SPRING!!!!

It's true! My second favorite season of the year is here! Spring, wonderful Spring. And the weather today was just about perfect, sunny, yet still crisp. Absolutely delightful.

Unfortunately, the inauguration of Spring has also brought a few unwelcome guests to our home... Ants...the littlest of pests. At least they are not spiders, that would totally freak me out. Happily, I can report that they reside only under our couch, and not in our kitchen or other areas. I have no idea why they would, or how they could, get into our house via the wall behind the couch, but it does make for an easy place to stick ant traps, where the cats can't get at them. Hopefully, in a few days, the ants will have gone to that special place where ants who eat poison go. (The neighbors! ) Ha Ha Ha!

When I think about ants, I am reminded of a story my sister shared with me about setting up an ant farm a couple of years ago. When you order the ants with the farm, the instructions suggest you put the ants in the freezer for a few minutes to stun them before putting them into the farm. (Shh, don't tell PETA.) The directions would also be wise to suggest you to set up the farm before any children enter the classroom. Unfortunately, my sister was not privy to this little bit of advice.

So, with her kindergarten class in front of her, my sister takes the ants out of the freezer and opens the container intending to pour the stunned ants into the farm. As any professional ant farmer could tell you, it takes quite a bit of time to stun an ant using the freezer, so instead of peacefully falling into the farm, the ants swarm out of the container and proceed to go everywhere except into the farm. After several unsuccessful tries to collect the ants and put them in the farm, my sister was forced to stand up and tell the class, "I'm just letting you know, I'm killing them now!" And proceeded to stomp around and kill all the escapee ants, to the horror of the 20 five-year-olds sitting in front of her. To my knowledge, none of those children had any permanent trauma from the experience. But, I'm pretty sure that memory will come back to haunt them one day.

So here's wishing you a shiny, happy spring --- free from unfrozen ants.

Mired in self pity

Today it happened again.
I received a rejection letter. My poetry has been given the verbal equivalent of the big giant stage hook.
Not only has my poetry not been asked into the club, but it was requested that it move out of the roped off area. Maybe it's the velour jumpsuit? So tonight I am mired in a swamp of self pity and morose. It won't last too long, just long enough for me to question every talent I thought I had.
I should focus my brain on solving the time travel issue. I'd like to fire up the ol’ DeLorean, rev her up to 88mph and whoosh...off to the past.
First stop, unknown publishing house.
Target, the first editor or reader-of-slush that thought it was a good idea to send out generic rejection letters.
Method, general harassment by vicious paper cuts and strategic use of lemons.
There, done. Back to the future with me.
The world is a happier place now!
OK, so I'm not going to do that.
I just wish that the letters, postcard in this case, you receive from a publisher was more personal than:

"Dear Writer;
Piss off and stop troubling us with your drivel. We have much better things to do with our time than read your garbage. For instance, on the day your collection of poetry arrived, we were having a spirited nerf gun battle in the office. I actually had to take time away from office warfare to open your envelope long enough to get the SASE out and stuff it with this letter...er...postcard.
Best of luck placing your work elsewhere (perhaps they won't play nerf there).
Sincerely,
Literary Journal that will never publish you.

p.s. Thanks to you, I now have a suction cup dart stuck to my forehead."

OK, so I'm paraphrasing.

Well, as I have chosen this particular activity in which to try and succeed, I guess I should stop all this crybaby crap and get writing.
I'll send more word slop out, and perhaps I'll hit the next editor during a break in the nerf season.

YAY, 1st rejection letter of 2006!!! WooT@#$!$#
See, I'm getting better already.
All you can do is make fun of these things. I'm pretty sure Mark Twain even got rejection letters. Yeah, don't go check that, just trust me, HE DID, JUST LIKE ME!!!

So every thing will be ok.

BTW…MANY thanks to my wonderful wife who has to live with me during these foot stomping stages. And you thought Fish Friday’s were tough to live with.

The Night the World Went Black

So, yesterday I was all set to break our blogging dry spell, but fate had something else in mind for me. The schedule for last night went something like this: Get off work...check, Meet husband at home....check, Go inside turn on lights...click...click...what!!!!!

Actually, we knew before we went inside that the power was out, what we didn't know was that it had already been out for 3 hours. Unfortunately, this was the second time in the last month that the workers across the street had accidentally cut the power line. This was starting to get a little old. With the prospect of many hours in the dark, and no food in the fridge, we decided a trip to the grocery store was in order.

After doing a bit of grocery shopping and spending some valuable time in the toy aisle, we were ready to check out. As it turned out the person ahead of us in line was one of our neighbors. He told us the power was back on temporarily, but would be turned off later that night, as they were digging up the street to fix the problem. I guess when you live by the police station, that's one of the perks. We grabbed dinner, and made it home in time to catch a couple of shows while anxiously awaiting the darkness.

Finally, about 9:30 the power went off again. So the rest of the night was spent sitting by candlelight, gazing into each others eyes, and holding hands. Just kidding. We actually sat by candlelight, watched some podcasts on our iPod and held hands. All in all, not such a bad night. In fact, I might even ask them to cut the power again sometime.

Can I Get Some Fries With That Shake?

Sorry to have two food related posts in a row...but the other day I was reminded that the magic is back at McDonald's. No, they haven't brought back Grimace and the Hamburgler...it's simply time for those amazing, fabulous, Shamrock Shakes!

Now, I enjoy a minty fresh Shamrock Shake every March or so, but I had no idea people were so fanatical about them (or the lack of them). My sister has always had an unhealthy infatuation with the Shamrock Shake. As a teacher, she has been known to whip up a batch or two for her school's St. Patrick's day party, and would always have two or three, or ten, straight from the source. I personally think it's an addiction. But yet, as I sit here talking about them, I can almost taste the frothy, green goodness that is the essence of the Shamrock Shake.

Darn you MickyD's what do you put in that green dye? And why does the name "Shamrock Shake" have to be so catchy? Get thee to a McDonald's before it's too late, they are only available for a limited time.

Do you put ketchup on that?

This is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard of.
I don't even have anything witty to say about it.
If you know that this is a hoax, please let me know so that humanity will be slightly less horrific in my mind.
Yuck

Hello Wrong Number.

A message was left on my cell phone today while I was at work. The message went something like this....

Overly cheerful, happy voice: "Hi! This is Sara Sassafrass* from Dr. X's office. This message is for Patricia Patterson."

At this point, Sara's voice takes on a slightly nervous tinge, perhaps because my name (which is clearly stated in my voicemail greeting) does not sound like anything remotely similar to Patricia Patterson. Now, if I were Sara, and was afraid that I had called the wrong number, I probably would have said, "I'm just returning your call, please call 555-5555" and hung up. But good old Sara, I'm afraid she's just not that bright. So in her nervous voice she says...

"“If this is Patricia, per your instructions from Dr. X, discontinue Eyedrops A, start Eyedrops B, and in 2 days start Eyedrops C. At your follow up appointment next week, we'’ll decide whether to keep you on B or C or both."

Again, here would be another good spot to hang up and move on. But not our Sara, she's just got to keep going. In fact, she's now on a roll. Her nervousness is gone and she's become brazen Sara. She begins berating poor Patricia Patterson for not reading the instructions Dr. X provided and tells her to read them carefully before she calls the office again. She finally rattles off the office phone number and says goodbye.

It's just my luck that Sara says the phone number too quickly (probably because she doesn'’t want Patricia calling back), so I am forced to listen to the message 3 times to try to get the number so I can call the office back and let them know they called the wrong number. I deleted the message and moved on.

The next message goes something like this...

"Hi Patricia, this is Sara again. I requested you not call the office before you read the instructions Dr. X wrote out for you. I just returned from lunch and am the only one who can answer your questions. Please read the directions carefully and call me back if you still have questions."

This time there was no nervousness in her voice, only thinly veiled anger. I am left feeling very sorry for Patricia and very angry at Sara.

I'’m about to hang up and call the office, when I realize I have another message. The message of course, is from Sara....

"Hi, this is Sara from Dr. X'’s office. I mistakenly left two messages on your voicemail as I was given the wrong phone number by one of our clients. Please disregard the dosing information for the medicine. It does not apply to you. Thanks, hope to see you soon."

Relieved that I don't have to call Sara back and talk to her in person, I think back on the conversations that took place. First, why does Sara hate Patricia so much? Why would Sara tell me to not pay attention to dosing information for medicine I do not have? Why does Sara hope to see me soon? Several hours later, I am still pondering these mysteries, and am extremely thankful I don't go to that doctor. I'm also glad I'm not Patricia Patterson.

*names changed to protect the innocent and the annoying.

You know it was a good day if you didn’t Hit or Bite anyone*

Friday was one of those days. A day where everything you work on seems to come to a dead end waiting for someone to get back to you, or when they do get back to you, you just have to start over. It’s like a bad game of Candy Land with no Gumdrop Mountain in sight. Come on people…it’s Friday, that magical day of the week when new projects cease and old projects come to fruition. In other words, it’s a wrap up day…give a girl a break!

All I really wanted to do after work was go home and relax, but my dear husband and I had the ingenious plan to go to the bank and finally set up our joint account. You ever been in a bank on a Friday night, right before closing? Trust me; it’s not all sunshine and roses in there. Honestly, we would have gotten better customer service if we had been sitting outside poking each other with scissors.

And of course, I’ve given up swearing for Lent so I couldn’t even properly vent my frustrations. “Oh my Ga…hhhwwww, What the….Heeee…ck?” I kept sputtering. I think Rick thought I might have an aneurism trying to come up with inventive non-swear words as we waited for someone to actually do their job. (You should know that this was the second time I had gone to the bank to set up this joint account…you can guess how well it went the first time. Luckily for me, that day, I was still able to swear!)

So, all’s well that ends well, I guess. Despite all the trouble, we finally have a joint account and my name change has been recorded in their system. Now we just have to wait a couple weeks for our new debit cards, checks and such. Fuuuuu….dge!

*This was a sentiment written on a wedding card we received. It is true for so many things, but for a wedding day, I feel it was particularly apropos.

Hello Newman

Nemesis. Ahhh, so evil sounding.
Do you have one? Not that bald guy who lives in a volcano and is surrounded by abnormal henchmen and sharks with freaking laser beams on their heads.
No, I'm talking about that person in your life.
That ONE!
The person that always seems to upstage you. Always has one story beyond yours.
ALWAYS had a better time then you.
You just got a raise, they got promoted. You wrote a song, they made an album. You published a poem, they sold their book, and the movie. You got married at the golf course, they got married at the mountain, in the snow, in the Alps.
That person.
You don’t really hate them, but your life would sure be better off without him or her. You can’t understand why people like them, but people swoon. You’re always nice to everyone, treat them equal, greet them cordially everyday. This person pokes fun, is aloof, rude, yet gravitational forces still converge on them. They aren't dependable, show up late, drink too much, yet all parties revolve around them.

You ever get rid of that person?
Actually have time without them.
Then, when you least expect it,

they return to your life.
ARGH!!!

"Honey, you got a little schmootz on your forehead."

Lent. I remember Lent. When I was younger I was an acolyte at an Episcopal church, very much like the Cathol's if you don't know. Every year the priests wanted to know what we were giving up for Lent. Snickers, sugar, beating up the neighbor kid, whatever. They obssesed about it, checking with us every week to see how we were holding up. Always reminding us of the reasons behind it all, which now have completly escaped me. I think I gave up listening to them one year.

Tonight my lovely wife will come home, I'll look at her, forget what day it is, say "honey, you got a little schmootz on your forehead." She'll kiss me and try to get some of it on me. I still don't know what she has chosen to give up for this Lental season (perhaps soup). Yesterday she still didn't know. I know we now have mystery meal on friday nights. I suffer, but I'll pull through. Whatever she decides she needs to give up, I will support her, and likely only tempt her with it every other day.
It's my job as her husband to make sure she remembers why she does this, and to remind her, often, how hard it is to sacrifice that thing.
See, I did learn something from those priests.
I'm such a good husband.

Mmmm....crab souffle.