Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Three Kids and a Prancing, Dancing Cat

This weekend my sister and I gathered up some children and headed over to - you guessed it - THE YOUNG AUDITORIUM - to see the children's musical Seussical. (Don't worry, they were our children. It's not like we just grabbed at the supermarket.)

Alex, age 7, did not especially feel like going. I thought maybe he was going to say he was far too cool to sit around watching a prancing cat, but his honest explanation included the fact that there was no popcorn at the theater. You just had to sit there. And, uh, watch. 

I could totally see his point, because one time, I was craving movie theater popcorn so bad I insisted (perhaps also forced by threat of violence) that we please just stop and grab a large bag to go, sans actual movie watching. Turns out you can totally do that in most movie theaters around here, except for the bitty one behind Toys R Us where they force a ticket purchase before you can even enter the building, which I think is total bunk because that movie theater popcorn is like crack and you don't want to see a crack addict withdrawing. It can get ugly. They make that popcorn addicting so you keep coming back. And it totally works

Personally, I was anticipating slight personal boredom during the show because I am an adult but I was super stoked to find out that Cat in the Hat is cah-RAZY fun! I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. It kind of reminded me of the first time I saw Toy Story and I was all bah! That was adult humor! Awesome! 

I was also worried about bored, fidgety kids. Which I totally shouldn't have worried about at all because Shannon drugged her kids before the show. I'm kidding. But really that's the only explanation I've got because that entire auditorium was full of fidgets except the kids I was sitting next to. At one point I almost leaned over to Shannon and suggested she take their pulses.... they just sat there, mesmerized by the dancing and singing and bright colors....

Taking kids to the theater is somewhat risky. Television and movies are full of camera angles and zooming in - thousands and thousands of hit-you-over-the-head hints of where you ought to be looking. With a live presentation you only get one angle. One view at the same depth. That's it. I wondered if the kids would keep up; if they would be able to tell where to look during a scene where everyone is on stage, but the main action is only in one area.

And then it dawned on me that THAT is exactly why live performance is so utterly cool. It's different from everyone's individual point of view. It's different no matter how many times you see a show because the lines might be delivered different, or forgotten, or stepped on, or an action added after an actor says, "you know what would be good here; what if we tried______."

Live theater is different and it respects that fact. And it respects you, the audience member. It says, "I believe in you enough to know that you are going to get this." It's not "gee, we've got this audience, but they really need help understanding the movement here, so let's pan out and then cut to a close up of Horton the Elephant."

Live theater allows kids to sit and become immersed in a make believe world that is playing out before them and kids totally learn from that. Ever come across the kid who has spent every waking moment with one person? They creepily mimic only those actions they've been allowed to see. "Oh, she has all your mannerisms!"  No, duh. You're the only example of action she's ever seen. She had no choice. That is, until the child comes across someone else that does it different. Suddenly, their world opens up in leaps and bounds just by being exposed to others; especially watching someone else play make believe.

I wish all kids could go to the theater. But, let's be honest, the cost of theater tickets is usually more than the cost of a matinee movie. For the cost of a live theater ticket you could get a movie ticket and popcorn. (And we all know it's really about the popcorn.) That's why I get so excited when I see theaters like the Young Auditorium opening up their doors to a daytime performance for area schools. I suppose there are some parents who feel it's a waste of a field trip, but then I'd question those parents to see if they ever took their kids to the theater and watched as their minds took in the movement on stage; saw how a person suddenly became a bird, or an elephant or a very small shirker named JoJo, simply by the way they held their bodies, or walked across the stage, or how they chose to deliver their lines, and through no computer animation whatsoever... 

Maybe that's what I'll do when I grow up. Or win the lottery. Find a way to expose as many children as I can to the theater. Find a way to encourage parents to take their children to more live performance activities and less computer/technological media zone out blitzes with their children.

Or, maybe tap in my love for acting and find a way to tour the country entertaining kids... can you see me as Amazing Mayze? Or, perhaps the dowdy Gertrude McFuzz is more a role meant for me....

Thursday, January 26, 2012

The One In Which Jenny Is Moved to My (Literal) Sh$t List.

If you've been following my blog you know that I've decided to learn to knit. Except I'm finding out it's way harder than it looks and my scarf that started out with 30 stitches in Row 1 has now grown to 47 stitches. (Somehow I added two more last night when I was "purling.")

Suffice it to say, my scarf has grown to epic proportions and no longer looks like a scarf but more like a shawl. So my funny friend Jenny said I could call it a sharf. Which I thought was completely awesome!

And so I've spent that past two days blogging about my sharf.

My sharfing skills.

My sharfing abilities.

My sharfing expertise.

My sharfing enjoyment.

And how I'm going to give my sharf to my sister.

And then I wrote about Crazy Ed the Knitting God and how in response to his pompous self-righteousness and also his (probably) sociopathic tendencies to tie women up in his basement and use their hair to knit sweaters (thanks a lot for that comment, Tina; I didn't sleep all night.) I announced I was working on a sharf. And had plans to sharf some more when I was done.

And then I got pretty much every woman in the class wishing me luck on my sharf. 

And then my Mom came over to my house and said, "uh, remember how you blogged about your sharf? And you said that guy didn't know what a sharf was? And one of your readers said he probably went home and googled it? Well..... perhaps you better hope he doesn't."

And that would be the point in the evening when my mother handed me a folded piece of paper printed with information from the internet search she did on sharfing;

     1. The feeling that you are barfing out your ass. Occurs 
          frequently after a night of drinking and is usually followed 
          up by dry heaving out your ass.
     2. To have to both shit and barf at the same time.
     3. The act of soiling your pants while vomiting. 
     4. To shit and barf at the same at the same time; a shart will 
          sometimes preclude a sharf.

Crazy Ed will be giving a group lecture on gastrointestinal disorders next week.

I, in turn, will be inviting Jenny to knitting class. 

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

I'll take your vicuña and raise you a sharf.

Last night was my second mad skillz knitting class... I proudly showed off what I had worked on throughout the week:

I'm in the process of getting a cat so I can blame this mess on it. 

I have no explanation. Except that I pulled when I shouldn't have and didn't stop when I should have.

After much laughter at my expense (there was no laughing with me) two women decided I needed help. And lots of it. 

After 45 minutes.... yes, forty-five minutes... the two amazing souls --- yes, TWO WOMEN worked on this mess for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES --- presented me with this:

It's the Holy Grail of Yarn Balls, y'all!

It was like suddenly I was a professional and could conquer all things knitting related! But not really because somehow over the course of time I've acquired fifteen extra stitches that weren't there in the first row. But that's why I'm telling everyone I'm making a sharf (Jenny's term for half scarf- half shawl).

I had assumed the class would be a coffee clutch of 83-year old women who sat knitting tacky colored afghans but our class is filled with people all over the place. A couple younger kids, a high school student and her mother, a bunch of women around my age, and two men. One obviously gay and the other obviously mentally unstable. His name is Ed and he's a freaking genius lacking all acceptable social skills. The man is a living, breathing Wikipedia and never stops talking. I learned about ancient Egyptians and mathematical optimization, as well as 18th century darning techniques and the fact that his blood pressure medicine nearly killed him. (Oh, and he's had six surgeries on his hand. Not all at once; over the course of his lifetime.)

Ed was creating something magical and awesome and told us all about this super expensive yarn with flecks of real gold in it that he purchased in some exotic locale. His project was flawless. He is obviously not a first year student. 

He then looked over at me and my knitting disaster and asked what I was working on. I looked up at him and as serious as ever announced, "Oh, I'm making a sharf...  for my sister." 

"A sharf?" You could see him shuffling through the card catalog in his brain. 

"Yeah, after I make my sister's I've got about three friends who want one, too. I am gonna be busy making sharfs!" (Or would it be sharves?)

Anyway, Ed one-upped me by announcing he had a baby blanket to work on next that would be made from the rare hair fibers of the Vicuña (which live in the upper altitudes of the Andes Mountains and can only be sheered once every three years). 

But I won the battle of the wits because when I left everyone wished me luck on my sharf and you could tell Ed still had no idea what the hell a sharf was, nor was he going to lower his standards and ask what one was. That right there tells you my fellow knitters are awesome. And also that Ed can be somewhat annoying. 

Monday, January 23, 2012

Some people want to jump out of airplanes... I just want to make a sharf.

Personally, I'm too chicken to have an exciting bucket list. There is no way you'll find me jumping out of airplanes or bungee jumping into raging waters. It's just not for me. I prefer things a little less death-assuring.

So, I decided to learn how to knit.

Slapped knitting on my bucket list and high-fived myself for finding a free class offered at our local public library. I was on my way!

Let me just say that the class is taught by a lady who really likes knitting. A lot. She is very energetic about knitting. She knows a lot about knitting. And she is very energetic about sharing everything she knows about knitting.

Within seven minutes it was painfully obvious that only 4 of us had never picked up a pair of knitting needles in their lives. The other 16 students were finishing up details on their Winding Cables Pullover Knit Sweaters. Showoffs.

Bound and determined not to fail, I listened, inserted snarky comments loud enough for the lady next to me to snort at, and took my newfound skills home to practice.

It should be noted I am very good at adding stitches.
As the what-started-out-to-be scarf got wider and wider my mother suggested I count my stitches. I was amazed to find out that Row 1 (the one already on the needle when I arrived for my first class; the one the instructor did) had 30 stitches. I was now up to 45. This was going to be the strangest looking scarf ever.

My friend, Jenny, commented that I could call it a sharf: half scarf - half shawl. I think she's genius because now I don't feel like such a loser for messing up a scarf. All  the cool people are wearing sharfs this season. Duh.

I was hoping to get a gold star for Most Practiced so I sat down and, well, practiced. Except just when I was getting into a groove the darn yarn started knotting up. I'm not sure how that was even possible because it wasn't like I was doing cartwheels and somersaults. I mean, I was sitting in a chair, unmoving but for the skillful clacking of my knitting needles (which, by the way, can easily be used as a murder weapon; those suckers are sharp! The irony that I chose to try something just as dangerous as jumping out of a plane is not lost on me). So, there I was, practicing my knitting and I'd try to pull the yarn up from the skein of yarn....

Sidenote: a skein is balled up yarn with a center pull strand (in my case, a defunct center pull strand)... and also what you call a flock of geese flying in a V formation. Keep that in your Trivial Pursuit pocket.

.... anyway, I'd tug on the yarn and out popped a snarly hair ball, well, yarn ball; you get my point. So I called my mom and was all what am I doing wrong? I can't even pull the damn yarn out properly! and she proceeded to tell me about how she had to take a knitting class in 4th grade at their little parochial school she attended and she hated it so much that she skipped class. Of course, it wasn't hard to find her since she was only in the 4th grade and obviously not smart enough venture very far. Anyway, she got in a lot of trouble. But she did learn to knit. And she has learned that sometimes yarn just gets a wee bit tangled and it's easy to undo.

I now have approximately 450 yards of yarn strung all over my living room, dining room and part of my kitchen that is tangled.

It is safe to say the yarn is winning.

I was NOT kidding.

Friday, January 20, 2012

Will Someone Please Get This Dad An Instruction Manual?

The note was printed on bright pink paper in bold letters: SCHOOL WILL BE CANCELLED TOMORROW.

I mean, I wasn't that surprised. They were scheduled for a half-day anyway - which, by the way, make no sense to me whatsoever. I'm a working mother; do me a favor and make me scrounge for one full day of daycare once as opposed to two separate half-days. And don't tell me they do anything that important on a half day. Half-days are spent watching videos and celebrating some obscure fact with soda and bags of barbecue potato chips. But for whatever reason the half-day was scheduled.

Since the Epic Snowstorm of 2012 was fast approaching [also known as the Remember You Live In Wisconsin Snowfall], school was cancelled.

But this actually worked out well because Big V had the day off! Yay!

But he said he had errands to do so I should probably find someone else to watch Dotter. Boo.

And the Nanny was still scheduled to spend the day with Cletus! Yay!

But she would probably be looking to go home early due to the snow. And the fact Dad was hovering around. Boo. 

However, the time of day would come when Big V would be home, and the Nanny would leave, and Grammy would drop Dotter back off because the roads were getting slick and this would mean that two hours before I was scheduled to leave work, Big V would be in charge of the children.

By himself.

Phone Call #1:  
Should I put Cletus down for a nap? Nanny just left and said he didn't nap. He usually goes down around 1:00 but now it's 3:00 so if I put him down he might sleep so late that then he doesn't fall asleep at bedtime but he's not crabby or anything so I don't know if I should try to get him to nap or not.

Umm.... do what you feel is best.

Phone Call #2:
Should I take the kids sledding? Dotter wants to go sledding and I don't mind going but I didn't know if I should take Cletus or not because I think it might be too cold for him. Do you think it's too cold for him? I could probably call the time and temperature; do you have that number?

Umm.... or you could just step outside and see if it's too cold.

Phone Call #3:
We just got the mail and there's an envelope with Dotter's name on it. Can she open it?

Umm.... yes.

Phone Call #4:
I just changed Cletus's poopy diaper and it was all green. Is that normal?

At that point I requested all phone calls be placed directly into my voice mail.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

What are YOUR plans tonight?

You know what's awesome?

I'm going to go out with my girlfriends tonight.

We're going to drink coffee.

And laugh.

And talk about roughly 487 different topics.

And I am going to love every second of it.

That is all.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

She thinks you're really going to like this post.

I had a meeting at work today. One of those pretty important meetings where three attorneys and the president of a local agency wore their best suits. I sat down with my 47-pound code book and cold can of Mountain Dew because I know that attorneys tend to be long winded, plus there's that whole "where there is Ego, there is no logic" thing so they tend to resort to lengthy verbal beat downs.

[That's my quote by the way. You find that sucker being sold on a mug at some Long Island gift shop and you contact me. I'm suing for copyright infringement. I have contacts, you know.]

Anyway, I figured it'd be in my best interest to stay awake, thus the Dew.

And I watched as The Suit next to me took out his pad of paper and fancy pen. And he does what everyone does at Very Important Meetings and puts the date in the top left-hand corner. And then he lists everyone at the meeting, starting with the person to his left. 

First, he draws a little black bullet point, and then he writes in the name. 
  •  Ms. Jane Doe
  • Mr. John Doe
  • Attorney Mr. Smith
  • Attorney Mrs. Smith
Around the room he goes.... and then he gets to me. And I watch his hand hover after the bullet point. He has no idea who I am. Even though he smiled broadly, shook my hand and gave me an overzealous, "Good Afternoon! How have you been?" when I first walked in, he is now realizing he has no idea what my name is.

And he taps the bullet point two times with the tip of his fancy pen and I watch him lay down the pen on the pad of paper.

And there sat a left over hanging bullet point.

And this is what bugged the hell out of me for the next hour and a half: he has a hanging bullet point

Good Lord, I don't care that you don't know who I am - just write something in: a question mark, GIRL WITH SODA, even Unknown Female.... but please, oh, please do not leave the bullet point hanging there with nothing following it.

I thought about ways I could drop my name without making it obvious that I knew that he had no clue who was sitting next to him. (It's my personal opinion that the fancier the suit, the more sensitive they are to having things pointed out to them that might make them look human. Or lame.)

Maybe I could start speaking in third person. "Bridget thinks that Subsection E of Chapter 18-110 needs to be clarified." And that made me laugh out loud. Because how freaking funny would that be to suddenly speak in third person throughout an entire meeting?!  "Bridget agrees with your point." So there I was, in one of the most boring meetings of the century trying to stifle my laughter. I certainly couldn't drink anything for fear I'd end up spitting it all over the table. "Bridget thinks this meeting has gone on long enough." And then I thought how I could try to do that with Big V later but the only way it would work is if I didn't laugh which is incredibly difficult for me to do. But I'm going to try it anyway.

And then I thought about how funny it would be if everyone started talking in third person, just for tonight. How confused our kids would be. And our spouses. Or the lady at the checkout at Target. "Bridget really appreciates your help this evening and wishes you a good night." And how awesome would it be if I got one of those stupid sales calls.... "Bridget would like you to explain how the free window installation works again.

But now that the meeting is over I'm wondering if the dangling bullet point is still dangling or if The Suit filled something in, like: Girl Making Strange Snorting Noises. 

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

New Studies Show the Man Cold can be Cured by Sex.

Last night, Big V followed me around complaining that his right nostril was stuffed up but not the left one. This included several "examples" by which he held one finger to the side of his nose, thereby closing off said nose hole, and attempted to SNIFF. Loudly. One side worked; the other didn't. This happened roughly 672 times until I figured out the correct response was, "Oh, no, honey! I pray to the good Lord above that you aren't near death! Let me stop everything I am doing and apply a cold washcloth to your forehead and hold vigil as you ponder your short but fabulous life while lying on the couch, moaning."

As we all know, the Man Cold can be fatal. The majority of men who come down with the sniffles will more than likely die; it's a slow, painful death... but with non-stop attention from the Lead Female (tucking in blankets, handing out tissue that has the lotion in it, serving up endless bowls of strawberry ice cream, and agreeing to watch nonstop Sports Center), there is hope.

I'll take the snotty toddler who has no clue there's even snot dripping down his face any day.

V was able to raise his head just long enough to ask, "were you comfortable last night?"


"I noticed you slept in your jeans."

Oh. That. Yeah.

"Why were you sleeping in your jeans?"

I was done with laundry and didn't want to make anymore.


I had spent the entire day doing laundry and I was actually done - as in not a single item in the house left to wash, but if I changed for bed then the clothes I was wearing would be in the dirty laundry and then I couldn't say I had finished ALL the laundry. It's a matter of saying 'I win, laundry; you lose!'

"Sounds like you lost because you had to sleep in your jeans."


"Why didn't you just wash the clothes and come to bed naked?"

Because then you would have thought that I was giving you a loud and clear signal that I wanted to have sex. Which I didn't. Because I was exhausted from doing 27 load of laundry. Also, it was really cold.

"Well.... what about now? I mean.... the laundry's all done......"

Oh, how quick these men can recover.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Parenting Lesson #1: Remember, YOU are bigger than they are.

Hello? I snuggled deeper into the overstuffed chaise lounge, pulling my blanket tighter around me. I was at a really good part in my book, but considering Big V had my baby out on a sledding hill I figured I ought to answer this ringing phone, lest the child be broken in a million pieces, requiring me to immediately rush to the nearest trauma center.

"Cletus LOVES sledding! We've gone at least twenty times and he keeps wanting to go again. It's hard, though, because there's no rope on this sled; if there was a rope I could just pull him to the top, but there isn't so I have to carry him and the sled."

Oh. that's nice. I nestled in deeper. Could I get lost in here? If I went missing they might want to start with these couch cushions. Is a chaise lounge even considered a couch? I mean, it's not as big as a couch, but it's bigger than a chair, and you can put your feet up on it. Chaise lounge just sounds so hoity-toity.

"Yeah. I keep asking him if he wants to go home or if he wants to go again and he just keeps saying he wants to sled. I tried to get him to come home but when we started walking to the truck he started screaming."

Hahaha. Okay, I admit. It was a weak chuckle but he was interrupting my Me Time.

"Yeah, and, uh, the game's gonna start pretty soon and I really want to watch it but I guess I won't be able to if I'm still sledding, hahaha."

Wait. Did he just weak chuckle back at me? I believe he did.

"So, yeah. Uh. Well, hey! Maybe if you came and like, parked at the bottom of the hill, you could video tape him sledding or something and then when he saw you he'll probably just want to go with you."


Let me get this straight. You want me to bundle up, drive to the sledding hill, pretend to video tape your child in the hopes that said child will see me, get excited and want to come with me, allowing you ample time to return home to watch a football game?


Might I offer you a suggestion?

"....uh.... sure....."

Pick the kid up, strap him in his car seat and drive home.


Friday, January 6, 2012

Schrödinger's Cat and the Life of Unopened Possibilities.

Because I believe in higher education and the idea that there is an infinite amount to learn in the world so wouldn't you want to learn as much as you possibly can? I try to surround myself with people I can learn from. Since I haven't found too many super smart people in real life that don't get creeped out by me following them around gawking, in the hopes some of their intelligence will rub off on me -- [tip: you don't have to physically rub someone; it's more a figurative concept than a literal one. Trust me.] -- I am absolutely stoked to have stumbled upon The Big Bang Theory. I realize the television series has been on since 2007, but that is not the point. The point is, it's a show filled with just the geeky lovable types I yearn to hang out with in real life.

A couple nights ago (in a re-run that probably aired years ago), Sheldon mentioned Schrödinger's cat. Schrödinger was a scientist who sealed a cat in a metal box with a vial of poison that would kill the cat. Essentially, everyone knew the vial of poison was in the box with the cat but no one knew whether or not the vial would break, thereby killing the cat. The possibility existed that the cat could either die, or remain alive. No one knew until the box was opened.

On a most VERY BASIC LEVEL (save your hate mail, super intellegent beings, I'm not as advanced as you. Yet.) this meant that during the time the cat was sealed up in the box with poison, one could think of the cat as alive! [yay for positivity!] And one could think of the cat as dead. [oh, you glass is half empty Negative Nelly.]  The point is that both possibilities existed at the exact same time and would continue to exist until such time as the box was opened and the outcome actually revealed.

Schrödinger's experiment was really an illustration of superposition; a principle in quantum theory that occurs at the subatomic level - which honestly does not mean a lick to me, however, I couldn't help but immediately think of how often it occurs at our basic most emotional levels.


When you purchase a lottery ticket, the ticket can be thought of as the winning ticket at the same time it can be thought of as the losing ticket. It is only when the winning numbers are actually drawn - and the metaphoric box is opened, do both possibilities cease to exist and only true scenario remain.


You sit at your desk dreaming of a new job. The possibility exists that you could land a fabulous job and make twice the amount of money and work with an amazing group of awesome people at the same time the possibility exists that you could end up working for the devil with a bunch of creepizoids worse than the ones you're used to. Until you actually unseal the box and apply for the job, you will never know.

In a crappy relationship? Unsealing the box means actually leaving and finding out if you find the partner of your dreams or never get asked out on a date again.

It dawned on me how long we walk around with our boxes too afraid to open the lid. Because once we open the lid there is no turning back. It's the moment of truth. The cat's either alive or it isn't. But not knowing offers some comfort. Because we can trick ourselves into thinking the cat is still alive.

I mean, I don't blame anyone. It's hard to open that box and face the unknown outcome. I walk around with my own unopened boxes all the time because I'm just not ready to take the lid off. Sure, logically I know that if I take the lid off now and the cat is alive I get this fuzzy, fluffy, warm and cuddly kittie to enjoy and that's good, right? What a shame it would have been to be walking around with this unopened box when I could have been enjoying the cat all this time. And I also logically know that if the cat is dead, well, then at least I know I have to get busy digging a hole and bury it and move on. As disappointing as a dead cat would be, at least I would know what direction I was headed in.

I guess you can choose to spend your whole life carrying around a bunch of unopened boxes and unconcluded possibilities, but that isn't living the way your life was intended, that's just.... well, storage.

It's time to start ripping the lids off those boxes once and for all. What box are you going to finally open?

Open the box, people. Open the box.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Everyone needs a Shannon. And some Sharpies. And maybe even a cat.

I have a sister.

Her name is Shannon.

She's some sort of counselor/psychologist/social worker type person. I can never remember what her technical title really is because:

               (1) I'm totally distracted by the fact she can put a bunch of capital letters after she signs her name - that is so freaking cool! and,

               (2) I also tend to get totally distracted that someone who once brought the farm goats inside our house to give them spa treatments is allowed to be responsible for the mental health of human beings. They got loose and ran wild throughout the house half-shaved (she was giving them a new look) and scared out of their wits. Do you know that goats drop a lot of turds when they are scared out of their wits? Also, they are incredibly speedy galloping up and down staircases.

I'm always like what advice do you actually give? 
"I don't know... I just feel stuck. Like, I'm just sitting here waiting for something and... I dunno... watching life pass me by...."

"Perhaps you should consider coordinating a song and dance routine to 'Daddy Sang Bass' and force your siblings to perform it in Aisle 7 at the local Piggly Wiggly."
Anyway. She gets me. She just doesn't want to say it out loud. More than likely because she's just like me but she's scared to face the truth. Face your fear, Shannon, face your fear. 

Today I posted this on my sister's Facebook Wall so all her friends can see how magical our relationship is. (I know, I'm kind of surprised she hasn't blocked me yet, too.) Before you read you should know that I recently sought her advice on how I could learn to be more positive and not so negative and critical all the time.

I just wanted you to know that my ultra fine point blue Sharpie has been used! I know this because whoever used it SMASHED THE
POINT! (I know you know what I mean.) I believe I am currently experiencing a psychosomatic reaction that includes rapid heartbeat,
dizziness, and irrational amounts of anger. Perhaps you should do your thesis on this particular phenomenon. You might even get a
recognized syndrome named after you: i.e., Werf Syndrome: a psychosomatic illness that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, and 
irrational levels of anger when an individual is exposed to a Sharpie whose point has been softened and smashed by an unknown idiot 
who obviously doesn't respect the Sharpie. (Say that last bit with a British accent; it sounds so much more distinguished.)
    • Her name is Shanno
      Shannon Symptoms also experienced when one finds an UN-CAPPED Sharpie. All its potential lost. Dried up before its time. So very sad.
      3 hours ago ·

    • Bridget That's like the equivalent to finding a dead kitten on the side of the road. Makes my heart hurt just thinking about it. Especially if it was once a bright red Sharpie. Or once a fluffy white kitten.
      3 hours ago ·
    • Shannon You and kittens lately. We might need to increase the therapy time.
      3 hours ago ·

    • Bridget They're just so fluffy and cute... but then I remember they also have teeth and could easily rip someone's face off. But they have the POTENTIAL to be cuddly and sweet and so entertaining when they bat that little feather on a string toy around.... Besides. It's not like my heart aches when I see a dead possum by the side of the road. That's like finding out some kid chewed on your wooden pencil. It's just gross.
      3 hours ago · 
    • Beth  You two totally crack me up!
      2 hours ago ·
    • Shannon  Seriously. Re-read your post. You don't find anything just a bit 'off' with it. Nothing? I do believe last night's topic was 'negativism'. So great work identifying fluffy, cute and sweet. I think we need to work on staying in that moment just a bit longer.
      2 hours ago ·

    • Bridget Which post? There's just so many to choose from.... in my defense, I don't think identifying possum roadkill as gross is negative. Unless the possum was like super sweet or something. Like the matriarch of a whole possum nation - but not a mean, stuffy matriarch like you'd see in 18th century England, rather an unselfish, caring matriarch of the poor and downtrodden - like Mother Theresa. Because there's no animal more downtrodden than a possum. Unless you consider the downtrodden animals of Manor Farm... "FOUR LEGS GOOD, TWO LEGS BAD!"
      about an hour ago ·

    • Bridget  ‎"All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others!"
      about an hour ago · 

    • Bridget  ‎"I will work harder!"
      about an hour ago ·

    • Bridget  Okay. The Animal Farm quotes will stop. But can you imagine how much fun it would be to write out those quotes with an ultra fine point blue Sharpie?
      about an hour ago · 
    • Shannon  Oh if only you could see how many shades of blue I now own thanks to Emily and Heidi. Be jealous. Very, Very jealous.
      about an hour ago · 

    • Bridget  I think I'm more jealous now than I was of your 6" high bangs in high school. I swear, no matter how much Aqua Net I used - nothing.

Also, Shannon is way, way obsessed with Sharpies. I think she's planning a room addition to her house just to store her inventory. I'm only normally obsessed. There is a difference. Albeit a slight one.

Also -- do goats really gallop?

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

"Maybe we can recycle kittens after they're dead."

In honor of the current and upcoming political nonsense...
(something about Sarah Palin's new hair style?)

and also because I work in government 
and this is (sadly) pretty dang accurate....

and also because I don't have anything to post about 
but this made me laugh out loud.
Like, really loud...

I've decided to share this video with you 
(which was shared with me earlier today by a pretty awesome lady 
who happens to live in a house the size of a Subaru, 
but that's beside the point)....

Green Bay City Council discusses kittens.

I'm cool. The hell with kittens. 

This blog is dedicated to my  seemingly one (and only) reader:
Johi at Confessions of a Corn Fed Girl

Because she actually missed my blog posts.

And then posted something on my facebook.

Which made me think:
 why does she have all this time to harass me on facebook?
Shouldn't she be practicing her guitar for her upcoming video blog?

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