Cathy in the Wright

Chalk It Up To The Fact That I'm Bored

This photo was taken just moments after Albert proved that Tinkerbell was indeed "hotter" than Hawkgirl and just moments before Hawkgirl proved she could crush Albert's skull with one blow of her mace.

Hey Kevin...Hisssssssss

Peeved at my lack of appearances at the MOB wateringhole, Young Jedi Kevin has seen fit to attach my name to one of these meme horrors. My inclination is to ignore the tag, but since I have nothing else to write about today, here's your filler post.

12 Things

1: Black and White or Color; how do you prefer your movies?

Black? White? Does it really matter? As long as Colin Firth is stripped to the waist in several close-ups...who cares.

2: What is the one single subject that bores you to near-death?

Memes.

3: MP3s, CDs, Tapes or Records: what is your favorite medium for prerecorded music?

No one listens to 8-track anymore?

4: You are handed one first class trip plane ticket to anywhere in the world and ten million dollars cash. All of this is yours provided that you leave and not tell anyone where you are going ... Ever. This includes family, friends, everyone. Would you take the money and ticket and run?

Nope. What's the point of going somewhere really cool with all that cash if you can't rub it in to your family and friends?

5: Seriously, what do you consider the world's most pressing issue now?

Finding Kevin something better to do with his time.

6: How would you rectify the world's most pressing issue?

Get him a girlfriend.

7: You are given the chance to go back and change one thing in your life; what would that be?

Not dated Pete.

8: You are given the chance to go back and change one event in world history, what would that be?

I've always felt rather bad for Archduke Ferdinand.

9: A night at the opera, or a night at the Grand Ole' Opry --Which do you choose?

Opera.

10: What is the one great unsolved crime of all time you'd like to solve?

Why Sisyphus took out that restraining order on me. I thought moving, getting the unlisted number, and installing the security system would have been enough.

11: One famous author can come to dinner with you. Who would that be, and what would you serve for the meal?

P.J. O'Rourke. Because this is one of my favorite passages ever written:

When the Turks backed the wrong horse in World War I, the French and English divvied up the region in a manner both completely self-serving and unbelievably haphazard, like monkeys at a salad bar.

From Give War A Chance. Chinese take-out. But he'd have to bring it because there is no decent Chinese place around here.

12: You discover that John Lennon was right, that there is no hell below us, and above us there is only sky -- what's the first immoral thing you might do to celebrate this fact?

Watch your back, Kevin.

No Title Needed

Gary comes up with another gem:

Congratulations

A long, long while ago, I started reading blogs. And on many of my favorite sites I would see comments from a witty, intelligent person who wrote under the name "Aelfheld." And when I started my own blog, my ego got a huge boost when Aelfheld started leaving comments here.

One year ago today, Aelfheld started his own blog, Gall and Wormwood. As I expected, Gall and Wormwood started popping up on all the best blogrolls. It has been a treat to watch his fame spread. If you haven't been over for a visit, you're missing some wonderful writing. I particularly admire Aelfheld's ability to vivisect the moronic words of a politician or other ridiculous figure with succinct, pithy phrases that make my own posts look like a third grader's book report.

Happy Anniversary, my friend!

Am I Really Relying On A Three-Year-Old Not To Tattle On Me?

I can see why it might be difficult to reform criminals. The rush of doing something forbidden and waiting to see if you can get away with it is a tremendous thrill. In a couple of hours, The Governor and I will know if we've pulled off the biggest transgression The Outpost has ever experienced.

Last night I told The Senator that I would be cleaning the basement today. He nodded and said, "But not MY room, right?!" Right. He is very sensitive about his room, mainly because he collects a lot of junk and I'm always threatening to haul it away. And when I say junk, I mean junk. He refuses to toss the dozens of re-order cards that come in the middle of his Ranger Rick magazines. McDonalds toys circa 2003? Check. Broken pencil with no eraser? On the dresser. He has art work from pre-school still hanging on his bedposts. He's in first grade.

So The Governor and I start working on the basement, and I head into The Senator's room to shove something under his bed. As I lift the bedskirt, I'm hit by a musty smell. I look at The Gov and say, "You ready to get in some BIG trouble?" He nods.

We start cleaning The Senator's room. Well, I start cleaning, and The Governor starts rummaging through all the Forbidden Toys that he's not allowed to touch when The Senator is around to enforce the rules.

I moved the bed and found a layer of dust so thick I could have rolled it up like a carpet and carried it out of the house. After the dry heaves passed, I tackled the dust, the clutter, and the rest of the mess.

We finished cleaning the room just a few moments ago. I tried to put the remaining junk back in its original spot. If I had been thinking, I would have taken some "before" pictures. I tell you, my adrenalin is still rushing. I haven't felt this excited about doing something verboten since my soccer team rid the neighborhood of pink flamingos in 1985.

I think I need a cigarette.

I returned to the nursing home today for the first time in months. I had told the staff I was taking November and December off so I could prepare for the holidays. Plus it seemed a good idea to allow some time for the the memory of the embarrassing dog fight to fade.

I somehow managed to redefine the "holiday season" as extending through both Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Valentine's Day. I was going to go for St. Patrick's Day too, but I was afraid if I let too much time pass, they might require me to pass another background check. Not that anything new might show up on my record, but the court system in Wright County is a bit speedier than in other parts of the country.

So I signed The Governor up for the in-house day care and off we went. Only The Gov did not want to play with the other kids. He was determined to accompany me on my rounds. He wanted to go with me to visit with my friends. So I told him, Okay, Gov, you can come with me. But you have to be polite. No squirming or fidgeting and no saying, "I'm bored, can we go?" Okay? A necessary warning, believe me. He agreed. He made it about five minutes into the first visit before he whispered, "Where's the food?"

Apparently the dog must have been filling him in on the various snack windfalls along the route. Hoocher could not walk fifteen feet without someone shoving a biscuit or treat of some sort under his nose.

I told The Gov he was out of luck. No food. No begging. Or it was back to the daycare center. He grudgingly agreed. I thought for sure he'd want to head back and play, but he stuck it out and came with me. And sure enough, he hit paydirt in Mr. H's room.

The Gov had met Mr. H. before. He's a local craftsman who happens to be staying at the nursing home while he recovers from a broken bone. While we were chatting with another resident, Mr. H. spied us from his room across the hall and started calling to The Gov, "Do you want a cookie?" The Governor bolted.

When I finally caught up with him, The Governor was half-way through his treat. And not just a bite-sized treat from the ubiquitous tins of Danish butter cookies that seem to grace every room, but a large Valentine's cookie complete with pink frosting and sprinkles. And washing it all down with gulps from Mr. H.'s water pitcher.

Swell. He'll never want to go to the daycare center now. They get crackers for snack time there.

Hope you heal up quickly, Mr. H. Otherwise you're my new daycare.

Happy Valentine's Day

Romance flourishes at The Outpost. My sons bought me a card. The front of the card says "Cupid's Trophy Room" and features a picture of heinies of various sizes and colors mounted like deer heads. The inside says, "Happy Valentine's Day. (And watch your butt.)

Thanks for the card, Senator.

Yeah! It had BUTTS on it! Watch your butt!

Any chance to work in some bathroom humor...my sons will take it.

The VP decided that a family trip to the local pizza joint would be the topper to this most romantic of days. Half way into his first slice, The Governor choked on a pea-sized bite of pizza and threw up on his plate. The Senator, who has a very sensitive stomach, saw the vomit and started gagging and heaving. The VP starts yelling at The Governor to lean over his plate before anything hits the floor. I start yelling at The Senator, "Look away! Look away!" He yells back, "I'm gonna throw up!" "No, you're NOT! Look away!"

We managed to limit the damage to one child, one plate. We got everything cleaned up, paid, and walked out leaving more than half the pizza untouched on the tray.

Nothing like quality family time.

Arriving home, I thought, "Hey! We'll put the kids to bed early, maybe pop in an R-rated movie, snuggle on the couch..." but then The VP took out the bagpipes. Nothing puts you in a seductive mood more than a little Highland battle music.

Oh! The pinnacle of the evening! The VP just asked me to iron his tux shirt.

Since this night can't get worse, I'm breaking open the peanut M&Ms and watching gay men figure skate.

Teachable Moments

The Governor asked me today, "Mom, how do I get the red cracks in my eyes like you have?"

I told him to get married and have some kids. But now that I think about it, I have a great opportunity before me. A teachable moment, as we say in our Early Childhood class. I'm setting my alarm clock for 2 a.m. After we spend an hour discussing my favorite foods, I'll let him go back to sleep. Then I'll be getting him up when the second alarm goes off at six. I'll bring a hand mirror straight to his bedside.

Victory

I lost a few battles, but I believe I've won the war with this cold. Sure, I've had to cede a sinus cavity or two. I'm not the superpower I was before. But, the defense budget has been dramatically increased by a unanimous vote. I'm off to the pharmaceutical aisle at Target shortly.

The war would have been over sooner had I not faced such resistance from my allies. Everyone knows a good night's sleep is an invaluable weapon in this sort of struggle. But when The Governor wakes at 1:30 a.m. with a foot cramp and The Senator comes upstairs at 3:45 a.m. to tell me he's disappointed with me that I didn't come down and say good-night to him (I did; he was already asleep), well - it's hard to placate friends and stave off foes at the same time.

The ravages of war have taken their toll on the household. The Red Cross may need to be called in to deal with the mountains of dirty clothes.

I wonder if I could get Sean Penn to sit in a laundry basket and try to paddle his way to the washing machine?

Only Tuesday?

We went from singing hymns at Heaven's gates to wailing dirges at Hell's portals in less than a day. The Governor was up all night coughing. The VP is home sick, and my throat feels like I swallowed a cheese grater. However, as I am always on the lookout for the silver lining, I realized that being home sick is the only time I feel guilt-free about watching Looney Tunes all morning. So I've got that going for me. Which is good.

The VP has spent most of the morning on the computer setting up an eBay account. He's selling some stereo equipment which has been sitting in boxes in the basement for years. Stereo equipment which is now, inexplicably, stacked in the boys' bathroom. We'll probably lose some equity in the electronics when the boys start dumping wet towels on the boxes. But I'm charging extra for the inevitable smears of Justice League toothpaste.

Ah, I have been enlightened. He needed to weigh the boxes, and the only scale in the house is in that bathroom. Having been weighed, no word on why the boxes are still stacked next to the sink and bathtub.

Apparently we are going to use our new-found eBay wealth to finance our next family vacation. We are headed out to Crested Butte, CO for spring break this year. Skiiers, you ask? Why, no. The VP used to ski in his younger days, and The Senator has taken a couple of lessons at a near-by hill, but I have never skiied before.

Well, that is not exactly true. My sixth grade class took a field trip to a ski hill. I went down, if you can call nearly horizontal "down", the bunny hill a few times before the gym teacher talked me into trying the next steepest slope. I managed to make it to the bottom (by sliding on my butt most of the way) and then fell off the chair lift on the trip back up. Took off my skis and spent the rest of the day in the chalet. Haven't been back since.

Ooh - on a completely different note, frozen margarita mix (party leftover) feels very good going down the sore throat.

Where was I? Skiing. Yes. I may just have to give it another try. It's not like the lodge/chalet won't be there waiting for me. With a healthy supply of tequila.

Better Now, Thank You

I think I have recovered. Head is clear, stomach is no longer queasy, and I have unearthed the kitchen counter. We're singing hymns at Heaven's gate around here, we are.

Well, there is still the matter of my nose. I think I mentioned a post or two ago that Friday night I stopped a shot on net with my face. There wasn't much blood, and someone found me an ice pack quickly, so there isn't much swelling. But boy does it hurt like a son of a b. If I forget and yank a t-shirt over my head too quickly, the collar brushes down my nose and my knees hit the floor. Ow. I'm not sure what to do. As long as I don't touch it, it doesn't hurt. I'll assume this means nothing is broken. However, The VP does have a smokin' hot ENT doctor who helps him with his sinus troubles. I may have to be seen after all.

I took The Governor to the pool today. Lots of interesting people. I made a vow to myself: If the back of my thighs ever look like I'm standing on totem poles of aging shar-peis...I swear I will wear a full-body wet suit when I want to go swimming in public.

Don't say I never do anything nice for you people.

Ireland Declares War on France

Jacques Chirac, The French Prime Minister, was sitting in his office wondering what kind of mischief he could perpetrate against the United States when his telephone rang.

"Hallo, Mr. Chirac!," a heavily accented voice said. "This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Sligo, Ireland. I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you!"

"Well, Paddy," Chirac replied, "This is indeed important news! How big is your army?"

"Right now," said Paddy, "after a moment's calculation there is meself, me cousin Sean, me next door neighbor Seamus, and the entire dart team from the pub. That makes eight!"

Chirac paused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have one hundred thousand men in my army waiting to move on my command."

"Begorra!" said Paddy. "I'll have to ring you back!"

Sure enough, the next day, Paddy called again. "Mr. Chirac, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!"

"And what equipment would that be, Paddy?," Chirac asked.

"Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy's farm tractor."

Chirac sighed, amused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armored personnel carriers. Also, I've increased my army to one hundred fifty thousand since we last spoke."

"Saints preserve us!" said Paddy. "I'll have to get back to you."

Sure enough, Paddy rang again the next day. "Mr. Chirac, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We've modified Jackie McLaughlin's ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Pub have joined us as well!"

Chirac was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My military complex is surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I've increased my army to two hundred thousand!"

"Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!," said Paddy, "I'll have to ring you back."

Sure enough, Paddy called again the next day. "Top o' the mornin', Mr.Chirac! I am sorry to tell you that we have had to call off the war."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Chirac. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Well," said Paddy, "we've all had a long chat over a bunch of pints and decided there's no foo-kin way we can feed two hundred thousand prisoners."

I Hear Duct Tape Works On Warts

I apologize for the lack of blogging; my birthday was on Wednesday and I'm still recovering. No, alcohol wasn't the problem. At least not until tonight. Nope. I was pouting. Getting old stinks.

Tonight, however...different mood. Probably shouldn't post. Invited neighbors over for small party. Good party. Very good party. Nana and Buppa - you picked a bad time time to be out of town. You wouldda loved to hear all the neighborhood gossip. And we made it to one o'clock before you know who took out the bagpipes. Captive audience, you know. The boys in the band were quite enthralled. Mr. British Petroleum wants to get a set now. And he bought the local health club. Much to tell.

Mom and Dad - got your messages from Vegas. Thanks for trying to reach me. Hope you had a great time. Write if you need bail. Probably won't send it, but it would make for great blog post.

Margaret - missed you at Friday's game. I stopped a penalty kick. With my face. Now I look like skinnier version of W.C. Fields. Big red nose. Expecting call from Santa any day now. Also: loved, loved, loved the singing pigs birthday card!

Well. Pile of dishes in kitchen slightly smaller than Everest. Must attend. Thank goodness no one reads on the weekends.