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Wednesday, September 26, 2007

My Birthday

So, I'm 36 now. I think to a lot of people, I now qualify as old. Probably, I qualified as old before I was just ignoring them because I wasn't yet the dreaded "middle aged". But I am now. Old and middle aged... all at the same time. Oh Woe Is Me.

I read a quote not so long ago that said, "Do not regret growing old. It is a privilege denied many." Since it is true and it puts me in my place, I will not complain too loudly. Besides, as far as birthday's go, it was a pretty good one.

It started with me forgetting it was my birthday. WOOHOO!!! Any time you can forget you are no longer the 28 you remember, it is good news. LOL

Unfortunately, everyone felt it necessary to remind me through the day that it was my birthday, but I never once got all 36... I mean 28 candles on my cake. I got 5, and then 6, and then about 10 :)

They ordered pizza at work and we all stood around talking about... guess?... you can't guess can you?... no really, guess... that's right, we talked about WORK!! None of us has a life I've decided.

Then, my daughter called me to talk to me. "Happy Birthday, Mommy!! I made you a castle cake!" I can hear babysitter in the background laughing at this point and I correctly surmise that this was supposed to be a surprise, but Short Person is just too excited to keep it one.

I replied, "You did? That's GREAT!"

"Yeah... but it looks funny." She sounded as though it were just a dire circumstance and I'm wondering if half of it fell down while at the same time assuring her that I would love it because she made it. Later, I thought that maybe it simply did not meet her expectations of what a castle cake ought to look like. It was a circular mold with turrets. Perhaps she thought it ought to have popped out looking like Cinderella's castle. A three-storied monstrosity.

"Okay, I gotta go... I'm putting flags on it!" The flags I later found out were candles.

When I went to pick her up, she presented me with the cake, a box she had painted in which pictures can be put in four frames on top and treasures can be stored in the container portion, and a card she had colored. She was so cute about it. I wish I had a camera recording everything.

My husband took me out to dinner. We chose the restaurant with the good Macaroni and Cheese so that short person would have a good time. He had earlier bought me a latte maker, so no gifts were present to unwrap, but he did take Short Person shopping.

LOL... they walked through the door and the first words out of her mouth were "Mommy! We bought you slippers!" My husband cracked up (as did I). Secrets are SO a thing of the past!

Overall, it was a good day. I've got no complaints... except that whole middle aged thing...

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Le Toilette Memoir

I am willing to bet that when my high school speech teacher gave us an impromptu dissertation on why no one threw parties to celebrate new toilets he had not taken a recent trip to the porcelain laden aisles of Home Depot. Had he taken the trip, chances are he may have considered the purchase of a new toilet something party-worthy. After all, with names such as "Savoy", "Westminster", and "Devonshire" you'd certainly want to invite people over, for clearly they are something special.

As I walked down commode condo boulevard there was one porcelain hottie that had me raising my eyebrows... and not in the good way. The toilet was called "Memoir".

Okay folks, we need to have a talk. Maybe there is more wrong with me that just dorkiness mixed with a touch of insanity. Maybe, internally, I'm all f'd up too! Because to be quite frank with you, there ain't nothing going into that pot that I want to keep a Memoir of!

And just, pray tell, how in the HELL do they keep this Memoir? Is it digital? Dear God, would we see it on YouTube? Does it record sound? Does it computerize it? Or are you going to be sitting on the cold surface while a voice talks into a digital recorder. "September 28. Seven o'clock in the morning. Came out a little smoother than usual, but had a freaky green color to it. Press button 2 if you ate spinach last night..."

Ew! Ew! Ew!

While at work I voiced a similar concern with regard to this one and I learned that Japan apparently has talking toilets and toilets that sing to you and toilets that spray a nice scent in the air and on and on. So I'm thinking to myself that it is not that long away that we have toilets that record data for doctors or if you're just... weird. But me?! I avoided the toilet like it was the plague. Me? I got the one that said "Consumer Reports rated best buy."

But I was longing for the Devonshire.... Unfortunately, my butt decided it as too pretty to actually put such icky stuff in it. LOL...

Monday, September 24, 2007

Flies Are Dumb

I always thought flies were smart because they always know just where to land on your food to make inedible.

And they always know the most inappropriate time to buzz around your head.

AND, they are quite the accomplished deceivers... but that's another story.

I have a fly above my head right now that is trying to get to the light. I figure he either thinks he's dead and needs to "go to the light" or he's just dumb. Either way, he keeps crashing into the plastic light shield thing. Tap, tap, tap, tap...


I suppose that there may be a sentiment that I am not giving this fly enough credit. Maybe he is smart. Maybe he does know what he's doing. Maybe... just maybe... one of those other flies up there that are laying lifeless against the plastic is his long-lost brother Ed and he is just trying to get to him. And the tap, tap, tap, is one of frustration.

Perhaps, if I had a fly swatter, the humane thing to do would be to send him to meet Ed.



Damn it, I suddenly feel like I'm getting ready to recite The Raven

"... and he came a tapping above my office floor..."

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

A Dundee Haunting

A Dundee Haunting

Two years ago, newly acquired video camera in hand, some friends and I set off around Dundee to film a horror movie. It was to be called "The Legend of the Axe Murderer of Dundee". As we shot footage at the cemetery, little did we know that Dundee already had a ghost story... and she was buried only a few feet away from where we stood...

In 1983, City Hall moved from the Fire Hall into what is now A***** Winery, but the employees were soon to realize that they were not the only one's to reside there.

"You knew something strange was happening because you'd get a sudden breeze that smelled like a sweet, floral scented perfume," former City Administrator Molly recalled, "Odd noises, footsteps where no one was walking, lights would go on and off, so we started looking into the history of the house. We started talking to a long-time resident of Dundee, Emil Sander, and that's when we learned about Lena."

Lena was born October 19, 1883 to Zachariah and Hannah Imus. Her father owned a feed and grain store until being appointed postmaster in 1898. She attended Portland Business College until she was asked to return home to assist in the post office while her father was ill. He died shortly thereafter.

Lena continued to work in the post office and live in the house we now know as A***** Winery, however it would seem that the years were not happy for her and there were rumors of an unmarried pregnancy. On December 17, 1908 she drank carbolic acid and died two days later. She was 25 years old.

"We figured that she didn't like men very much. Especially red-headed men!" Molly said.

I asked her if she could give an example. "I remember that we needed to have the repair man in to fix the photocopy machine. His suitcase of tools was sitting on the floor while he looked at something on the machine and all of the sudden it tipped over. Not so it fell down, but it upended itself so that all of his tools fell out."

"Yeah, Chris looked at him and said, 'Oh, don't worry. That's just our ghost.'" Todd chuckled remembering, "That guy never came back."

Todd recalled another event. "We kept the letters for the reader board upstairs in the hallway. In order to put the letters up, it required a long pole with a suction cup at the end, which was with the letters leaning up against the wall. It was leaning in such a fashion that it wouldn't be able to tip over and accidentally hurt someone.

The Chief at the time, who was also a redhead, brought his little dog Tweezer into the office. They went up the stairs and walked down the hall, like they had a thousand times before. When they got to the end of the hallway and were getting ready to go into the Police Department, the pole jumped away from the wall and landed on the floor with a smack… barely missing the dog."

There were other stories of odd things happening, such as the back door opening and shutting long after it had been nailed shut and no longer an entry to the building and footsteps occurring in rooms where there were no people.

"I just remember that we teased the girls a lot about it, not wanting to believe them." Alan said. "It made a set up for the perfect practical joke."

Todd, a new Public Works employee at the time, recalls. "I remember that the girls in the office had it all figured out. Where the coffee pot was located in the building was where she drank the acid, and by the door was where she collapsed."

"I was cleaning out one of the shelves at Public Works about two days before the anniversary of Lena's death and I came across an old bottle of carbolic acid. When I showed it to the other guys we came up with a plan."

Molly remembered the day. "On the anniversary of her death, we came into the office and went to the coffee pot, the location where she drank the poison, and got ready to make a pot of coffee and there stood a bottle of carbolic acid. I remember that for a few minutes it set our hair on end and freaked us out… but we knew those guys too well."

"Yeah, they figured it out pretty quick." Alan recalled, with a laugh. "I kept waiting for them to say something. In the end, I had to ask if anything odd had happened so I could find out what they thought, but they already knew it was us."


Lena's obituary states that before she died she told her mother that she longed to be at rest, but stories from City Workers both past and present tell a different story. Her tombstone eerily states "Not dead, but gone before."

In the time since Rob and I had the first conversation about including stories of old Dundee, and specifically an October tale we could tell, odd things have started to happen at City Hall. Doors open and shut, lights turn on and off, and cups rattle on the shelves. Has Lena's spirit returned once again to walk the halls of a new City Hall?

I, for one, hope I never find out.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Short Person’s First Soccer Game and A Disaster Averted

Short Person had her first soccer game today and I can safely say that I've learned quite a bit already. Such as:

1) Don't get her dressed in her soccer clothes until 45 minutes before we need to be there. I got her dressed fairly early. Soccer Shorts and Shirt, anyway. Black shorts and a blue shirt with white sleeves (totally cute, if I do say so myself). About an hour and a half before we needed to leave, she decides she doesn't want to play soccer and she's not going to wear her soccer clothes and takes them off to put on something different she's chosen.

It was an argument that lasted up until she figured out that mommy was going to make her go. I kept telling her she couldn't say she didn't like it until she actually did it once. Turns out what she didn't like was the clothes. LMAO... We changed the blue shirt to a pink one and she was fine.

Although two minutes from the soccer field she asked where her blue shirt was because "she wanted to wear it". Three-year-olds, who can figure them out?!

2) Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

3) Chocolate milk and goldfish crackers probably aren't the best breakfast. I'll be making pancakes or waffles and will be serving them two hours before hand to avoid upset tummies.

4) We need to bring our own soccer ball. That way, I can avoid the 30 minute interrogation of where our soccer ball is and the attempted explanation that the coach would have plenty for us.

5) Though I will bring a chair, I will not use it. I will be too busy following my daughter around trying to keep her from kicking the ball onto the other soccer field. LOL... there are six little kids, none of them with great ball control. They all go every which way. It's so funny!

6) My daughter is entirely too much like me when it comes to the perfectionist thing. About half way through the practice, Short Person's coach gave them an instruction to follow. I believe it was to go and get a soccer ball and bring it over to the circle. Instead of doing that, Short Person runs over to me and bursts into tears. In a heartbroken voice she says, "I'm not very good at this."

Oh man, nail to the heart. I tried to explain that no one expected her to be good without practice and that it was okay, but she was so upset I don't think it sunk in.

7) I need to work on teaching her fundamentals of soccer. She didn't understand that in the game, there is only one soccer ball and everyone is going to be working to take it away from her. That was meltdown point and pretty much finished off the first practice/game of soccer for her.

I took some video, but I was so busy running around that there are only a few minutes and my camera pretty much gave up the ghost. So, no pictures this time. But I'll get them next time.


I was so angry two hours ago it's amazing I've calmed down. Part of it has to do with the fact that LJS and I managed to fix a major disaster. No, maybe that's all of it.

We ordered a granite countertop for our bathroom. We were really happy because we found someone that came in much lower than some of the bigger companies in price. He seemed nice, he was local, and he was easy to get in touch with.

We gave him the dimensions for the cabinet, chose the granite and sink and let him get to work. Well... I picked it up today and it was 1-1/2 inch too short.

I called him thinking that there had to be some way to fix it and maybe we could put our heads together to figure it out since he (supposedly) knew what he was doing. He answered the phone, I told him the situation, and he launched into a 10 minute... attack... about how he shouldn't have taken the job because little jobs were a pain in the ass, and how he took the dimensions from my husband, and how we signed an invoice, and I should just bring it back and he'd give us our check back. I interrupted to ask if it was okay if I talk then and gee, would he listen, and then explained that I was more interested in fixing the problem. Another launch from him until finally I said fine, we'd bring it back and hung up on him.

I went back into the living room completely irate! For an hour, LJS and I talked about what we could possibly do to fix the problem. Since it was an 1-1/2 inches short, I figured we could just find a saw that could cut granite and notch out the overhang so that it would be flush on both sides. Back and forth we went, until I brought that idea up once more. It was like a lightbulb went off in my husband's head. He stood up, went into the garage and came pack with a piece of wood that he laid on the countertop and then scooted the granite over until it was flush.

It worked. If you don't know what it was supposed to look like, you'd never know the difference. The faucet cutouts are about a millimeter off, so we can sand those down.

As for our check... I'm not calling the guy to tell him we're keeping the countertop. I figure, let him figure it out for himself, we had too.

We also got our tile for the floor figured out. LOL... our bathroom is so small we have to pay the minimum for install and I think it's going to take 25 tiles. A $25.00 floor, how funny. Well, not including installation. The minimum charge for installation is a bit more.

Our bathroom is going to look so nice. I can't wait! Now, I just have to convince my husband that it is IMPERATIVE we have a bathroom door before he leaves to go fishing. He was trying to convince me that it would be okay to put up a curtain during my two parties. Umm... I think NOT!

Friday, September 14, 2007

Can a Tiger Change Its Stripes?

Does it matter where you've been in life? Can a tiger change its stripes? Can people change?

These questions have been filtering through my mind lately. I hold that I don't really care where you've been, I care where you are going. But, if you've been to the dark side, and you've been there repeatedly, can you change and go on a different path?

Can you trust someone that has a history of being untrustworthy? Can you, by including them in a circle so completely different from where they've been, help change their stars.

Or, are they forever doomed?

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Marble Mania / Mel the Artiste

While watching the Supernanny a few years ago, I noticed that she had, for some children, implemented a rewards system. For each chore completed or good deed, the child would receive one marble to put into a jar. Once the jar was filled, the child received some sort of a treat or prize. I always thought that it was a good idea, but the timing hadn't been right for Short Person and so I filed it away for future use.

Over the weekend, I visited the Dollar Tree and noticed that they had $1 bags of the decorative marbles and different bowls and vases and the memory crawled up and walla! Short Person now has a rewards program.

After discussing the idea with LJS, I purchased 3 bags of smaller marbles and 1 bag of the larger stones and a tall vase and sat down to discuss with him exactly how we would implement the marble program.

We started with the rewards. On the vase, approximately an inch and a half apart, I marked in permanent marker a line. It worked out that there were five lines to the top of the vase. The first line is a trip to the movie store, the second line is a prize from the prize box (which we plan to fill with little things we know she will enjoy-- an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, trinkets, M & M's, etc.), then another movie line, another prize box line, until finally when it is filled a trip to Toy's R Us.

Then, we discussed what she could earn marbles for, starting small and reserving space to add things. She can earn marbles for:
1. Doing her chores-- each item is 1 marble
a. Brushing her teeth
b. Brushing her hair
c. Feeding her animals
d. Washing her face
e. Picking up her toys
f. Picking her clothes for the next day
2. Doing what we ask her to do without complaint. (In other words, listening.)
3. Trying bites of something new.

Equally, she can lose them too. She loses a marble if she throws a temper tantrum or doesn't do what we ask.

The big marbles we are reserving for days when she does something we think deserves one. For instance, I had to go to the DMV last weekend and she went with me. She did great even though I know she was bored. Big marble reward for that one.

So... last night we introduced the system. LOL, I think she has about 10 marbles already. She asked us how she got one and then went about doing everything she could to accumulate as many as she could.

We'll see how it goes.


We finished Short Person's room. Below, I will post pictures of it so you can see how cute it turned out. We painted it pink as per request and then I went through and put glow-in-the-dark stars on every wall.

I had to use a star stamp to do it so part 1 was the stamp and part 2 was going back and hand-painting all of them because for best results it takes two coats. Me, and artiste, whodathunk?

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

6 Years Later

Like everyone else, I remember exactly how I woke up that day. I remember exactly the words coming out of the DJ's mouth as my alarm clock went off at 6:15am. "We had what would have been a very funny show for you today, but obviously in light of this morning's events... If you are just joining us a plane has hit the World Trade Center in what has obviously been a terrorist attack on the United States."

I remember hopping out of bed, something that never happens, not bothering with my hour-long round of hitting the snooze button and running into the living room to turn on the television. Once it was on, I ran into the bathroom to put on my contacts so I could actually see it. When that was accomplished, I walked the 15 feet back into the living room.

The phone rang and I answered it not sure of who would be calling me. My co-worker's voice on the phone, "Are you watching the tv? They hit us." The words didn't make sense to me. We hung up a minute later since we both had to get ready for work. I watched the television and watched the footage of the plane flying lower and lower through residential neighborhood and then hitting the pentagon. It seems odd that I have that memory since, to the best of my knowledge, they never replayed that footage-- EVER again. Finally, the phone rang again. My mom. I was on the phone with her when the first tower fell.

The entire day was surreal. This horrible tragedy and I still had to go to work. We watched the tv in the Council Chambers and listened to the radio. Not much got done that day. Not much got done that week. All I remember feeling was numb. For weeks. Just numb.

Every year, they have television shows on commemorating the day. Whether it's interviews with families of victims or the technical aspect of trying to land several thousand planes within a 45-minute period (my favorite episode- those people are amazing!), but tonight they did something different. MSNBC replayed the coverage of that morning. Two hours of it ending right after the second tower fell.

It was interesting watching that morning again, knowing what was going to happen. There was no shock left, but emotion still ran rampant. I could put myself back to that day, which may not be hard considering that in some ways it feels as though it only happened a few weeks ago. I can't believe it has been six years! Maybe that has something to do with the amount of space your memory is given. When you remember it every day with such clarity it takes longer for your brain to space it out according to the calendar, in my opinion.

Watching the entire footage again... I'm back in that day. That moment. I'll never forget.

I've been searching the internet for hours looking for the picture for which this poem is written. It is a photo taken a couple days after 9/11/01 at a candlelight vigil where a man is holding his daughter on his shoulders. She's holding a flag. If I find the photo I will edit this blog and post it here, but for now here is the poem I wrote not long after. It would more than likely be much, much better with the photo. At this point, I'm not even going to pretend it's good (lol)

A little girl sits silently in a crowd
Face solemn with despair
Her father crying

She sees no faces, around her heads are bowed
Her fingers grasping hair
Flags above waving

A cheer goes up, exploding around her proud
Our nation will not scare
The anthem playing

Freedom and Peace will prevail our leader vowed
Over all who have dared
Terror of Flying

Then, at last, we see her smiling.

Ah... I got lucky. Here is the photo.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Through the Fence

Short Person made her first friends this weekend, through a fence, as I was washing dishes.

She'd been playing all day with our dogs, chasing them outside and screaming her giggles, and then it just sort of... happened. I looked up and she was talking with two little boys and one little girl in the yard next to ours.

The kids are the niece and nephews of our next door neighbors. Next door neighbors we really like-- even though we never actually spend much time talking to them. They are the sort of really laid back people that you dream of living next to your whole life-- one of the top 10 reasons that moving doesn't always sound like a good plan.

Anyway, it happened just like it is supposed to happen-- if that makes sense. Short Person started talking to them, about 10 minutes later they invited her over, and she went.

LOL... I should say she went back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Traipsing through our neighbors house as though she owned it as she went over, then decided to come home, then left again.

Damn, she's growing up fast.

The worst part is that LJS and I are quite the socially misfit. Neither of us really knows how to handle a social situation like this because we aren't all that outgoing in this way. We kept getting stuck in what was socially acceptable. *sigh*

Oh well, I think what matters is that she had fun, and she's made some friends, and LJS and I have finally started moving toward a closer knowledge/relationship with our neighbors-- whom we really like, but don't know how to broadcast that.


Once the visiting was done, Short Person came home to play. She wanted to play with her Doctor stuff, so she pulled out the bag and came into the living room to sit on the floor in front of us. It was apparent that she was looking for something because she kept digging and digging, tossing the unwanted items over her shoulder like chewed up chicken bones.

We kept asking her what she was looking for, but she wouldn't answer us. Nothing out of the ordinary for this weekend, unfortunately. She just went about her search, until finally there was nothing left in the bag. And then...

She put it on her head, looked toward us, and cracked up laughing.

Maybe you had to be there to catch the humor in that, but when it happened, it was so apparent to us that she'd been purposely ignoring us and tossing the chicken bones because we were laughing and talking about it. The bag, I think, was a last minute improvision but it happened so quick it was as though she had that conclusion in her mind the entire time.

Sometimes, the intelligence of her actions catches me off-guard. I'm not ready for her to be that smart-- or have her mom's wacky sense of humor.


I was bidding on the cutest flannel nightgown for Short Person this morning. With 11 seconds left, I was outbid by 50 cents. I HATE THAT! But the only thing that really came out of it is my deep regret that I never learned how to sew. I could have sewed her 3 gowns for the price I was willing to pay for the one.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

Roll Bounce

My head feels like scrambled eggs right now. Or maybe it's just sitting in the middle of one of those great big fluffy clouds that looks dense from down here, but when you zoom through in an air plane it just looks like fog.

I envy people that can go through life taking the hits as they come at you. "Bonk!" and they just roll bounce over the jagged parts not really feeling the poke. Me, I feel like I'm falling down a flight of stairs that was carved into the side of a cliff and they forgot to take away the really jagged rocks along the side. When you roll you hit them all and they tear pieces off of you as you panic for a hand-hold on the way down.

It takes me awhile to get my bearings back. To process the fall and figure out how to climb back out. The roll-bounce people, they are like helium balloons. They are too big to leave the confined stair well and only bounce into the jagged rocks-- they don't actually hit them hard enough to pop.

Today, at work, was like that.

I work hard, or at least I feel like I do. I work hard to learn my job so that I can do it asleep. I can do it with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. I can explain how to do it half-drunk to the novice on the other end of the phone in the middle of the night while air-sirens wail in the background.


I take pride in my work. Half of the process we do, systems we have set up, I created. They are my babies. But for that reason, I'm a control freak. If something is happening with my baby, I want a say-so. I need to know that I'm still going to be able to do my job as efficiently tomorrow as I did yesterday. I'm also a perfectionist. I hate going back to fix things. Pisses me off.

Today when I walked in to the office, no more that 10 seconds through the door, I was told that two people that have nothing to do with a system I work on daily and even hourly have decided to change a major component of it.

Roll-bounce... bonk, bonk, bonk, bonk, bonk, bonk

I talked them into waiting a month, after I'd sat and processed for about five hours, but the slide down the cliff really wreaked havoc on my concentration.

After that, it was an entire day of talking about other processes that need to be re-done... as I watch my to-do list grow with priorities and things I can't put off. Hours of talking. I have no concentration left, and I still have hours of work to do.

Sometimes I think about getting a different job. Having freedom to go home a 5pm and forget about everything, not have to stress about the stuff still on the desk screaming about deadlines. Someday.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Random Happenings

Luciano Pavarotti is dead.

Man, that's such a damn shame. I almost feel speechless. I never expect the greats to pass away. It just doesn't seem... possible.


Short Person is still afraid to sleep in her room. Even with her new princess bed, she won't do it. She says she's too scared too and that she needs her Daddy. Then she talks about the monsters and the noises and the man in her room. *sigh*

Monsters and noises I could force the issue on. "No, Daddy took all the monsters outside and there are none in your room." I don't care what people say using "There's no such things as monsters" isn't going to work on a 3-year-old.

I can even explain away the noises and actually have a great movie for that one. I think Paz or JoJo or some character is in it.

But it's "the man" that I can't get passed. I hate that. *I* don't feel anything in the house-- well, on a regular basis anyway. Sometimes I feel them in passing, but they don't stay which is good. Maybe they know I don't want them here. But the man keeps returning. She'd forgotten about him for a long time, but now he's back.

I'd think maybe she was that smart and picked up on the fact that it bothers me and uses it as a ploy, but she does it in the middle of the day. "I don't want to go in there, the man is in there."

DAMN IT! I love this house because I feel comfortable in it. So is there something here or not. It's making me mad. I need to go visit a haunted house, maybe I've lost that wonderful intuition for feeling those kinds of things.

Or, maybe she's just playing me. Maybe she just doesn't want to be alone. Crud, I'm suddenly seeing a future of sex at 12, teenage pregnancy, and any boy because it's a boy. Eek! I need to find some way to instill some self-confidence here.


Lastly, we had someone out to give us an estimate on how much it would be to re-coat our fiberglass shower. The guy that came out said that whatever they use can't be put over fiberglass and they have this great new acrylic shower/tub they could put in.

It's easy, he said. We just cut out your tub and put in the new and seal up the walls. Let me write up an estimate for you.



LMAO... LJS almost fell over. Almost. But we've gotten really good at the, "That sound great. It's a little more than we want to spend, but give us a few days to think it over and we'll get back to you." line.


For that, I could knock out a wall and expand our bathroom, put in all new appliances, new flooring, new furniture... crud.

We spent, yeah, I mean I SPENT, the next four hours on the computer tracking down a fiberglass refinisher in Oregon. Finally found one. His estimate?


SOLD! To the guy over the internet.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Guess I'll Go Eat Worms

My sister just wrote a blog about a memory that she and I share. The first is about a song that everyone in our family knows by heart. It is the Worm song.

"Nobody Loves Me, Everybody Hates Me, Guess I'll Go Eat Worms"

Well, one day, my littlest sister decided to go and do just that.

It wasn't an ode to the song. She didn't think everyone disliked her, but she needed something cool for speech class. She had to do a presentation on how to do something, so she decided to teach her classmates how to eat a worm. The proposal was to write the speech and then WOW them by eating an actual worm. In front of them. In the classroom.

Now, my sister is fairly sensible so she decided that she really ought to practice this experiment first and make sure she'd be able to pull it off. So, she went out and picked up a few worms from the front yard, washed them off, got out some catsup (believing they would taste better that way) and put one in her mouth.

She bit down... and suddenly there were two worms.

She bit down... and then there were four worms.

She bit down... and then there were eight worms.

And they were all trying to bore their way OUT OF HER MOUTH! By going THROUGH HER CHEEKS.

If memory serves, this would be the point where she spit them out and nearly threw up. Honestly, I don't know how she prevented herself from tossing her cookies all over the place.

The next day, in front of the class, there were no live worms. I believe that the class was suitably horrified when she, in exacting detail, explained her experience. And they only grimaced a little when my sister passed out the gummy worms so that they could all give eating a worm a go.

If you think I am strange, you really ought to meet my family. :)