First Tuesday in November

So I've been reading this book, "The Summer Before the War" by Helen Simonson. I'd been enjoying it until around the 65% mark.  It's an ebook so it's no longer "2/3rds through" or "halfway through", now's it's all percentages which is much better than the Star Dates they used to post.  Location 7693,  sure, okay.

Anyway, at around the 65-70% point, like any good narrative, everything started to go bad. Really bad. This morning I thought they'd worked through things, rather cleverly, and we were going to glide into the "The End". Until, at the 88% mark, they shot THE DOG.  whaaaaaat theeeeeeee fuuuuuuuuuck?!?!?

This feels like a very bad omen for election day.
I'm going back to bed.

Don't let the jaunty scarf fool you.

Maybe it's not so bad.....

From: Jennifer Moore
Sent: Friday, October 26, 2018 9:27 AM
To:  [CH]
Cc: John Moore
Subject: Re: Success in Chemistry

Thank you for your lovely email.  It could not have come at a better time.  

The previous evening I was watching Sam struggle to get into his Halloween costume in anticipation of tonight’s party. It was inexplicably painfully watching him put items on in the wrong order or, "I don’t know, which end do you think goes up?”….Do I honestly have to tell you that the robe goes on last?!? It’s a Jedi, for Christ’s sake. You picked this costume!

Where did I go wrong? Have I not dragged his ass to enough ComicCon’s? Has he not seen enough grown men dressed as Jedi wandering around convention centers, unironically?!? What else can I do, short of throwing Star Wars TM action figures at his head? 

Then I received your email and found myself breathing a huge sigh of relief.  At least my big beautiful monkey has learned to fake it when out in the real world. I really can’t ask for more than that. So again, thank you for your email!  

Jennifer (and I’m sure I speak for John as well!) Moore

On Oct 25, 2018, at 7:29 AM,  wrote:

Good morning,

I wanted to just spend a moment and let you know how much I enjoy having Sam in my chemistry class!

He is bright, engaged and fearless! He is always ready to chime in his thoughts in class, and I have a lot of fun engaging with him! He is really doing a great job.

I know as a parent, it is always nice to hear that our children are appreciated, even when we might be unsure on our end!

All the best,

My goal is to be the Boring One

I offered to watch my friends 9 year old the other day.  The boys usually babysit for him but they were in school.

Me, "What does he like to do?"

Sam, "He likes Hide-and-Seek."

Me, "Well, I'm not doing that."

Sam, "He also like when we make up stories and he acts them out."

Me, "I'm not doing that either."

Sam,

Me,

Sam,

Me, "Can he figure out how to turn on the xbox?"

Sam, "Yes"

Me, "Good, that's settled."

Sam, "That's your whole plan?"

Me, "If he gets bored, he can read a book."

Sam, "Try to save alive until 12:30. We can take over then."

I'm the babysitter of last resort.  That's my whole plan.

Best Book Quote, this week

" Are you a witch?"

"Yes, I am" I told him, enjoying the moment, "I practice a specialized kind of witchcraft call thinking. It's a very mysterious power. Quite unknown to the average person."

The Grave's a Fine and Private Place

Flavia De Luce book #9

Alan Bradley

ComicCon,

Apparently I don't wear socks in my day-to-day life. The socks I packed for ComicCon sucked. The first pair slowly slipped down until they were crammed under my arch by mid day. I ended up throwing them away.  The second pair quickly slid down and were throw away too. Third pair, ditto.  The fourth pair:

Oh, my sweet jesus.  I couldn't even wear a dirty pair because I'd been throwing sucky socks out at various garbage cans around the convention center like I was dumping body parts or something.  Moral? All balled up white socks look the same when you're packing.

Sure they're offensive but at least they're low to the ground where all the kids can see them.

You know you're at ComicCon....

Bob Ross Deadpool is sitting in front of me and Cinderella's evil step-sisters are sitting behind.

San Diego Comic Con 2018

Helpful Hint:  Don't compliment the Mennonite on her Nun Cosplay

When I die

So I was playing this app and I didn't realize that Sam had walked up behind me.

Sam, "What's are you doing?!?"
Me, "It's this ga....I didn't want it, okay? I was trying to get a different game and somehow I ended up with this one."
Sam, "What level are you one?"
Me, "Huh?"
Sam, <tapping screen> "51? You're on level 51? How long have you been playing this"
Me, "I didn't want this game!!"
Sam, "You could just stop.."
Me, "I didn't wa..."
Sam, "Or I could get Candy Crush too." <said with such a lack of mocking that it was just dripping with mocking-ness>
Me, "It's NOT Candy Crush.....It's Simon's Cat. WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME SAY THESE THINGS OUT LOUD?!?"

After that I started hiding the screen when someone walked in the room. Naturally, John noticed and became more and more intrigued. I became more and more insistent on not showing him. You'd have thought I was watching donkey porn or something.

Finally, he caught a glimpse.
John, "Oh, it's Candy Crush."
Me, "IT'S NOT CANDY CRUSH!"
John, ??
Me, !!
John, ??
Me, "It's worse. It's Simon's Cat"
John, "wwhh.." then he shook his head and walked away.

Forget about my browser history. Someone delete all my stupid games.

Summer Movie Fun

Who's got tickets for Jurassic Park 5??

I'm really excited.  See, this time the dinosaurs are going to break OUT of their cages and wreck..havoc.....on...........oh, wait, that's what happened in the first 4.  One of them better eat that little girl.


Jurassic Park 6:
Scientist, "We're never get to Mars unless we study the effects of weightlessness on genetically engineered extinct reptiles!"

Cut to the International Space Station.  "Ohhhhhhhh, Nooooooooo!"

Sequel Part 37

Sam, "At what point do we start calling it Mission Possible?"

So Many Questions

Here's an email you don't see everyday:

Did you get me a moose for Mother's Day?  Please say yes.  Amazon sells Therapy Animal vests.  Two day shipping with Prime!

BTW, I googled Therapy Moose and got this:

Early College Visits Part Two

So we're visiting colleges a little early to ease into the process.  Not for the boys' sake but for mine.  If I think about it too much for too long, I end up sitting with my head between my knees, keening on, "they'regoingtoleaveandnevercallandAbbey'sgoingtodieandI'llbeleftinanemptyhousewithashittylittlewhitedogthatstillpeesonthebathroomrugaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh"

So UCLA...we didn't take an official tour but instead wondered around the campus which is beautiful, Interesting architecture, rolling hills, huge old growth trees and the kicker? They were setting up for an incoming freshman event so there was a whole Fair atmosphere. White tents, lots of signs pointing things out, party on the roof of the physics building, families wandering around, and lots of helpful students asking if we needed directions.  It was like a movie set.  Completely unlike my college campus.  I was fine.

UC Irving was different.  And more like my college.  Trees had clearly been cut down to accommodate the construct of ugly utilitarian buildings that all kinda centered around a fountain area.  Uh-oh, this is hitting close to home.  Worse? We were signed up for a tour so we ended up waiting with a couple hundred other folks.  The first groups were incoming freshman (again, really?) who were touring the various housing and food service options available.  Again, hitting close to home. Rather than ask for the car keys so I could sit in the parking garage and skip the tour, I found a spot in the shade to regroup.  John went in search of Starbucks and the boys joined me under a tree.

Sam, "Are you okay?"
Me, "Uh, okay, kinda."
Sam, "What's wrong?"
Me, "Oh, just, you know.."
Sam, "Is it because you're 50?"
Me, "What?! NO! Well, I mean, now it is!"

And I got up and stormed off to find John.

Our tour group consisted of 30-40 kids and parents.  I realize these tours are optional but they should really be mandatory.  One of the first things pointed out was a housing area named Middle Earth. No, the other housing areas were not named Hogwarts, or Star Fleet Academy. They were typical boring names.  Middle Earth was under construction. There were building new dorms, to be called, the Two Towers.  The four of us were the only ones in the group to react. Really?  Towards the end of the tour, the guide pointed out the emergency calls boxes that were all over campus. He explained their purpose then told the story of the last time the system was used for an actual emergency rather than to request an escort after dark. Here's the story.  A student was walking across campus. It was late enough that most of the lights were off but the few that were on, were reflecting off the disco ball key chain hanging off the back of her backpack.  This shiny, sparkly disco ball attracted the attention of a herd of raccoons (which is called a Gaze, my friend, Jessica, looked that up) a gaze of raccoons. She ends up being chased across campus by the gaze and finally calls for security from an emergency call box and they show up and have to Tase the raccoons.  or is it Taze? I don't know.  Anyway, I was rolling! But when I looked around no one else was laughing. I started wondering if they didn't know what raccoons were or if perhaps english was a second language.  I immediately judged all of them and decided that if you don't laugh at Middle Earth or the rabid raccoon story, your application for admittance should get shit-canned.

As the tour was ending, I was getting verklempt again.
Tom, "Are you okay?"
Me, "Oh...I don't know.."
Tom, "Don't worry. He's not going to get in."
Me, "wh..."
Tom, "I mean, neither of us. He won't get in here and I won't get into UCLA."
Me, "I don't kn..."
Tom, "No, we'll both end up in some alley with a needle hanging out of our arm..."
Me, "OH MY GOD! Get away from me! Go stay over there with your brother...jesus..."

See these tours are helping a lot.  The more we go on, the less and less I miss them. I mean, really....

Early College Visits Part One

So we were down in L.A. this weekend and ended up checking out a few colleges.  That was not the original purpose of the trip; John got tickets for a taping of Battle Bots so we thought we'd swing by UCLA and UC-Irvine while we were down there.  Those are Tom and Sam's first choice schools, respectively. At least for now.  FYI, the acceptance rate for UCLA is 17% and UCI is 40%.  Best of luck to ya.  Anyway.

I am not a fan of UCLA because I hate LA. For several reasons. Mainly, 1. The traffic fucking sucks. and 2. the closest airport is LAX.  LAX is The Worst Airport On The Planet. Nuh-uh-uh-uh, don't argue with me. It's the worst because it sucks and it's in LA which if full of crack houses, rent boys and broken dreams.  Or maybe I've read too much Harry Bosch. I've have connections through LAX that required me to leave not only security but the actual building to get to the other gate. WTF? After arriving, we followed the signs to baggage claim and ended up on a 12 ft sq. mezzanine with a escalator to the arrivals curb on one side and a pedestrian bridge to a parking garage on the other. Where the fuck is baggage claim? I already want to go home.

Every single part of that airport seems like an afterthought.  Meeting a driver? They'll be standing in a 6x6 entry area at the bottom of an escalator. Looking for the security area? It's directly at the top of a flight of stairs  Need a bathroom? It's at the very end of the terminal up two flights of stairs (no escalator). And what's with all the fucking stairs? No other airport requires you to change floors as often as LAX. And it's all corners, you have to turn 7 corners before getting anyway you need to be and half the time you end up in a hallway. Think about those two things; hallways and corners. Anytime you end up in a hallway, in an airport, it's feels very wrong. And how many corners are there between your airport's security and the gate? Maybe 1. Probably 0. I fucking hate that airport. All that bullshit before you've even merged onto the freeway and, boom, UCLA is one of my least favorite colleges in the state. That and it's really big and really far away from home....

Side note, the couple seated in front of me had clearly never been to LAX because they kept looking out the little window and smiling.  They were blown away by the big A380 that seats more than 500 passengers! Wow! No, not wow. Over 500 passengers? Just look at the slice of Americana we're currently surrounded by and times it by 6.  That plane is nothing short of hell on earth.  That aircraft should be a flying penitentiary. White collar crime would disappear overnight.  Sure you could defraud your investors but if you're caught you could end up flying to New Zealand on an A380, with tourists, with a mother of 'very special' children who have never heard the term 'inside voice', with 97 people who've never used an overhead bin in their entire fucking lives. I'd rather been shot.

Anyway, turns out UCLA is a really nice college.

2 Hrs in the Madhouse

So I finished reading "Ten Days in the Mad-House" which is Nellie Bly's account of her time at a women's insane asylum at Blackwell's Island in New York.  It was written in the late 1800's so I was a little worried that it would be a hard read but it turns out Nellie Bly has a very modern voice.

I always thought that Nellie Bly had herself committed but she actually went as a request from her editor to find out the conditions in the institution.  Her main concern, as was mine, and my friend Carol's, was how she'd get out after the 10 days.  How do you explain to someone that you're not crazy? Especially when you're dressed in someone else's pajamas and sitting next to some chick who thinks they're Marie Antoinette?  "Oh, I agree, she's completely nuts. But I'm not. Trust me." Well, the editor, and the newspaper's lawyer, assure her that they'll get her out and she agrees to go which makes me question her sanity and now we're in a bit of a Catch-22 but anyway.

So here's what it took to get oneself committed in the late 1800's.  For the first 24 hours, all she did was wander into a boarding house claiming not to remember anything and that she lost her suitcases.  Well, there's me committed.  After 2 or 3 times of walking into a room and wondering why I came in or a 5 minute walking tour of a parking lot looking for my car, and Bob's your uncle, I'm clearly crazy.  After that, she never lied about anything. Oh, I take that back, when asked if she was from Cuba, she said, "uuuuh, sure." So 24 hours into her investigative journalism assignment and she's in front of a judge and sent to Bellevue Hospital for evaluation. Now, based on my extensive viewing of Law & Order, I know two things, 1, there's no way in hell you'd get in front of a judge within 24 hours in this day and age and 2, Bellevue is where they send the crazy people.

So far she's batting 1000. The ladies at the boarding house think she's crazy, the cops think she's crazy and a judge thinks she crazy.  She ends up at Bellevue where there are 5 other ladies being evaluated. One is recuperating from an illness, not crazy (been there), another isn't talking (been there too), a couple don't have a male guardian (so far so good) and the last doesn't speak English.  3 out of 4, and I'm still on my way to the Nut House.

Now the last one interests me, because I couldn't decide if it would be better to speak English and know what was going on or not speak English and have no clue.  Sure it would be terrifying to not know what the hell was going on but you would still have some hope that everything would be straightened out eventually.  If you spoke English, you'd know exactly how fucked you were. Po-ta-to, Po-tah-to, I really couldn't decide.....

So where are we....48 hours in and now a couple doctors and several nurses are all convinced she's insane. Keep in mind she's speaking and behaving rationally and not lying about anything. The evaluation of her mental status consisted of a handful of questions, a check of her pulse and eye dilation, and some bozo measured her head. I think it took three days for her to end up on Blackwell Island. Maybe four.  Either way it was Not.  Enough.  Days.

By now, her biggest problem was that she'd barely slept.  She forced herself to stay awake at the boarding house so that she would appear more convincing. After that, it was similar to today in that you're trying to sleep in the hospital but the damn nurses keep coming in a waking you up.  Add in the actually crazy people making crazy noises and anyone would be climbing the walls.  "WOULD SOMEONE SHUT HER UP! NO, I'M NOT CRAZY BUT SHE'S BEEN SINGING BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY FOR THREE HOURS. AND I CA..STOP IT...IT'S NOT ME..I'M NOT CRA...AAAAAHHHHHHH"  And they throw away the key.  Of course Nellie is still concerned that someone will 'discover' that she's not really nuts, bless her heart.

Needless to say the conditions were horrific, the staff was horrific and the 1800s in general were horrific.  I did see a light at the end of the tunnel when one lady was released because her husband showed up to take her out.  He didn't have paperwork or anything.  "Oh, you want her? Fine, take her. We've got plenty more where she came from."  How long before someone showed up to get me because they couldn't find the car keys? 2 hours? 3 hours? And I'd probably be pissed off and refuse to leave, "Why can't you just leave the keys in the dish? I don't know why this is so difficult? You walk right past it!" "What do you mean you don't know where the vacuum cleaner is? We've lived in that house for 4 years! Do you really want to stand there and tell me that you never vacuumed?  IN FOUR YEARS?"  "Have you fed the dogs even once?" "Forget it, I'm staying. I don't care how many people have worn these pajamas...jesus chri....." and I storm off, muttering and waving my arms.
Like a crazy person.

So, You're having a good day?

Don't worry, we can fix that.

So John arranged for me to come down to his office at 12:30 today.  Their insurance company was on site and if I came down for a quick cholesterol/blood sugar test, we could get free money added to our medical spending account. Or whatever that flex-account is called.  Fine, I'll be there.  I'll even set a reminder on my phone so I don't forget.  I'm that much of a team player. You're welcome.

When we got there, there was one woman ahead of us. Once she was checked in it was our turn.  While John was answering general questions and signing in on the i-pad, it slipped out of his hand and hit me in the foot.  I hollered, "Hey, You hit me!" And the woman behind us said, "I saw that!" Me, "That's spousal abuse! I don't feel safe at home!" And hahahaha, we're all having fun. I'm such a good sport. Then I heard the woman, who had been ahead of us, who had moved on to the first station, being told, 'okay, slip off your shoes and step on the scale."

Waaaaaaaaait a minute? I'm getting weighed? Nobody said anything about getting weighed.
To John, "We have to get weighed? You said it was a pin prick."
John, "I don't know, just do whatever."
Me, "WE JUST ATE."
John, "Jennifer...."
Oh, don't you 'Jennifer' me. I literally have an entire predigested Jimmy John's roast beef sub sitting in my gut.  Some of it's still in my teeth, for christ's sake.

And OCD-girl doesn't just weigh herself unless 1) it is first thing in the morning, 2) she has mentally prepared herself to be weighed and 3) and this is really the key, has mentally prepared herself to 'just move on' afterwards because there's nothing that OCD-girl likes to get hung up on more than numbers. Yeaaaa, numbers!!  Geez, John, are you NEW?!?

Now it's my turn.
Guy, with absolutely zero medical training, "Have you been fasting?"
Me, "Not even a little."
Then he makes small talk while the i-pad it updating...
Guy, "So you painting today?"
Me, wearing clothing spattered neck to ankle with 90 different paint colors, "Yup, sure am."

See, I'm wearing my painting clothes because I will be painting later today. Luckily my painting clothes are overalls. And whenever I have a medical evaluation that consists of nothing but arbitrary measurements that fit neatly onto a fill-in-the-blank form, I prefer to be wearing the heaviest and bulkiest article of clothing that I own. Not only do my overalls have the standard 2 pounds worth of hardware attached to them, they also have an additional 3 pounds worth of dried paint smeared all over them. And, bonus points here, should easily add 7 inches to my waist. This is just fantastic. Hey, John, are you having fun? I'm having a fucking FANTASTIC time!

Station 1 guy, 'kick off your shoes and whatever else you don't want to be weighed with.'  I kick off my keds and take my phone out of my pocket. I really don't know what because at this point what's a few more pounds between friends. I step on the scale, I stand against the tape measure (well, at least I haven't shrunk) then came the body mass index.  I'm told to hold the little xbox driving controller device out in front of me, arms straight for 1 minutes.  What the fuck is this supposed to do?  It is totally bullshit. What could it possibly measure? Other then my pulse? It's too far away to even measure if I've been drinking which I totally would have if I'd know this was going to be happening after lunch. And the device changes every year because someone with a bogus phys-ed degree comes up with a new and improved device and 'oh those old calibers didn't take into account, blahblahblah and this magic wand will blahblahblah.' Ohh, just shuuuuuuut uuuuuuupp.

Moving on to next table,
Me <making controller motions with my hands to John> "That thing is totally bullshit! I mean wh..." John, "Ssshh!"
Hey, don't get snippy with me, this wasn't my idea.

And it's finally time for the promised pin prick. I sit at a table while a nice lady draws a few drops of blood.  Blood sugar is fine, blood pressure is fine, cholesterol fine. See now this is what I was expecting. Me sitting in a chair and someone measure things on the inside. Where the real mess is.
Lady, "Would you like to discuss your results with a medical specialist?"
Me, "Absolutely not. But thank you."
And she hands me my paperwork, in a beautifully printed folder with several colorful, informational sheets inside; the cost of which most likely offsets the cost-benefits of these pre-screenings.  But, hey, no one  asked me.

I waited until I got in my car to look over the numbers.  I had John's too, he had handed them off to me when we left the room, so I could compare the two. "hm.....waaait...how can my chols....but his bmi is....."
Then I start texting, "It says my body fat is 35.6% WTF???" That can't be right. Is 5% of that body hair that is not properly maintained? I knew I should have gotten my legs waxed last week. goddamn it....acceptable range for 'mature'....Mature??what the fuck is that supposed to mean??
John texts back, "That's not right. You know that."

Right. Sure, I know that. You know what else I know? I know we're not having Beef Stroganoff for dinner tonight. Hope y'all like salad.....35.6% my ass....

Mother of the Year, Again

So Sam was searching colleges online, looking for ones with good history departments.  He found one in Vermont or New Hampshire, one of the two.  It doesn't matter.

Me, "So Sam found a college in <which ever state>. Apparently it has a good history department. I don't like it."
John, "It's not a problem. We can work it out for whatever college he chooses."
Me, "No, that's not what I mean. It's too far away. So I explained that if he picks a school in California or at least on the west coast, then he can come home whenever he wants because he'll be a car-ride or train-ride away.  If he picks a school on the east coast, or really even the midwest, then we're talking plane rides so he probably would only be able to come home at Christmas."
John, "What? You told him that?"
Me, "I was just being realist..."
John, "Oh my g...I'll go talk to him."
Me, "What???"

Oh, sure. I'm the bad guy. I waited 16 years before intentionally dismantling one of his dreams.  16 years! I deserve a medal.

When good games go bad

In the car,
Me, "Slug Bug!" <punching Sam and point towards the VW> "Black one."
Sam, "Lexus Lick!"
Me, "NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Overhead Projectors

So John sent a text with a couple of pieces of office equipment that they were getting rid of because they had become obsolete.  One was an overhead projector, and I really wanted it.  Sam saw the picture and asked what it was.

Me, "It's an overhead projector. You don't even know what that is, do you?"
Sam, "That's not an overhead projector. We have overhead projectors in our classrooms."
Me, "Those aren't overhead projectors. THIS is an overhead projector. You put a transparency on the light box and the mirrors above it reflect the writing onto the screen."
Sam, "No, an overhead projector is a projector that is bolted to the ceiling over your head."
Me, <wrapped in confusion> "                            "

Why in the hell were these things called overhead projectors?

Anyway, John was convinced it would never get used and he was probably right so it didn't come home to live with us.  Fast forward a few weeks and suddenly I have a desperate need for an overhead projector.

We're redecorating the library and one of the things we're going to do is put literary quotes on the walls.  As we were debating how best to do this and the librarians weren't jumping on board with my idea of making the art classes do it.  I really don't understand why people work at schools when you're not allowed to force the kids do shit. Then Niki says, can't we use an old overhead projector and trace the letters; and I smacked her in the arm and said, "SHIIIIITTT. I almost had an overhead projector!!!" I checked with John and the overhead projector was gone.  I checked a few more times to make sure that it really was truly gone and not just that he didn't want to bring it home. Yes, it. was. gone. but it turned out that the school had one in the equipment graveyard.  yippee.

The next stumbling block came after I found a bunch of awesome quotes to use and brought them into the library.
Me, "I decided to use only quotes from women."
Librarian, "I think it needs to be fair and let everyone have a voice."
Me, "So, you're thinking that men haven't had an equal voice?"
Librarian, "I'm just saying it needs to be equal."
Me, "Fine, I'll paint the female quotes and one of the men <waving my arm to indicate the entire campus> can come and paint the male ones. Besides it'll take years for anyone to even figure it out."

So that was settled and now I needed to find transparency paper.  Which is impossible. It no longer exists in stores and only a few clerk will understand what you're talking about.  You can, however, find vellum paper with is semi-transparent. How much of a difference could that make? Semi-transparent/transparent? I just needed enough of a reflection to trace. Right? Wrong.  You can't use vellum paper as transparency paper and honestly I don't understand why. The more I thought about it the more I began to doubt whether transparency paper actually worked.  Was this some rosy colored memory from my childhood? Was it like the Easter bunny? No, no they really did use transparencies and they'd even write on it and we could see it all on the screen.  I just know we did.

Transparency paper can be found online, but for whatever reason, ordering it seemed like a bridge too far. I mean, every office on the planet probably has a box of transparency paper sitting in the back of the supply closet with 23 years of dust on it. Right? And I have a husband who works in an office.  This prompted more texts to the poor guy who thought he was in the clear after convincing me that yes, the overhead projector was really gone. Choosing the path of least resistance, he came home with a stack of transparency paper and backed out of the room.

Now here's another interesting fact about vellum vs. transparencies. You can print on vellum just like any other kind of paper but transparencies, not so much.  The first one worked fine because it evidently did not touch anything.  The second one rubbed up against the first and smeared the printing.  "whaaaat the fuck?" Nope, printing on transparency paper isn't a thing anymore. What were they doing back in the day? Typing on it? When they rubbed off their writing with the side of their fist, the entire document didn't wipe off too. Why is this causing so many problems?  Little Miss Perfect Online didn't mention this when she told us all how she painted beautiful, inspiring quotes above the crib in her nursery. Neither did the rest of her internet coven. Interestingly enough, if you read the 1 star reviews on Amazon, they ALL tell you that sure the box says you can print on it but, and this is important, YOU CAN'T.  Fine, whatever, I don't need these things to last for ever, just long enough to trace the damn thing.

Oh, one similarity, whether you use vellum or a transparency sheet, you have to stand there and feed each sheet into the printer one at a time so it doesn't jam but it may jam anyway and you'd have to feed the transparency sheets one at a time anyway because of the smearing issue. 30 minutes of my life was: open document, feed in sheet, press print, wait, remove sheet, place it on the dining room table two inches from anything else so it doesn't smear, remind the kids not to put anything on the dining room table. And repeat. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Now do the easy Do-It-Yourselve overhead projector. This is so easy to do at home and all you need is a box and a lamp. Flip the box upside down, put the lamp under the box, place transparency on one end and voila, overhead projector.  This made perfect sense to me because if you can use a cardboard box to safely look at an eclipse, then this should totally work. Cardboard is truly a wonder. Nope. This doesn't work either. FUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK. Who are these women? This is why we have internet trolls.  You post these bullshit projects that don't work and you think we're not going to drive you to tears?  Payback's a bitch, darling.

I'm a week into this project and nowhere near ready to start tracing but it has taught me two things:
1) I'm pretty sure these inspirational quotes are not supposed to leave you standing in front of your printer, muttering, "fuck you, Maya."
2) 90% of all craft posts on the Internet are there just to fuck with you.

Welcome to 2018

The other morning I was sitting at the kitchen table reading and Tom walked in.

Tom, "Good morning."
Me, "'Morning."
Tom, "How'd you sleep?"
Me, "uh, fine."
Tom, "Is anything wrong?"
Me, "No, why?"
Tom, "Well, you're answering everything with one word."
Me, "Oh, no, it's this book that I'm reading.  I've read some of his other books and they were all strange or woo-woo-woo but this one is just....
Sam walks in the room.
Me, "......this guy's crazy and those guys are greedy."
Sam, "What are you talking about? The presidency?"

So that says a lot.....

You Must Be the Pretty One

So I'm at the gym this morning, on the elliptical and the guy next to me starts loud talking (because he's that kind of guy. we'll call him DB) to another guy standing in front of him.  Soon a third joins them on another elliptical.  (Why do I have so much trouble spelling elliptical?)

Standing Man had gotten divorced and he was telling DB. 3rd guy pipes up and says something like I'm 30 and all my friends are getting married but I'm like, hey, not me. <hearts breaking wide open across the state>

DB starts talking, "Hey, look at me, I'm 56 and I just got married. I was seeing this girl for a while and she's totally loaded and one day she asks me, hey, do you want to stop working forever? and I was like sure. I've got my full pension and if you want to pay my way, sure."  I'm paraphrasing here but you get my drift.  Btw, I would loooove to hear her version on the discussion.

I'm glancing over at him occasionally. He's nothing to write home about. If you're going to pick a trophy boy then pick a trophy boy.  And it's it fascinating how douche bags thrive in captivity. It's like a reverse Darwinism; survival of the dumbest. This guy is 56; he could never be released into the wild.  Standing Man glances at me and gives me a shrug and I start laughing.  DB turns to me.

Me, "You are a keeper."
DB, "Oh yeah, I'm not leaving."
Me, "Not what I meant."

And I return to my book.  I'm almost done, and it's getting really good.  I'll finish it this morning and then later today I can watch the movie.  It's the first day back from winter break, pouring rain, there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge and the boys aren't home to half-watch the movie and repeatedly ask me what's going on. Perfect day. Bonus, Gillian Anderson is in it along with Julian Sands.  That had to have cause confusion on the set. Gillian. Julian. Julian. Gillian. And what's up with Julian Sands anyway? He was in Oxford Blues then disappeared and pops up every 6-7 years on the BBC.  Where does he go? Wasn't he rumored to be the father of Jodie Foster's kids? I'll have to google that when I get home.

Then I hear something.
DB, "words, words"
Me <is this guy talking to me?>, "huh?"
DB, "Did I get your blood boiling there?"
Me, "uh....no?"
DB, "Didn't mean to get your blood boiling. Ha Ha Ha"
Me, "oh, bless her heart."
DB, "huh?"
Me, "Seriously, are you scripted?" (Okay, I didn't say that but I was thinking it really loudly)
DB, <silence and turns back to his buddy.>

And I mean that. Bless her heart. If she hadn't stepped up to look after this guy then he would have been out there defaulting on loans, driving up insurance rates and littering.  She really took one for the team.  Bless. Her. Heart.

Although I would have picked someone younger.....

Stingray City

Some of this occurred, some didn't.  I'll let you determine which is which.

So our boat is anchored on the sandbar and Natalie is giving out helpful information and safety tips.

Natalie, "The stingrays will swim towards you, brush against you, swim through your legs.  Their skin can be rough. Do not scream that you've been stung. You have not been stung."
Me, <raising hand> "Are there sharks?"
Natalie, "No, there are no sharks.  We have a bucket of calamari pieces that you can feed the stingrays. They will suck it out of your hand."
Me, < raising hand> "How do you know there aren't any sharks?"
Natalie, "Sharks prefer to stay farther out. Boys, please do not put pieces of calamari into your pockets.  If you do the stingray will follow you all over the sandbar until it sucks the piece out of your pocket."
Me, < raising hand> "What is the stingray's main predator?"
Natalie, "Um, that would probably be the shark. Mothers after touching the calamari, do not touch your child.  Every spot you touch your child will attract the stingrays and they will try to suck up any last bit of juice.  This is called a Stingray Hickey."
Me, < raising hand> "So how do you know that there aren't any sharks?
Toms, "Jeez, Mom. You're more likely to be killed by a cow than a shark."
Me, < raising hand> "Are there any cows?"

12 Days of Christmas Cruise (the rest)

12 million people clearing customs
(ffffuuuuucccckkkkkkk)
11 minutes, winning sudoku time!
(suck it, losers!)
10 drinks till midnight
(happy new year!)
9 hours to Chichen Itza
(will this bus ride ever ennnnnnnnd?!?)
8 stingrays flapping
(hey, I don't know how many there were and neither do you.)
7 questions from the spa technician
6 quarts of sweat in Columbia
(me, "jeez, how hot is it??", john, "it's not the heat it's the humidity." me, "shut up.")
5 Tiiiiiinnnnyyyyy Speeeeeeddooooooossssss
(full body shudder....make it staaaaawp!)
4 losing games of bingo (but we won $2 on pull tabs!)
3 hours napping
2 laps around the the boat in the wrong direction (where's the fucking cabin??)
1 boy locked out of his room