the drycleaners, too. Came home, ate, watched some recorded stuff & went off to bed. I love my electric blanket. LOVE IT.

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That's pretty much it, my early morning adventures. There were rude people, people leaving carts in the middle of the aisle, to go and look at something, people moving extremely slowly. This is the marathon time, people, and if you haven't got a plan and the capacity to move fast, you need to do your shopping on Tuesdays over the lunch hour. With all the other amateurs. I much prefer shopping the day after Christmas, I think. At least everything's half price, which offsets some of the bitchiness you inevitably encounter. Oh, and I forgot to put in my email that while I was checking out at Linens-N-Things? This crazy woman interrupted my checker-outer lady, asking if anyone had found a library book. In a cart. From this morning. This was at 6:30 a.m. Now, I don't know what kind of shopping regimen you follow, and if you take library books in with you to make standing in line go faster? But you are immediately cut from the Jennifer Elite Squad Shopping Berets if you bring a library book in, AND leave it behind in the cart. We have stringent rules in the Shopping Berets. For we are, the Shopper of One. The Few, the Brave, the Shoppers.

It's nice to have this holiday where the only expectations of you are to show up and eat.

Over the years, I've had Thanksgivings alone, with friends, with my family, with James' family.

One of the years I was alone is especially funny - my ex boyfriend stopped by (after hanging out with his current girlfriend) & brought me a piece of pumpkin pie. Moving past the enormous salt shaker pouring into my wound, I took a bite. This was no ordinary pie. He had made a pie from all-natural ingredients. Without sugar. Organic unsweetened graham-cracker crust. Pie filling sweetened with :shudder: molasses. The only redeeming feature was real whipped cream, unsweetened as it was. I was polite, and yet knowing how transparent my face can be, I know he knew I didn't like it. Fortunately, his visit was short & I tossed the rest of it.

As my friend Pete observed later when I told him about it: "Life served you a slice of BITTER PIE that Thanksgiving...."

So, today, I am grateful to have a simplified holiday. We're going to our friend Roger's, and all we have to bring is a cheese plate, and I purchased enough cheese at Costco to be officially licensed as a Cheese Head. Oh, yeah, and a pumpkin pie. $5.99 at Costco, and guaranteed not to be bitter..... ;)

James & I were talking a few weeks ago about an appropriate blog for Thanksgiving, and all the things we're thankful for - and it became clear, quite quickly, that we are thankful for the internet.

Yes, that sounds kind of funny, and maybe a little geeky, and some might even raise an eyebrow & think "shallow". But hear me out.

~I met James via Yahoo! Personals, six & a half years ago.
~I found our house online, and knew when I saw the pictures, this was the house for us.
~James was alerted about a litter of pups, via an online message board, and a month later, we got Polly from that litter.
~Through my blog, I stayed sane (somewhat) in my previous job, and managed to make a bevvy of virtual friends, people I trust, people I laugh with each day.
~I got my current job because of Monster.com, through an auto-mailer I'd set up looooong before, and through email, got my interview & am now splashing happily through the muck in my new position.
~James found his job online as well.
~My knitting group got started by two people talking online, and connections happened from there.
~I found our cleaning lady on craigslist.com, and you KNOW how thankful I am for her. :)

The internet has brought me a lot, in addition to the shopping and recipes and emails and information. While the argument still exists that you can lose yourself in the internet, and isolate yourself from reality, the fact remains that the internet made finding all these things that complete my life so much, well, simpler. More available. Accessible. I sit in a room looking at a glowing box, and all these things pour forth onto the screen. People write to me, laugh in my comments, and all those little strings equal connection. My life is filled with the successes of using the internet, my life is richer from this space here, and the people who visit me. I don't pretend to be something I'm not, I love being a goofball & the therapeutic benefits of laying it out there. And for the most part, people out there accept that. Some even appreciate it. Knowing these things, seeing what surrounds me, I feel grateful. And that is why I am thankful for the internet.

(When all else fails, end your entry like a fifth grade essay.)

Have a safe, happy & joyful holiday weekend.
Love,
Jennifer

Apparently, my car is invisible. Like the stealth bomber, and the B-52, LaFonda the Honda joins the elite warfare ranks as a silent, invisible machine in the war on terror.

I submit to you my experience of last night. When I exit the building in my car, it's on to a one-way street, three lanes wide, at the bottom of a hill. It's a busy street, and I have to get out and into the middle lane within a block's distance. And I'm 10 feet from a stoplight. So it's a little like jumping in on double dutch jump rope some days. Last night, a FedEx truck was stopped in the lane closest to me, blinkers on, etc. I'm there, pulling out, almost in front of him and he just puts 'er in gear and completely cuts me off. Now, I had my window down and his was down, so I felt compelled to yell and tell him what a dickwad he was, and I saw a woman standing at the corner waiting for the light. I felt a little silly, but whatever. The traffic cleared, and as I pulled out and headed into the middle lane - pedestrian lady starts crossing against the light! And when she SEES me, just starts to hustle! Hustle! I'm braking to avoid killing her, there are cars streaming over the hill, it's dark, and she's playing in traffic.

So I yelled at her, too, of course: 'THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA, HUH?' because it is my responsibility to point out to everyone in the world what an idiot they are, especially if they are inconveniencing me. But it was as I continued driving, and people driving around and changing lanes like I wasn't there, that I finally realized: my car had some sort of Invisibility Cloak going on. I need to sell LaFonda to the Department of Defense and retire.

Instead, I'm going to be playing Clay Aiken's "Invisible" all day. Well, no. That would make me crazier than I already am.

Yes, I realize that the real Jennifer has been sucked up into the Mother Ship and has been replaced with a high-strung, whirling dervish of a person who is behaving with extreme OCD and productivity. I've already made two readers tired....living it wears me out, too - believe me.

I do not think it is a complete coincidence that this happened at the same time we hired a cleaning person. It's as though that burden, removed from my shoulders, suddenly left me springing up and down like a kangaroo on crack, pausing only long enough to refill my pipe. BOING BOING BOING! Actually, it could also be the gamma rays from my electric blanket, the only other change in the same timeframe.... hmmmm. Tin foil PJ's are going to be a bitch to find this time of year.

James, of course, has noticed this change. He likes it, because the house is staying clean, and uh, I, like, uprooted half his garden for compost in an unprecedented frenzy of outdoor-related work...while he was GONE. I fear he will not like it as much once I start wearing his whistle and throwing flags when he commits a House Foul Transgression. THERE ARE SHOES OUT OF PLACE, PENALTY IS DECLINED, IT'S A JENNIFER FIRST DOWN.

Now, if only I could get my butt on the treadmill with some regularity, I'd be ready for a marathon before the aliens get back & restore me to my nonproductive lifestyle. HAH! I only run if something's chasing me and I don't have my shotgun handy. But I am groovin' on the bouncing. BOING!

Ha! We're basically keeping the house pretty cool - and the upstairs is no exception. I noticed the dogs keep sneaking out of the computer room, in an effort to go back downstairs & be a bit warmer - so this weekend, I got Polly's pillow & the throw out, and hooked her up! Pampered Polly! (I can hear JWo, right now. "Jennifer! SHE'S A DOG!" I know she doesn't really need the blanket, but it makes me laugh. And it IS all about me, right?!

TEN-HUT!

Recycling, put away! CHECK!
Hat for JWo, knit! CHECK!
Bulbs dug up & put away! CHECK!
Annual pots emptied into compost bin! CHECK!
Tomato and pepper beds, uprooted for compost! CHECK!
Muffler for JWo, knit! ON THE NEEDLES, SIR!
Rosemary dug up for indoor wintering! CAN'T FIND THE SHOVEL, SIR!
Shopping at Target!? Shopping at Costco!? SIR! MUST ADMIT TO NAPPING, SIR!

Who posted guard during nap? GUNNERY SERGEANT POLLY, SIR!

(Gunnery Sergeant Polly can be distracted from duty by treats, I will have you know.)

Holy Toledo. I thought Weekend would never get here. PHEW! Thank goodness for that whole spinning-of-the-earth and the sun and all that jazz that can't be frozen or halted no matter how hard people try!

I have an Agenda for Weekend. It is not Hidden. Those are dreadful and bad and really, life-shortening, if you ask me. My agenda involves shopping for more Organizational Items That Will Change Our Lives Forever, it involves some Serious-Ass Power Knitting, because now I have two pairs of mittens and a hat and a muffler to make by Wednesday (bring on the knitting cocaine! (chocolate + thai food)) and a whooooole bunch of DVR'd shows, plus I now have all of the first season of Nip/Tuck, and nothing says loving yourself & finding inner peace like watching a show featuring people who cut themselves up to improve their lives & appearances!

I also was going to be purchasing an MP3 player, and have concluded that I am Too Old. My purposes are different than you mobile, jogging sorts. I want to organize everything, including my CD's, and I thought an iPod was the answer to my prayers. But, after consulting our IT person, my needs are (shockingly) much more complex and unanswerable with a single gadget. JWo, while he is not here this weekend, wherever he is right now, suddenly looked up and is suddenly feeling Not Surprised. So, I figure I just saved myself about $530, because if you give a mouse an iPod, then she'll want an external hard drive, and if you give a mouse an external hard drive, then she'll want a docking sound system. Give the mouse a docking sound system and then she'll demand a wireless transmitter for the car. Instead, the mouse is getting her big-ass television set. Dammit.

For, dear readers, the garage is worthy. Empty. Ready. The deal which was struck months back has closure. And I wanna start watching "My Name Is Earl" and think that Jason Lee is actually SITTING, life-sized, over to my left. Duuuuuuude!

That is my rock-em, sock-em weekend and I love it. There'll be some cooking, I'll probably get up at 4 a.m. to go to the grocery store (think of it as "training" for the day after Thanksgiving! - insert theme to Rocky -) because I can't imagine what Saturday afternoon's gonna look like at the Price Chopper..... I'd end up committing hari kari in the checkout line using a Twix bar and a soap opera magazine. And that'd be a hell of a way to screw up a perfectly good weekend. Not to mention, a waste of chocolate.

This hat was a request. Opening weekend of duck season is a day of pranks for my husband - he's thrown out little rubber duckies with the decoys in the past - to joke with his buddies. This year? He put on this hat. It took several consultation conversations, rough drawings, and a search for sew-on googly eyes that eventually I gave up on, and decided instead to epoxy-glue big googly eyes onto threaded buttons. JWo helped pick out the yarn for color accuracy to the mallard duck, and he's even worn the hat in large groups of people at early hours, when they draw numbers for picking order for their blinds. I love that he does this, because people look at him a little funny..... but they're most likely dumbstruck with insane jealousy.

There's no such thing as going too far to get the laughs in our house.

OK, in the new Madonna video, "Hung Up"? In the beginning, she's gyrating around on the floor wearing a godawful outfit, including these capri-length sheer hose? and as she keeps dancing, they become knee length. Which makes sense, of course, even if you're skinny & in great shape, those suckers are gonna roll up to your knees if you're putting your ankles behind your head & dancing with Farrah Fawcett Hair. But? Half the shots spliced together have the hose back at capri-length.

That kind of shit drives me CRAZY.

After spending the past 4 nights alone with my pillow theater arrangement (rolling from one side of the king-sized bed to the other throughout the night, thus guaranteeing cool pillows every time I wanted one), JWo was home! The Peaceful Wo! Mello-Wo! Right there, in bed, sound asleep! I had missed him. So, apparently, all night? I talked to him. In my sleep. I didn't just talk, I also LAUGHED in my sleep and talked about beaks. I remember him trying to get me to stop, saying something like, "Jennifer! You're talking in your sleep!" and I just LAUGHED and said, "I KNOW!" Oh, and we used our new electric blankets, and I want to sew a robe out of one & walk around with a big extension cord. Greatest! Things! Ever!

I am wound up and I love it! You just let me know if you wanna talk about beaks! I have lots to say!

So, Mr. JWo got home today from a five-day vacation of hunting, solitude, and meditation. He came home to a spic-n-span house, cleaned by this very industrious woman (not me) we hired, and many, many new forms of organization put into place in his absence, and the garage is nearly cleaned out completely, and a wife who is running around like she has been snorting cocaine all day.

We went to Red Lobster, because why dirty the sparkling-clean kitchen or eat leftovers? And we were seated by a family with a toddler who screamed, ever moment we were there. I maintained my composure, keeping focus on my Endless Shrimp and our Conversation, thinking of the Dooce post of not judging other parents because I'm childless and not accustomed to the shrieking even though I think she might have permanently warped my ear canals. Then, we got home, & my large Buddha JWo tottered off to bed, where I tucked him in with an electric blanket & proceeded to give a 10-minute dissertation on how from now on, I will hang up his ties, and how we are going to Keep Tidy, and how we are starting a new chapter in the War on Clutter. (Perhaps having a Venti Caffe Mocha at 1:30 in the afternoon was .... a little late for a power surge.)

He laughed at me, because I get on these Grand Schemes That Don't Last But Maybe This Time Is The Time It Does, but seriously, it's better to humor me than fight it, and he knows it, so he just sleepily pointed out that he was so at peace with the world, he felt like a Tibetan monk. I agreed, for he was extremely Zen and mellow, and countered with the notion that we were kind of like Ghandi and Idi Amin, because I was in a very high-key, monkey-chattering dictator sort of place.

That reminds me. I have this great idea to build a wall out of bones. Be right back.

I don't know how much of what I do is performance for the amusement & enjoyment of others, and how much of it is purely me, no cameras, no lights, no audience. All I know is that if Kristin weren't here? I would go crazy, and the people who sit by me would find me bizarre & eccentric, tiresome & foul-mouthed. Instead, I can start shrieking about mullet-wearing hicks who put their photos on their BUSINESS website, and how I don't want to call said mullet-heads, because it's like releasing a pack of bichon frise' dogs, who will ARF ARF ARF ARF ARF at my heels for months to come, even though I am only requesting information for new business, not for anything tangible with a budget.

Then there's the dipshit who has called me four times today, because he wants to talk before he sends rates. Hey? Guess what? I hate you, and we haven't even met yet. How will that help the negotiation process now? HOW'S THAT WORKIN' FOR YA, STUPIDO GIGANTE?????

To answer my first question, I think I'm encouraged to share my natural rantings, because I know Kristin understands me, has equally hilarious rants of her own, and to quote Shrek, "Better out than in, I say." So it's a good venting process and I don't go home crying or watch my hair fall out. But even in my solo car ride to lunch today, I muttered and lipped off at this IDIOT driver who could not stay in her lane, and she even got the Hairy Eyeball as I passed her, but she was too afraid to look at me. As she should be.

And at my lunch today? I actually said, "Pardon my French, but FUCK."
Just a fragile li'l orchid, I am. PRETTY. but fun!

I think Miss Winter has finally arrived...... the temperatures are dropping, we had snow mixed with rain yesterday, and it's time to bundle up! Inside AND Outside, as we're fighting the notion of paying $900 a month for heating expenses. ....but we are drawing the line at letting the dogs sleep in bed with us. (Though labs put out a LOT of heat!)

Here are a couple pictures of a tree on my street that was just phenomenal in its heyday:





Next up: Staying Vertical in an Icy, Icy World!

OK, even I, who pushes the boundaries of good taste & public decorum on a regular basis can figure out that placing bets in a dead pool as it relates to the Kansas City homicide rate is a bad idea. For god's sake, if you're going to do it? You have to LIVE IN KCMO, people. Maybe even be employed by the city. Maybe the po-lice dept! That would make it almost understandable. These numnuts lived in the sumptuous suburb of Leawood - Kansas - and just like making fun of Iowans, it ain't quite as funny if you're not one of us. Does that make it fair? No, but then, there's that big Life Lesson on How Life Isn't Fair. It wasn't until tonight that I realized people were actually paying money ($5) to participate in the pool. Wince, wince. Listen up. I can tell you firsthand when you work in the blood and guts and horror of daily life and see what human beings are capable of doing to one another? You do make jokes. I've witnessed rape victims, battered and bruised. Stabbed, left for dead and in intensive care, and yes, back at the victim services center? We crossed lines "in jest" that would horrify an observer. (Note: never did we joke around an observer! Smart monkeys!) You cross those lines of good taste and political correctedness, because there's nothing left some days, and it's a way of coping. Because you know you're all IN the same boat, fighting & trying to make it better, and some days? You just have to get it out in a crass, stupid way. Can't say I quite see how that template fits over these government employees in Kansas. Ooo! Somebody broke a building code! Curses! The stress! Margaret, let's start a betting pool on KCMO's homicide rate!

All of that sniping aside, I think it would have been a smarter punishment to borrow a page from one of my husband's 5th grade teaching techniques. Require each death-pool participant write a letter, to each of the 112 families, apologizing for what they did. Take their salaries that were suspended, and put them in a crime victims fund. Having their boss apologize for them takes their personal responsibility away, and shoots it up into the blue-sky-yonder realm of government. And you know nothin' comes out of government except a lot of spin & tape.

So, we know that's not going to happen. How 'bout instead of dedicating all this time & energy to lambasting the employees, and Mayor of Leawood, and Demanding Apologies and suspending people right & left, we get some more time, money & energy poured into the poor parts of our city, break into the silence that locks the murderers safe behind sealed lips, get some of the thugs out of the streets and into county. Figure out why people are shooting each other so much. Drugs? Money? Turf lines? What the hell? Make as many jokes as you need to, if it helps you find something to fix it. There's blood on the streets, and that's the real pool we've got to stop.

Your Heart Is Blue

Love is a doing word for you. You know it's love when you treat each other well. You are a giving lover, but you don't give too much. You expect something in return. Your flirting style: Friendly Your lucky first date: Lunch at an outdoor cafe Your dream lover: Is both generous and selfish What you bring to relationships: Loyalty

Tammy had a post about her betrothed, and how he went to the hospital & had to drink barium. BARIUM! Apparently it tasted like unfancy chalk milkshake, but in my romanticized, Curious-George-influenced mind, barium would be found on the shelf right between "Ambrosia" and "Elixir". (Which is filed next to "Ether", apparently Curious George got into that at one point, too, as I have a mousepad which proves it.) My parents got me the Curious George Goes to the Hospital book waaaay back in the day when it was looking like my tonsils & I would need to be parted, and quick. For the less-read set, Mr. George swallowed a piece of a puzzle, and he was a HIT on the children's ward. I, on the other hand, didn't see a single other patient when my tonsils came out, and let me tell you, despite the promises of Ice Cream All Day Long, having one's tonsils taken out is not exactly Fun Times and Party Pants. The surgical staff learned a little lesson that day, though - they didn't clean me up before they wheeled me out, and I apparently had blood on my face, and all down the sheet. My parents thought I was dead & reacted, you know, how a worried parent might. MUCH OF THE FREAKING OUT. My money says they started mopping up the blood & changing the sheet before wheeling you out after that. Me? I slept through the whole thing. Sort of sums up college, too.

Miss Kristin was the brains & dexterity behind the success in standing Curious George upright, with both puppets on his hands & as you can see, he is King of the Jelly Bellys. Kristin is Queen of the Sweaters, as you can see, she is wearing her finished Te Rosada in a loverly hand-dyed blend of greens & yellows.



I took these pictures while I was on the phone. My title is Queen of the Multi-Tasking!

Karen tagged me for a li'l meme, which are perfect for Sundays! Here we go. I'm going to lay it out there that if you'd like to do this, too, consider yourself tagged, and if not, just kick back & watch some football. I might have even done this one before? But I don't remember, and I'm up for seeing if I have new answers!

7 Celebrity Crushes

1. Michael Chiklis
2. Viggo Mortenson
3. Vin Diesel
4. Henry Rollins
5. Dave Grohl
6 & 7. Those two brothers on Prison Break, Hottie & HottieMcHottier


7 Things I'm Good At

1. Talking
2. Entertaining
3. Knitting
4. Cooking
5. Puzzles
6. Sleeping
7. Backrubs

7 things I plan to do before I die:

1. Own a station wagon
2. Travel overseas
3. Knit a really complicated sweater
4. Stay married to the awesome JWo
5. Write a book
6. Never settle
7. Keep learning

7 things I say often:

1. What the fuck?
2. Dammit!
3. You gotta admit...
4. Let me ask you this....
5. Fucker (I swear a LOT.)
6. This is Jennifer. (how I answer the phone at work)
7. POLLY, PILLOW!

7 things I cannot do:

1. Move furniture with my husband
2. Make items crafted from small pieces of felt and maintain my sanity
3. Stay organized
4. Keep my mouth shut
5. Enjoy mustard
6. Play an instrument
7. Eat "Thai Hot"

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:

1. Humor
2. Eyes
3. Forearms
4. Kisses
5. Stability
6. Honesty
7. Flexible

Yeah, JWo, that last one? It's alll for yoouuuuuuuu...... see number 1!

...if you consider the Mississippi River one of the coasts. (name that movie!)

Standing outside tonight, I was reminded of a time a therapist asked me what I believed in. What :could: I believe in. The answer I gave her was, "The wind." For me, the wind is symbolic of a force you can't see, you can't take a picture of it, you can't follow it, per se, and it changes the landscape wherever it goes.

I know what it's like to stand on the edge of a beach, the roar of the water, the horizon and sky disappearing and merging together, and certainly those places make one feel small in relationship to the world around you.

That same feeling is right in my driveway on evenings like this, all the trees around me bare, waving their branches and gyrating against the deepening blue of the night sky. The rushing noise of the wind surrounding me, dry crunchy leaves swirling and leaping while the next gust built force and then poured in around me, as big as a wave. I turned my face to the wind, coming from the south and the west, and saw the first star of the night. I thought about how we humans consider ourselves at the top of the heap, but in that moment I was as inconsequential and small to the wind as one of the oak leaves at my feet.

There's something beautiful about living near the plains; we know it's not fancy or glamorous, and the only ships we have are oversized SUVs and semis hauling ass on the interstate. I've even seen a tumbleweed or two zip across the road out on the highway. But we got wind, baby, we got biiiig wind. And there are three things that get me wistful, philosophical & filled with the world around me: a landscape blanketed in snow at twilight, the smell of an Iowa corn field in the heat of summer, and big wind through the night sky.

-Shoes
-Black Shoes
-Makeup
-Watches
-Earrings
-Skeins of Yarn
-Knitting Patterns
-Purses
-Gadgets
-Good Friends
-Naps
-Orgasms

Did I shock ya? I was paging through the latest Sephora catalog, and almost fell over myself. (You know how reactionary I get with the physical comedy.) There is a makeup set called "Multiple Orgasm". Don't believe me? See it here. Now, I'm all for makeup sets & making oneself attractive & all the fun of being a girl (or drag queen) and playing with makeup. But even me, Miss Jaded & Seen It All, never thought she'd see makeup named as such, and described as giving one The Look of Multiple Orgasms. (They did so in the catalog, not so much on the web page.) Mind you, I'm not rallying the Parents Against Everything On Television, and it made me raise an eyebrow and chuckle at the same time. I think it's such a funny dichotomy in which we live, where we are bombarded with sexual messages & imagery at every turn, YET, one lonely nipple on the Super Bowl gets everyone's wardrobe in a bunch and censorship gets another surge. Maybe it's not you or me in particular getting wound up - it's more those political chumps. But tell me those same chumps don't have a stack of porn in their nightstand, or get their kink out by wearing women's shoes & hosiery. It's going to take a long time, I guess, to get over our Puritanical roots and fears. That said, it's my opinion that some of the people in the media's eye should just walk around naked and be done with it (Paris Hilton, Li'l Kim, Christina Aguilara) - they'd probably look less trashy than they do in their outfits designed (I use that word loosely) to titillate and tease.

I guess it's my own sensibilities, shaped more by my father's influence than society - perhaps because I was raised without television, or even Cosmo magazine for that matter. He cautioned me against excessive makeup and perfume ("no one should know unless they are VERY close to you") and that maintaining a little mystery was more attractive than putting it all out there, so to speak. Maybe that's a little Puritan, maybe it's just tasteful by our societal standards. All I know is that there's a line - in all of us, and in society, the fine balance between repression and expression. (Just as there is between good taste & bad - yet it is all subjective.) We can take some of our discomfort and see it as a reason to examine our own issues, why something would make us uncomfortable, or sometimes, it's just reason to roll our eyes at how 'out there' or blatant something is. My reaction to the Nars makeup was more along the lines of leaving a little mystery. To me, things like "pouting, bee-stung lips" or "warming blush" are sexier descriptors than the clinical, albeit straightforward, "multiple orgasms". But hey, it sure worked to catch my eye on the page - and then spend time writing a blog about it!

And really, it all boils down to one question: is that the makeup look I want to wear to the office? (and THAT makes me laugh.)

(yeah, and what the hell is up with getting up at 4 a.m. on a Saturday? I absent-mindedly & completely skipped my daily coffee/Diet Coke fix yesterday & had a junkie's withdrawal-headache wake me up this morning. So you know who's nappin' today!)

OK, I have today off. BLESS IT. It was that or I was going to rip a couple people's heads off and take them bowling. Not necessarily in that order, but have no doubt, heads were gonna roll. My boss actually called me an "ass clown"* yesterday to finally break through my angry swearing banter, and it CHEERED ME UP. How many jobs do you get to say THAT in, I ask you????

(*I kid you not, he said, "ass clown": that's a sign of a motherfuckin' good boss, too. He even said it was a good idea, when I stated I was gonna kick a certain individual's ass. Said, "It needs to happen." I know I can't actually go and do it, but the shared sentiment goes a looooong way.)

So today, I give you a smattering of things that made me laugh this week.

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From one of my favoritest shows on TV right now, "My Name Is Earl":
"Some people were born to be super pretty, some people were born to be knife throwers."

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JWo threw out the smartass question, "What rhymes with purple?"
My snappy comeback? "Orange."

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Did you know I'm the Gadget Queen? I love me the gadgets. LOVE them. I always want something new. So I see a T-Mobile commercial (and we're T-Mobile customers), and I state, "I NEED a Sidekick."

JWo, doesn't even look up: "POLLY'S your sidekick!"

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JWo: "Don't you have book club tonight?"
Me (exasperated): "NO James, it's not every week! It's every 5-6 weeks."
JWo: "Well. The Evelyn Woods Book Club meets every two days."

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So, on the calendar for today: this morning, meet with a woman who cleans houses, and determine if she has the fortitude, strength & dedication to take our house on. It is not dissimilar to becoming a Green Beret, in my opinion. I will be shouting at her like a drill sergeant to see if she flinches. Then I get my hair cut, and I'm currently plotting lunch plans right now. I may take a page from Miss Bekah, and have me some adult beverages tonight! It's that or run around the neighborhood, shrieking like a howler monkey to burn off some steam. Maybe I'll do both.... Happy Friday, everyone!

You know, those big stick thingies that they swing around a lot in the Kung Fu type movies, Jackie Chan's used one, makes that excellent WHUH WHUH WHUH whipping sound through the air?

That is what this week has been. I feel like I'm wearing soft slipper shoes & I'm bouncing all around in the trees, whUH WHUH WHUH whacking shit and grabby hands while I travel across the entire landscape. And while I'm doing it without falling down, I'm getting a leeeetle tired of it. For whatever reason, I'm not allowed to smack people in the FACE with my stick thingy, and that's where I'd get some joy.

Someone toss me the numchuks! Unfortunately, with my hand-eye coordination (or lack thereof), I would end up spiking myself right in the face. Seriously. I can't even shoot a rubber band without hurting myself. It's a wonder I don't just trip & fall down, every single day.

Instead of the blog I was GOING to write today, on Sex and Marketing, you have to put up with some ranting & my desire to swat the entire Kansas Board of Education, along with CBS' Early Show, for putting Jerry Falwell on the television, at least they had Bill Nye the Science Guy to counter him, but then? then? THEN? They put a third person, a comedienne, to just crack jokes. How about we get the Irish Spring dude in the third window when we interview some folks who survived Auschwitz? That would be funny, too! Hey, you know me, anytime we can throw political correctedness out the window, I'm the first one at the sill.

THWACKETY-THWACK THWACK THWACK! The swatting has commenced.

OK, so they put these new automatic flushers on the toilets at work. I'm not sure what the point is, except I guess to eliminate the chance that someone is behaving like they're 8, and not flushing after they use the facilities.

But here's the deal: right before the automatic flush occurs? The thingy makes a sound. It makes a sound not unlike a baby raptor, from Jurassic Park. Which is arguably a little disconcerting, given that one is seated an in a semi-vulnerable state of undress; if for some reason you are using the bathroom as a personal 5-minute escape from stress, it is actually alarming. I seriously expected to turn around and see a green head with a mouth full of fangs coming out of the wall. FABulous, dahling! Good thing my pants are off already, otherwise I might have shat them.

Now, yesterday, I don't know what the deal was, but the flusher just started Cah-RAWH! flushing. And Cah-RAWH! flushing. And Cah-RAWH! flushing. Any notion I had that this was a way to conserve water was gone. It was not unlike when the waiter tries to take your plate away, but you're not quite done eating? Hey? hey? hey? Not so fast, Mister! Usually I just stab the waiter with my fork, but this was different. I had no fork, and the baby raptors were squawking, repeatedly. The last bastion of peace & quiet has been eliminated, and I hustled out of there.

I just thought I should point out that it's NOVEMBER. November the Seventh. As in, the month before Christmas. NO-VEM-BER. Let's focus on the last syllable, "BER" or, as it often is around this time of year, "BRRRR".

It is 70 degrees outside. I had to put the air conditioning on IN MY CAR after our big presentation today. WTF?!?!

Now, understand this, what with the "natural gas crisis" and the fact I spent $200 on electric blankets this weekend, I'm not in any big hurry to crank up the furnace. BUT. Seriously. The a/c? Someone's snoozing on the job. Or, as my crazy brain would think as a young girl, "Ceres is able to keep Persephone with her longer right now" and only the Greek Mythology nerds out there will nod their heads.

And? The presentation went well. Even if we don't get the business, I am reminded of two Very Important Things: I like the people I work with immensely, and I am respected for what I think and do. And my big boss bought me a margarita at lunch and I need to go to sleep now.

I've learned about the howler monkeys from watching Survivor. {Let us pause for one minute to SCREAM about how disappointed we are in the "good" people on the winning tribe and the fact they kept Jamie and voted off Brandon. BITCHES! RAFE! I am so disappointed in you, you would cry if I told you. :BITCHSLAPS:}

So, I realize I don't do a very good imitation of le Howler Mihnkeys, but that doesn't stop me from trying. I only do it once, not on repeat command, so you better have your video recorders ready if I decide to start hooting. (I was describing them to my brother-in-law on Friday night since we were forcing him to watch the DVR'd show. Descriptions are better with sound, I think.)

Today I feel like a Howler Monkey, because I have 800 things to do, have been going at a pretty good clip all weekend, and I have to go in to the office today to prepare for a new business pitch, which is tomorrow morning! I just wanna sit on the couch, knit, watch a movie, and drink hot tea. SUCKAH! HOOO HOOOO HOOOO HOOOOOOOOO you don't get to! So it makes me want to hoot really loudly for no reason other than to be loud and annoying, because I am annoyed and therefore everyone else around me should be, too. And Howler Monkeys are the loudest animals in the world. I would give them a run for their bananas today! Honestly, I think it's less about the sound they make but the facial expression & bared teeth when they make their howling. It's a good look on me, and perhaps I'll use it in the new business pitch. Weeeell..... maybe not.

So, you remember Wednesday? A Day of Great Wound-Uppedness? A Day of Biting Off the Heads of Bats?

I had to call a company to get some rate information to advertise with them. I knew, per Kristin, these people didn't have email. Because they work out of a cave with a card table and a phone line, I guess. So I'm chattin' it up & telling him what I want to do (oh, hang on, he made me SPEAK SLOWER, never a good sign.) And at the end, I chirp, "Do you want my email address, do you want to just email that to me?"
Him: "We don't have email. We're not in the 21st century yet."

And me, I get this flash of a zinger, and because I'm having a helluva day, I SAY IT. This rarely happens, because I try to keep all my Polite Filters in place, but something had jostled loose.

Me: "Oh! So. Are you calculating my rates with an abacus, too?"
(I hear Kristin start laaaaaaughing and saying something like 'JENNIFER! YOU DIDNOT JUSTSAYTHAT!')

And here's the gem, because immediately, I felt contrite, even though yes, it was funny, but before I could even apologize for being a bitch, HERE'S HOW HE WON MY HEART:
He said, "Yeah! Can't you hear the beads sliding in the background?"

And then we had a big laugh & I thanked him for being a good sport & said he was really funny, and I'd wait for the carrier pigeons to bring me the information (ok, I didn't, I had already pushed my luck once.)

OH, and how I was talking on Wednesday about how to set my hair on fire? How fitting is this?

Your Hair Should Be Orange

Expressive, deep, and one of a kind. You pull off "weird" well - hardly anyone notices.

Today, Miss Pretty Polly is TWO. Two years old. Every squirming ounce of her is filled with joy at the world around her, and our lives are better because she is in it!

(Suzy says Happy Burfday, Polly, too! See? She even got her a PRESENT. Unfortunately, all we had was Xmas wrapping paper.)

1. Answer my "This is Jennifer" with "Hello, Jennifer, how are you?" when we've never spoken before & you haven't introduced yourself yet. Category 4: Singe.
2. Tell me you understand I handle the advertising for a CLIENT I DON'T REPRESENT. And then? ARGUE WITH ME about that fact, that you understood I DID. Category 7: We Have Flammage.
3. THEN? THEN? Turn your fuck-up into a COLD CALL and start probing for what business I DO HANDLE. You know what that gets you? Category 12: Flames Licking The Ceiling, coupled with the tart, brittle response from me: "I'm not going to do your cold-calling research for you, GOODBYE."

Time is money, motherfucker. (I would have enjoyed adding that. But I'm still polite. JUST NOT ON MY BLOG.)

Ohhhhh, good golly. Just typing her name makes me duck a little. For a two-year period of time, I could set my father off like a powderkeg by just the mere mention of her name. Tina Brown. Former editor of Vanity Fair, and at the explosive times I am referencing, editor of the New Yorker magazine. Holy Fuckin' Toledo. You would have thought the AntiChrist himself had ridden up from the Bowels of Hell, in a black carriage drawn by devil dragons and deposited my father's subscription in his mailbox.

"FUCKINGTINABROWN*THATROUNDHEELED BITCH" would explode through my phone, which, if you know my father, "round-heeled bitch" is one of his favorite gender-degrading remarks. I had to have him explain it to me when I was a youngster, learning the Art of Cussing at his knee.("Because her heels are round, Jennifer, she's always falling over backwards into bed with men. A whore." Gotcha! Thanks, Pop!) He also taught me to deliver lines like, "You scum sucking pig" or, "You big gob of snot" with such evil seeping through my voice, he finally forbade me from saying it anymore. Why did he teach me this? I have no idea. But it sure would have given me a leg up as a merchant marine, had I chosen that field instead of advertising.

In any event, GoddamnTina Brown, every time Dad's inner eye flared up over her, I'm sure she felt it, walking down the street in NYC, hailing a cab, a flush of heat blazing up through her upraised arm, a slight buckling of a knee. She probably thought nothing of it, not realizing half a country away, a middle-aged hippie was seething and roiling with rage at her incompetence & directing a white-hot fury in her very specific direction. (This is the same man who had no restraint in his equal, if not greater, white-hot rage for that one and only big gob of snot Newt Gingrich. Maybe Arlen Specter. I love my dad.) And, perhaps, I tell this nugget of a story to illustrate the origins of my OWN wound-uppedness, when I get so pissed, small flecks of spit form in the corners of my mouth and I blink rapidly to cool my brain.

Well, finally, GoddamnTina Brown went away, on to ruin other shit, and the shambles she left in her wake was still the New Yorker, the pinnacle of literary goodness and essay excellence. I had a sales rep in from the magazine a couple months ago, and he had just started his rep job for the pub. I gave him a half-wry smile as I looked at his business card, his name printed in that distinctive-font the masthead is typed in every week. "That's something to be proud of, that right there," as I pointed at it. "That's the cache you represent."

Sure beats being a scum-sucking pig. Or a round-heeled bitch.

I have spent the past two days mashing up meat with my hands. Yes, yes, I have. On Sunday, I decided that enough time had passed since the Great Swedish Meatball Debacle of 1988, and I would attempt, once more, to make meatballs. JWo had been pining for a meatball sub for a couple of days, and I thought, Well, WhattheHell? I surely could make a homemade one that would tantalize his palate...

Brimming with confidence, I bought burger & spicy italian sausage, mixed it up with parsley, italian breadcrumbs, minced garlic, egg, and black pepper. Made mounded balls (heh), baked them in the oven at 400 degrees until done, simmered them in some Cascone's marinara (hey, I wasn't up for EVERYthing from scratch), slathered them into toasted buns (heh heh), topped with provolone & back in the oven until toasty-melty-goodness was achieved.
YUMMEH!

While I was grocery shopping, I picked up ingredients for one of my favorite meals, one I haven't made since I left home, I think. Stuffed cabbage rolls. Ohhhh, goody gumdrops, I must have some Polish blood in me somewhere, I LOVE those things. Beef + rice, plus more egg, onion, seasonings, and a couple tablespoons of tomato soup. Packed into par-cooked cabbage leaves, toothpick-secured, topped with more tomato soup & cooked to completion in a dutch oven on the stove. MORE YUMMEH!

As I was mashing and mushing and massaging and blending all of the meat & other ingredients tonight, I thought about how I'd now done this two nights in a row, and how I'm NOT making a habit of it. The payoff is great, but the manhandling of the meat is - well - kinda icky.

YOU just go ahead and read ALLLLLL the double entendres into this as you will. Because I know you will. In the meantime, I will explain the Great Swedish Meatball Debacle of 1988: our Swedish exchange student, Maria & I decided to MAKE this dish, since she was, after all, Swedish. So we made the meatballs as instructed, but these were small balls, sauteed in a frypan. Apparently we were not the experienced chefs, for we did not know we were supposed to DRAIN the pan or pat the balls & degrease them. (OK, I see you out there TITTERING.) So we made the creamy white sauce, and it became two-toned, cream and ORANGE from all the grease, and my father gave it the hairy eyeball & made himself a peanut butter sandwich, and we were mortified. After all that work, we'd done-gone & destroyed her Swedish heritage in one evening. Up until Sunday, I hadn't made meatballs since. Hey, it only took me 17 years to get past that failure. Should have a field day with my therapist over THAT one, hm?