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.