If I Were A My Little Pony...

...I'd look something like this.

Check out this completely fun My Little Pony Creator game here. I know you always wanted to make your very own my little pony!

Watch Out for the Queen

Of procrastination, that is.

Stumbling around Google images the other day, I came across a site that had a procrastination test.

A test!

Sounds like more time wasting fun!

What is this amazing test, you ask?

I'll show you in a bit...

Just kidding!

THE PROCRASTINATION TEST
By Dr. Bill Knaus EdD, Design by EduDemic.com


                   Not Me          Somewhat like me     Like me

1. Procrastination comes naturally to me. Duh!
2. I have responsibilities that I'm not doing. Definitely.
3. I have plans that stay on the drawing board. So many plans on that board!
4. I divert from uncomfortable priorities. Who wouldn't?
5. I tell myself that later is the time to begin. Every. Single. Time.
6. I start things that I don't finish. Shall I count them?
7. I have a habit of showing up late. I've had people lie to me & tell me things start an hour earlier than they actually do, just so I'll show up on time.
8. I delay acting to meet a deadline. Sure! Why start until you have to?
9. I find ways to extend deadlines. Not always *sad face*
10. I come up with excuses to explain delays. I'm the excuse queen!
11. I put off hard decisions. Actually, I'm pretty good at making decisions quickly.
12. When I'm not sure, I'll avoid the situation. 50/50 on this one.
13. I put off making a needed lifestyle change. Does changing procrastination habits count?
14. My pessimism prompts delays. I'm naturally an optimist!
15. My emotions affect what I do. I'm no Spock, that's for sure!
16. My intimate relationship is going nowhere. Uh...are married couples supposed to be going somewhere?
17. I avoid what frustrates me. I like to torture myself, so I keep coming back for more
18. I get side-tracked by conflicts. I thrive on conflict!
19. My doubts and fears inhibit my actions. What doubts? What fears?
20. When I feel anxious, I'll avoid what I fear. That's what my pills are for.

Total "somewhat like me" + "like me" scores:   13

I got 13.

13!!!!

Ugh.
I'm sad but not really surprised that my number is so high.

The test doesn't tell you where you stand on the procrastination scale between inconvenience to disabling, but I think you can probably figure it out for yourself.

Sometimes I like to assuage my guilt by reasoning that it's not really procrastination, just over-estimating the time it takes to get things done. Like my new programming homework. Or how long it takes to get somewhere (I act like I live in LA--everywhere takes 20 min or less to get to from where I'm at). Or cooking dinner. Or a thousand other things.

Why start it a week ahead of time, when I fully believe I can finish writing that program & get it to work the night before it's due? Why waste time doing it until I absolutely have to? It's madness!

The perky, pesky, hate-inducing early birds really get my worm. How many times have I heard the comeback "If you get it done right away, you won't have to worry about it and you'll still have lots of free time afterwards!"

Try telling that to MY brain. It'll punch you in the face, kill you, then wait to bury you until it's almost too late, when the sirens are wailing away just down the block and the trunk of the car is stuck and your rigor-mortised body fights me every step of the way.

Tomorrow I'll work on a plan to stop procrastinating...

Mushroom Monday

A mushroom-like home...

My friend at 377 Photography came across this house during his work duties one day. (He changed the name of his photography company after making this photo. If you want to see more of his work, click here).


I'd love to live here, although I suspect I'd need to keep some pipe-weed handy in case Gandalf stopped by for a surprise visit.

Why IS the Grass Greener on the Other Side?

When I was little, I would be fascinated by the toys that weren't mine.

Like the ones at the dentist, or Nana's.

In retrospect, they weren't the greatest toys. Nope, in fact, they were usually much older than I was or were some strange collection that adults had held on to in the hopes of keeping elementary school-aged kids occupied while the adults chatted or a sibling was taking their turn under the white hot lights of the dental hygenist.

But precisely because they weren't my usual toys, they held an alluring but elusive appeal.

By far my favorite was a stuffed rabbit I named Shy Rabbit, for reasons that are lost to the mists of time.

Now Shy Rabbit is another little girl's favorite toy. My own collection of toys I keep in the house consists of some stuffed animals that I can't part with and my huge sack of My Little Ponies. When I babysit these two sisters, I set up the ponies in the spare bedroom and let them go to town. But the littlest girl inevitably seeks out Shy Rabbit, wherever he may be.

Even if he's in the forbidden zone upstairs. Once, their parents came over to hang out and the girls were playing in the other room. They asked what was upstairs and I told them our bedroom but it was off limits.

Never tell a kid something is off limits. It will only guarantee they go there.

The adults had stepped outside for a minute and when I opened the door to go inside, I heard a veritable stampede and suddenly both girls were there with their best innocent faces on. But Shy Rabbit clutched in the youngest's hand gave them away.

"Did you girls go upstairs?"

She shakes her head and makes denials while her older sister tries to change the subject.

"Are you sure?"

Vigorous head-nodding is the response.

"How did you get Shy Rabbit? Did he hop downstairs on his own?"

I could see the gears turning in her head as she swiftly contemplated the chances of succeeding at a denial at this stage and was rewarded when she discarded it and in a tiny voice admitted she had gone upstairs.

"But it's so cool up there! Can we play up there?" and Bam! she was off on a tangent, but she couldn't fool me, precocious child! She knew what she was doing, every minute of it.

I can understand the appeal, however.

I wanted so badly, as a kid, the play room the dentist office had.

First of all, the place had a kick ass aquarium in the adult portion of the waiting room. But if you were under 4' feet tall, you could climb up a ladder into a special cubby-like room that was filled with crazy neat old toys. Weird fiber-plastic faded colored blocks that were maybe the forefathers to Legos/Duplos. Random stuffed animals & kids meal toys from fast food restaurants.

Better yet, inside this cubby room in the middle of the wall, was yet another ladder leading to another room above that one, even smaller. They were their own secret worlds that just screamed "No adults allowed!" Plus they had a treasure chest full of goodies and after your visit, if you were good, you got to choose a treasure from the chest.

That dentist really knew how to cater to kids. Even though I dreaded the icky flouride rinses or whatever the hell they were, going to the dentist was exciting because while my sister took her turn under the white hot lights of the hygenist, I got to play in the indoor play house.

And it's strange collection of haphazard but wonderfully strange toys.

It's Less Than A Month Away...

...the second season of Game of Thrones! This video was too fun not to share.

This doesn't mean that I'm not still waiting for the next book in the Song of Ice & Fire series, but I'll take HBO's wonderful adaptation of the series in the meantime.

Did you know my dad didn't like my sister or I to watch the Simpsons when I was younger?


(Well of course you didn't know until I told you, duh!)


But it apparently had something to do with the show's morals (or lack thereof).

My Geeky Pony Monday

This was too beautiful not to share!

Last night at my bi-weekly D&D game, my fellow gamers brought this to my attention.

Do they know me or what?!

I think it was inspired that they chose Rainbow Dash to be the somewhat whiney-sounding guy in the background asking, "Where are the Cheetos?" and "If there are any girls there I wanna DO them!"

Nothing can bring the weekend to a close better than a My Little Pony, Dungeons & Dragons and Summoner mashup, wouldn't you agree?

Certainly the Summoner parody has always been a big favorite in my gaming circle.



Remember, it's not the meek who will inherit the earth, but the GEEK!

Curse You!

I had the worst Valentine's day ever.

Not because the Big B forgot (I'm more inclined to forget than he is) or because I didn't get flowers or candy or a card.

Not because I'm alone, or hate the day of love, or because it's a silly holiday forced upon us by Hallmark and candymakers (which it basically is).

Nope, it's because I spent the day hugging the toilet instead of my hubby. And not for a stupid fun reason like too many Jag-bombs the night before, either.


Curse you, stomach flu!


After over a decade of escaping this cursed sickness, I was hit last winter.

Now, this year! Again! Completely unfair.


Each time I found myself scrambling for the commode I tried to comfort myself.

"Think of how much you're working your stomach muscles with each heave!"
"With all this water loss, you've surely lost a couple of pounds!"
"At least you're here by yourself and no one has to see or hear your misery!"

Poor kitties. They were getting all upset with me because everytime they settled in on my legs for a nice comfy nap, I had to get up and go yak again.

After the third or fourth time, they gave up and just let me slide my legs out from under them and then refused to cooperate when I climbed back on the couch, so I ended up laying down with my legs and feet all contorted so we could all fit.

After each time I hurled, I had an internal debate with myself.

Do I drink a bunch of water, knowing that it'll probably just make me have to get up in half an hour rather than an hour, but at least there will be something to toss up? Or do I drink just enough to rinse my mouth so I can perhaps go for almost a full hour before the next session?

The answer? It's better to drink the water and hope some absorbs into your system before the next attack hits. Plus, it's much better to have something to puke up then nothing at all. Nothing hurts worse.

Either way, I don't think I can ever eat that cheesy popcorn again. It's not its fault that it was the last thing I ate the night before I woke up sick, but seeing it again the next morning has ruined it for me.

Things are much better now, however, and my appetite is back, thank goodness. It's too weird for me not to be hungry. I'm always hungry!

My main disappointment is the fact that even after all that heaving, I still don't have six pack abs. You'd think the universe could at least toss me that one after all that misery. I did lose a couple of pounds, but I know they'll be back once I re-hydrate fully.

Other Worlds Right Here on Earth Part One

To say that our pretty blue and white marble of a planet has some wondrous places on it is an understatement. Sadly, I'm not as widely traveled as I'd like. This does not mean that I haven't seen some exotic and intensely beautiful places in my life so far, even while remaining close to home.

Everywhere on Earth holds beauty of some kind.

The view from the bus one morning

Last spring was a bit reluctant to fully get rolling. We had our share of nice days, and on one of them the sun was shining its warmth over the barren-looking landscape, inviting the greenery to make its appearance. I wanted to enjoy the day and a photographer friend of mine also wanted to get outside so we went together to Fort Snelling State Park to walk around and take a look at the flooding Mississippi waters. Unfortunately the park was closed, and we had a close call with a park ranger when we walked down the hill to take a closer look (there was no trespassing sign like he said, I swear!) so we decided to head to Minnehaha Falls instead.

A short drive later and we're there walking down the steps to come alongside the rushing waters. Despite my trepidation from our run-in with the park authorities earlier, my buddy convinces me that we should hop the fence once again and make our way around the side of the falls. There, we can go behind the ice flows that are frozen over the hallowed out cave behind the waterfall. I hesitated for a minute but being able to say I had walked on a waterfall was too hard a tempation to resist.

I am so glad I listened and dared to do it!


He's a fledgling photographer and he got a great pic of our trip behind the waterfall that day.

He's taken some great pics--you should check out his Facebook page if you like this one.




My friend's finishing technique allows him to really capture the depth and beauty of the colors when compared to my cell phone camera (as well it should!)

My own pathetic cell phone was all I had, yet the scene was too gorgeous to be held back too much by that and I managed to get a handful of fun shots.

It was insane and wonderful at the same time, sliding on the shelf of ice behind the falls. In warmer months there is a very narrow ledge behind the falls, but nothing as substantial as this. As we progressed further around the falls, the level of the ice shelf dropped and we had to slide down a mini hill at one point.

The whole time the thunder of the falls is all around you and at certain points you could see quite clearly though gaps in the ice.

See those people, waaaaaay down there? That's where we hopped the fence.

I even managed to slip into a cold cylindrical cell, hanging way out in the empty space above the waterfall pool. I'll admit it made me a bit nervous, but exhilirated too.

While we were horsing around a wiry, slightly nefarious-looking guy came rushing up, shrieking and woo-hooing in delight.

"Isn't this the most freakin' cool thing you've ever seen? We're on top of a waterfall for god's sake! A friggin' waterfall!"

His enthusiam was easy to understand.

Eventually we had to make our way back. I'll never forget that short but otherworldly beautiful trip in a city park.



I'd love to go again this year, but with the weather so unseasonably nice (temps have been in at or above freezing for what feels like forever now, and what little snow we have gotten is continually melted soon after it falls) I have my doubts whether conditions will be right for another expedition.

I sure hope so, though. I'd love to bring my dad and show him this.

My Husband Looks Like An Electrical Socket

It's been almost a year since the Big B had his spinal fusion surgery.
Just about 4 months since his second surgery in October.

(That's right, he had to go back under the knife to try fixing his back again. Turns out my fears that his bone fusion wouldn't take were unfounded. He went back this time because the leg pain was still there, and when the surgeon took a look, he found that the bone had grown outside the fusion cage and was pinching the sciatic nerve again. My man may be skinnier than a rail, but he's got Superman bones.)

His scars make him look like an electrical socket. They sorta did before, but the latest incision really completes the whole piece.

Hmmm....I see Halloween gag-costume possibilities here!

But wait a minute--

Isn't the girl usually the socket and the guy the plug? I could be wrong here, and please feel free to correct me if I am...


Hmmm.

We're not a conventional couple (certainly we're the only people on our block that argue about prophecy at the top of our lungs out on the porch), so I shouldn't be so surprised.


Plus I got the picture by making a deal where he got to play Call of Duty in exchange for a few snapshots.



I wish I could have gotten the video button pushed in time.
But I didn't.




Otherwise you'd also be treated to a very funny shot of the Big B wiggling his (non-existent) ass.



Wearing his favorite Call of Duty pajama pants at the same time, no less. It was too cute.


Damn my slow hands!

My Fifteen (Embarrassing) Seconds of Fame

Every so often there are a few news stories filmed downtown.

I've gotten approached by news crews on two seperate occasions and managed to embarrass myself both times when my off the cuff comments made the evening story. Apparently, my thinking on the fly skills leave much to be desired when confronted by a camera.

I think I've always suspected I'm a writer, not a film person, and my two experiences with 15 seconds of local Minnesota TV psuedo-fame were enough to convince me I had the right idea all along.

Once, several years ago, Metro Transit employees went on strike, shutting down public transportation services statewide. The camera crew and attendant reporter were interviewing people on Nicollet Mall, getting their opinions on the strike and how it was affecting their commute.

The nice lady reporter asked me how the strike had affected my commuting habits.

"Makes me think about getting one of those corn-oil cars," was the response that made it to TV.

Really? That's what I came up with? I sounded like a country hick!


Okay, so maybe I am a country hick. Or so my hubby tells me. I did grow up in the country. And it could have been worse. I could have said "them corn-oil cars" instead of "those".





My second TV appearance came when I tried to go to lunch one day.

Peter's Grill was a fun lunch spot I sometimes visited when a certain craving hit me. On this particular fateful day, I jaywalked across the street and walked up to the front doors, paying the camera crew standing nearby little attention.

I yanked on the doors and was surprised to find they were locked. It was unfathomable that it could be closed! President Bill Clinton had even visited the restaurant once (as their menus proudly validate by displaying his praise and signature on their glossy covers).

The camera operators, upon seeing my dismay, quickly zoomed in and asked if they could interview me. Naively, I accepted, conviently forgetting my last disastorous foray into primetime news clips.

"Are you surpised to see Peter's Grill closed?" the reporter asked brightly.

"Yeah, it's the first time in my experience," I responded.

"Are you upset to see it closed?"

"I guess so, I was hoping to eat here for lunch today," was my inane response. Perhaps she could sense an embarrassing soundbyte in the making like a bloodhound on the trail, for she asked me only one other question before sending me on my way.

"Why do you like to eat at Peter's?"

"I love liverwurst sandwiches, and this is the only place I know of that serves them."

Guess which answer made the cut.




After running into a coworker on the elevator the next day and having to endure their raised eyebrow and laughing "Liverwurst, huh?" I made a vow:

Next time I see cameras, I go the other way.

Oh nuts!

Once I had a mushroom cookie jar.

It wasn't much--just a clear glass jar with a stem shape tapering up to a mushroom cap.

My old roommate Sarwa accidentally broke it one day. She's the kind of person to be horrified and take immediate steps to fix her mistake, especially if it involves someone else's things.

I think she had recently accidentally broke another possession of mine (I don't recall what) and despite all my protests that it was fine, she insisted on replacing my 'shroom cookie jar.

I think her guilty conscience caused her to go a bit overboard with the replacement however.

This jar was a hundred times better than the previous one. She was worried I wouldn't like it because it wasn't the same as the other one.

Who was she kidding? How could I not love it?

As the years have gone by, I've found a couple of things that complement it well.

The lids are my favorite part.

The story didn't end with the jar, however.

You see, this lovely specimen of porcelain fungi art came in a large box filled with those plastic packing peanuts.

You know the ones. The kind that get all staticky and sticky and jump around like Mexican jumping beans if you try to pick up large handfuls at a time.

I had placed the box in the backseat of my car meaning to put it in the dumpster on my way out of the parking lot one day and forgot about it.

Until a packing peanut flew by my face, that is.

At the time I had a car that came complete with fully functional sunroof. It was a beautiful day and I was driving home with all the windows down and the sunroof open.

I remember distinctly thinking to myself, "Of all the nerve! Someone is littering plastic peanuts! How dare they..." and as I was wrestling with figuring out how such littered peanuts could have possibly made their way into the footwell of my passenger side, it suddenly dawned on me.

I was the litterer! Or about to be.

Sure enough as I frantically twisted around to confirm my horrifying suspicion, there it was--a veritable mini cyclone of squeaky plastic peanuts was twisting up out of the cookie jar package box and flying around the car.

I groped for the window controls with one hand while the other flashed up to shut the sunroof, even as my knee steadied the steering wheel and my eyes guitily looked into the rearview mirror to survey the peanut carnage behind me.

Luck was with me, for it appeared that I had managed to halt the stream of packing material before it could escape the confines of the car.

As I continued to drive, I felt my face heat up, and I remember hoping that no one had seen my peanut tornado.

Spotted last summer...

The yellow one with pink hair facing left has a twenty-sider on her flank!

Adventures on the Bus, Part 1

When I started working downtown a decade ago, it was inevitable that taking the bus would become part of my routine (seeing as how no one had seen fit to make me a VP of something and get me one of those coveted monthly parking passes paid for by work).

Of course, since I lived in the country or suburbs for much of those ten years, my experience was limited to commuter express busses and taking the occasional very short trip on a city bus from work to school.

Those experiences did not prepare me for the city bus, the true city bus.

The differences are multitude.

For instance, the act of getting on the bus: Commuter bus people line up very neatly and get on the bus in the same order they arrived at the stop. Very little incivility takes place. For a city bus? It's a mad dash of who can get to the doors first, little old ladies and people with babies be damned.

My first eventful bus ride came one Friday night when I'd had a few at happy hour after work and was feeling my oats. Or as the Big B would say, I was in the first stage of drinking (according to him, I have two phases when I drink: Obnoxious and Pathetic. Obnoxious drives him up a wall, Pathetic amuses him).

A big part of the dynamic between the Big B and I is the fact that we love to push each other's buttons. I don't recall exactly what was said, but between my Obnoxiousness and his general crank-itude with people who are drinking when he isn't, I got myself worked into a right proper drunken huff.

He had picked me up from the bar downtown and drove us to the poker night his friend hosts every week. Still in a snit, I sat down to play and get snotty. I was quickly out of the game between my attitude and lack of focus, but was still feeling restless and obnoxious. I decided to go home, even though I didn't have my car.

I told everyone goodbye and left. I heard some people asking "How's she getting home?" but ignored it. I was gonna teach the Big B a lesson, dammit!

14 blocks later on Johnson, I'm waiting for a bus to take me downtown to catch another bus that will take me to my part of the urban sprawl surrounding Minneapolis. By this time the alcohol had been walked off, but stubborn, stubborn idiocy remained and I wasn't about to walk the 14 bocks back and concede defeat, oh no!

Very soon I'm downtown, judging the bus as it slides up to the sidewalk so that I am right in front when the doors open (avoiding any shoving/pushing from the masses behind me). It's after ten and the bus is empty to start with, but quickly fills up at this busy stop.

Stupidly, I make my way to the back and sit down. Big mistake! This is typically where the hoodlums and good-for-nothings sit, far away from the bus driver. Very soon I'm surrounded by a gaggle of teens who are intent on various forms of copulation and fun aided by alcohol, who apparently cannot sit in one seat but must instead bounce around from one to another, and even into some laps as they flirt and fast talk each other.

I ignore them as best I can, earbuds in place and book clutched tightly in hand, swaying back and forth to the rhythm of the bus and occasional jostlings from fellow passengers playing musical bus seats.

The scuffle, when it happened, was as predictable and inevitable as a crackhead denying the drugs are his when stopped by the police.

Apparently the group was not as homogenous as I thought, for as some started exiting the bus one young man could not find his phone and this led to a bull rush down the bus aisle. He was met chest to chest near the rear door by another young man and they proceded to shove and shouts of "Who took my phone? I'm not playin'!" and "I don't have your phone, man!" could be heard up and down the bus.

The bus driver is yelling, the lone teen is getting jeered at by the other guy's friends and I'm sitting next to my windown, surreptitiously watching everything. The Lone Ranger stalks off the bus...almost. Before he is all the way off, he stops. One foot on, one foot off, holding the bus hostage.

More verbal sparring, more emphatic shouts of denying any wrongdoing with regards to one missing cell phone. Finally he steps all the way off, but the driver pulls the air brake and the bus shakes and settles closer to the ground, gaining that feeling of permancy you get from a vehicle in park. Through the window I can clearly see the agitated youth, pacing the sidewalk in front of the bus, gesturing angrily now and then.

When the hissing noise sinks into the brains of those around me, a fierce discussion begins on whether they should skeedaddle now since the cops are coming or stand their ground. One tiny girl, white-blond hair surrounding her pale face and eyes ringed in dark racoon makeup, is particularly worried and manages to chivvy her boyfriend into getting off the bus. This leads to a veritable stampede as the rest follow.

The minute the last goon's foot leaves the bus, the driver closes the doors and calmly continues driving the route.

On with business as usual.

However, one person must have been extremely relieved that the situation was resolved without the authorities.

A few stops later I look up as another young man gets on the bus and exchanges one of those " 'Sup" head nods with a passenger in front of me. My elevated seat in the back gives me a bird's eye view of the action, as the new rider greets the seated one with a hand slap/shake and a bag of something is quickly exchanged behind the cover of the seat-back. The bus driver yells back that the newcomer hasn't paid his fare yet and he backs up, smooth as hell, and says, "That's all right, this is the wrong bus" and exits stage right.

I wasn't paying enough attention and missed the money exchange, or perhaps this client was extended credit or allowed to "front".

Either way, it was the slickest random drug deal I've ever seen, because the customer immediately pulled the cord and got off at the next block.

What coordination! Granted, it is the only random drug deal I've witnessed, but you have to admit that was well timed and executed if nothing else.

Mushroom Monday

Mixing things up a bit this Monday...

My friend Sarwa found this at a thrift store for me when we lived together.

I like the dining room with it's selection of mushrooms. The colors go well together on the sunlight mornings.

This is my favorite mushroom thrift store find. It's a nice large oil painting and I've had it since I was an adolescent.

I had to beg Sarwa to give this acrylic painting to me when she finished it. Something about it just struck me and it's been a nice complement to my mushroom painting ever since she relented.

The Green Monster

Everyone has one at some point in their lives, over something or someone.

It rears it's ugly, envious head when you see someone with something you want, when you feel threatened and are vulnerable to its whisperings in your ear.

Mostly they are benign, little things, like lusting after a purse or wishing your hair would do that or you could go somewhere fabulous.

Less pretty are the times when it involves a relationship.

I have never had a serious wrestling match with the monster (I think). Frankly, I don't get it.

Intellectually, I understand the feeling, but I don't think I've ever been deep in its grasp. I suspect that like an orgasm, if you only think you've been gut-wrenchingly jealous, then you really haven't.

Even dating a hyper jealous man-boy for a couple of years didn't make me understand it entirely. I just didn't feel it viscerally, down in the gut where I understand it stabs from. When the man-boy harassed me once for not getting jealous over a girl (supposedly) hitting on him in front of me all night, I tried to go through the motions, but that's exactly what it was--me doing what I thought a jealous girlfriend would do.

For me, it comes down to making sense and my own special brand of people-naivete. In small doses I think a bit of envy can be good. Keep you on your toes, from taking your loved one for granted.

But the kind that makes you check in on your lover every hour, on the hour? or accuse them of cheating? or stalk their Facebook page? or steal their phone to read text messages? or any other aggregious violation of personal privacy and freedom? Makes no sense to me.

A friend of the Big B's was over this past Sunday to watch the football game. Earlier that weekend on Friday I was dropped off by the Big B to go out for a girl's night with the friend's wife and another girl, so the guys talked briefly and set up their man date for two days hence. B's friend said how great it would be to watch a game with a friend instead of alone, but was already temporizing, saying things like "I'll have to talk to the wife" and so forth.

Sounds innocous enough, if you haven't seen their couple dynamic before. I had, so I quickly piped up that she could bring the kids and hang out with me if that would make her say yes.

(In retrospect, the part of the allure of the gameday hang session was probably the absence of said wife & kids, just for a bit.)

What strikes me is that there would be any doubt whatsoever about a "yes" answer to that question. I'm not saying it shouldn't be asked--respect for each other in a committed relationship demands that--but more that the expectation would be a non-approval for something so simple.

For the Big B and I, the question would be expected to be asked, but barring previously made committments, in most cases the question is more of a formality, a quick check to make sure there are no plans and to let the other person know what you plan on doing. Early on, the two of us established a straight-down-the-middle, equal sides partnership that is quasi-sibling like in the fervor to make things exactly equal.

I'm not saying this approach is without pitfalls. No such approach to relationships with other human beings exists, as far as I can tell.

But I can say that if it were the Big B and I, and he was driving me and my girlfriends to the bar and picking our drunken asses up after 2am on a Friday night (and most likely not getting laid because of the state of my over-inebriation), there would be no question that he could go watch the game on Sunday at a friend's.

Granted, a caveat is that we are currently geekling-free, but I strongly suspect that our policy of making room for each of our own "alone time" will continue even after children are born.

(Those of you with actual children, feel free to scoff at this. Please note, however, that in our case we're extremely lucky, in the fact that we have three sets of grandparents prepared to fight tooth and nail for babysitting rights, and one pair is a short car ride away and the other is within walking distance. Hooray grandparents, we thank you already!)

I am profoundly grateful we are this way.

I never want someone to get a call from me, checking up on my husband, demanding to know where he is and berating them because I didn't appreciate that he hadn't answered his phone when I called him (minutes after the game had ended!).

 I never want my behavior to remind them of lyrics from the Limp Bizkit song "Stuck":

Psycho female blowin up the phone line

You need to tighten that screw, it's been loose for a long time

Cliched, I know, but if you love something, set it free!

I heard somewhere (I forget who or where, forgive me) that your loved one should be a part of your life, but not be your life. I am completely on board with this.

If you aren't allowed to have a life apart from each other, how do you keep your relationship growing? By experiencing things on your own and as a couple, you bring more elements to the table to share with each other and gain the space needed to keep it fresh, stop taking-the-other-for-granted syndrome in its tracks.

So I believe. What about you?



Silly Sunday

One picture story is true, the other is false.


Before:

After vigorous ruffling:

Either way, he's a puffball. Just how disorganized depends on how dry & staticky the air is, and whether his human feels like torture that day.


Before: The Big B giving the puppy-eyes look for something he wants.

After: Gloating when I fall for it.

And running away in fear of my righteous wrath.

Nap Circle Buddies

Life Is So Hard

Poor kittehs. Life is so hard.

Always they be beggin' for love...

I fell in love with this fun jouncy tune the first time I heard it.

Gizmo likes it too, but he still wonders what happened to his fur coat.

(No, we didn't fail as parents again. This is an old pic but way too cutely pathetic to pass up).

What's In a Name?

In my line of work, you come across a lot of names.

My first foray into the land of cubedom had me at a desk, punching numbers into the 10-key pad while scanning the screen for certain codes to appear, over and over again in mind numbing repetition.

Well, not really mind numbing, actually, because your brain doesn't really go numb when forced to do work that doesn't really require it.

In fact, the book* I'm reading right now talks about an interesting phenomenon that occurs when people are stuck doing a task that, after awhile, requires very little active brainpower to sustain. In the story they talked about security--specifically, a guard whose job it is to sit outside an exit door and make sure that no one comes in that way. Inevitably, no matter how vigilant the guard is, he or she will be unable to maintain a state of alertness and someone will get by. It just isn't entertaining enough for your brain to scan for someone going upstream constantly, when so few actual incidents occur. The theory in the book is that it's not their fault. Their brains get rewired and they can't do it.

Literally, the neuron pathways that are being used for the boring, mundane or repetitive task get suborned into working for other parts of the brain even while carrying out the task they were originally signed up for. Neal Stephenson explained it much more hip manner via his character Richard in the book:


"The brain, as far as Richard could determine from haphazard skimming of whatever came up on Google, was sort of like the electrical system of Mogadishu. A whole lot was going on in Mogadishu that required copper wire for conveyance of power and information, but there was only so much copper to go around, and so what wasn't actively being used tended to get pulled down by militias and taken crosstown to beef up some power-hungry warlord's private, improvised power network. As with copper in Mogadishu, so with neurons in the brain. The brains of people who did unbelievably boring shit for a living showed dark patches in the zones responsible for job-related processes, since all those almost-never-exercised neurons got pulled down and trucked somewhere else and used to beef up the circuits used to keep track of NCAA tournament brackets and celebrity makeovers."


So you see, I can't be held entirely to blame that during my tenure as a data entry pusher, my brain would co-opt some neurons in favor of more hip and intriguing things.

Such as looking at the names on my reports and deciding which ones would be good character names in D&D or in a nebulous, unrealized, yet to be written novel.

First, last, middle, first middle, middle middle, it didn't matter--all were potential veins of name-ore that I could mine as I keyed furiously away. I discovered that I liked certain vowel combinations ("ae" "ai" and "ei" being my favs) and over time my list developed a certain cadence all its own. Many of the features in our Dungeons & Dragons Kortoe adventure world we created were given names from my list. One of the founders even had a name generator that would give you related-sounding names if you fed it some examples first. They ended up sounding very Greek-like, with names like Taephone and Aestrom.

The Big B doesn't know it yet, but when it comes time to name our children, some of my inspiration will be coming from this list as well. I already know this will be an epic battle for us, so I am prepared to get my fun in at the same time.

Maybe someday someone will see a name from the list, scratch their head, and say, "That's weird! This first name is my last name and it's not common, either. I wonder where that name came from."

I know I would wonder if I saw my maiden name used as a first name.

*The book is fantastic--Reamde by Neal Stephenson--and I highly suggest you check it out. It gets rolling slowly at first but when it gets going! whew! it gets going. I became a fan of Stephenson after reading Snow Crash, which not only can get you thinking, but is a rollicking funny read apart from anything else you could say about it. Oh, and it's also awesomely geeky, too.

Kittehs Love When Mama Goes Thrifting

But the Big B dreads when I go shopping.

Why?

It's nothing that bad--after all, it's not like he's typically required to *gasp* go with me or anything horrifyingly inhumane like that. I have my own allowance, so it's not like he's going to see a surprise credit card statement in the mail. I don't call or send picture messages of what I'm considering purchasing to get his opinion. In fact, me going out shopping is usually a bonus benefit for him since I'm usually gone for hours and he gets free range of the house.

I should clarify that it's not really me going shopping that he dreads, but me returning from shopping.

Because bargain-shopping and thrifting just isn't as satisfying to me unless I can share my finds when I get home. One at a time. Exclaiming over each one in an almost super sonic squeal or at the very least some excited hopping. While holding it out and extolling the benefits. And then triumphantly telling him the price until he gives some sort of acknowledgement of how great it is that I found a $200 suit for $10.50.

So you can't really blame him if he shudders when he hears the garage door open after I've spent a long day of digging through the racks.


The kittehs, however, are a different story.

I think they greet each new piece just as eagerly as I do.

New smells! Must claim new territory!


They certainly got possessive enough with the new items when I put them the couch. Both cats had laid down on the pile within minutes of each other.

Another favorite part about Mama's retail therapy for Gizmo?

He gets a new posh hiding place for himself.


The clothes I found were awesome (a heaping pile for less than $80!) but a couple of non-clothing finds were a nice touch.

Had to switch out to this purse immediately, it was so cool. It'll serve double-duty in a steampunk outfit no problem, especially if I keep the cell phone pocket out of sight.








An impulse buy I don't regret was this treasure.

You can't beat that for 99 cents, even if it is VHS. It's in such good shape!
I loved that movie. My first memories of it are being scared out of my wits by the Skesis, grossed out and frantic by the draining of the podlings, awed by Kira's ability to fly, and delighted by Fizzgig.

I had no idea, not a single inkling, that they were all puppets.

Mama loves when she goes thrifting too.