A Whole Year

I can't believe it's been a whole year since I first linked to a then fledgling website called iList Paducah. I could hardly have imagined the leaps and bounds by which the site would grow and the blogging reindeer games that would ensue. And I can't for the life of me figure out how anybody in this town ever figured out what the heck to do on a Saturday night before Mary Thorsby and Nikki May made it their business to keep us informed. (And if you haven't subscribed? HELLO? You need to sign up this minute.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ILIST! (And many more.)

Homeless

Breed: Miniature Poodle (expected to weigh between 10-12 lbs at maturity.)

Type: Party Mix

Sex: Girl (of course!)

Price: $200 (a bargain)

Date of Birth: 2/22/2008

Name: Oreo!

Distinguishing characteristics: Interesting markings--brownish blonde boots on all four feet, white "spilled milk" mark down the chest; one white strip below the neck on the back. Lively and playful and nearly housebroken. E-mail me if you're interesting in adopting. Oreo is one sweet girl.

Dying. (On the inside.)

A recent cell phone call.


(ringggg....)


EX-MAN
Hello?


ME
Hello?


EX-MAN
Hello?


ME
Hey! How are you?


EX-MAN
Oh, pretty good.


ME
What do you mean?


EX-MAN
You know, feelin' pretty cheerful.


ME
But...aren't you dying inside?


EX-MAN
Say what?


ME
DYING INSIDE. You know. From sorrow and heartache? Because you miss me?


EX-MAN
Oh! DYING INSIDE. Yes. Yes, absolutely.


ME
Well. I sensed that.


EX-MAN
So...are we final?


ME
You mean as in SWEET MARITAL FREEDOM? Is it ours?


EX-MAN
Yep.


ME
We could be! I don't know. Haven't heard anything.


EX-MAN
So, we could be free.


ME
It's possible.


EX-MAN
And not even know it.


ME
Could be. At any moment. Maybe even this moment.

EX-MAN
Did you get the income tax return taken care of?

ME
Welll....no.

EX-MAN
NO?

ME
I filed us an extension. I've been, um, busy.

EX-MAN
So I read, Miss Tequila Shots.

ME
Yah, well, drowning my sorrows and all that. Uh-oh! Getting another call!

EX-MAN
Uh-huh.

ME
You take care now. And cheer up, would you? Except for...

EX-MAN
The dying inside part?

ME
I expect that can't be helped.

EX-MAN
It's just one of those things.

(clicks)

Geocaching

I had lunch with my friend La Donna today. As we gnawed on our chicken on a stick (we're fancy like that) she told me about an adventure past time I'd never heard of: Geocaching (pronounced "geo-cashing").

The concept is simple: participants use a GPS--Global Positioning System--which costs anywhere from $100 to $1,000 (depending on your level of nerdliness and budget) of one sort or another to locate the coordinates of a hidden, sometimes buried, cache or package. Coordinates are given in Latitude and Longitude.

Once a cache is found, the rules are simple:

1. Take something from the cache.

2. Leave something in the cache.

3. Write about it in the log book. (All caches must contain a log book at the very least.)

According to the website, there are caches to be hunted world-wide. Here are a few of FAQS:

Where are caches found?

The location of a cache can be very entertaining indeed. As many say, location, location, location! The location of a cache demonstrates the founder's skill and possibly even daring. A cache located on the side of a rocky cliff accessible only by rock climbing equipment may be hard to find. An underwater cache may only be accessed by scuba. Other caches may require long difficult hiking, orienteering, and special equipment to get to. Caches may be located in cities both above and below ground, inside and outside buildings. The skillful placement of a small logbook in an urban environment may be quite challenging to find even with the accuracy of a gps. That little logbook may have a hundred dollar bill in it or a map to greater treasure. It could even contain clues or riddles to solve that may lead to other caches. Rich people could have fun with their money by making lucrative caches that could be better than winning the lottery when you find it. Just hope that the person that found the cache just before you left a real big prize!

Can I move a cache once I find it?

Don't move the cache! Responsible cache owners often check on their caches and would be alarmed to discover that it is missing.

An alternative would be to have a trackable item, which is an item that you can move from cache to cache. An example of this is a candle that has traveled from Australia to Arizona, and a Mr. Potato head that leaps from cache to cache. For example you can purchase a Groundspeak Travel Bug , which is a tag that you can attach to an item so you can track its movements through this web site.

Are there any variations in the game?

YES! We strongly encourage it, actually. Geocaching is a game that constantly reinvents itself, and the rules are very flexible. If you have a new idea on how to place a cache, or a new game using GPS units, we'd love to hear about it.

Some examples -

Offset Caches - They're not found by simply going to some coordinates and finding a cache there. With the Offset Cache the published coordinates are that of an existing historical monument, plaque, or even a benchmark that you would like to have your cache hunter visit. From this site the cache hunter must look around and find offset numbers stamped/written in or on some part of the marker site, or continue based on instructions posted to geocaching.com

Multi-caches - The first cache gives coordinates (or partial coordinates) to the next location, or multiple caches have hints to the final cache.

Virtual caches - A cache is actually an existing landmark, such as a tombstone or statue. You have to answer a question from the landmark and let the "cache" owner know as proof that you were there.

How long do caches exist?

It all depends on the location of the cache and its impact on the environment and the surrounding areas. Caches could be permanent, or temporary. It's up to the cache owner to periodically inspect the cache and the area to ensure that impact is minimal, if not nonexistant. When you find a cache, it's always a good idea to let the cache owner know the condition as well.
Periodically, Geocaching.com will review each cache to ensure that everything is still current. We cannot guarantee that a cache will exist at any given time, but we'll do our best to ensure the list is as current as possible.

If you do find that a cache is missing/defaced, please let the cache owner know as soon as possible!

***

One can start and hide their own cache and there are instructions for that too.

It just seems to me that if this whole concept doesn't appeal to your inner treasure hunter, you might not HAVE an inner treasure hunter. Additionally, this would mean another great excuse for a girl to lace on her hiking boots and set off with her camera.

On the down side, the other image that springs to mind is that of Ralphie Parker in "A Christmas Story" when for weeks he anxiously awaits the arrival of his Secret Decoder Pen only to FINALLY decode his first "exciting" message: "Eat Your Ovaltine." Ahem.

Still...there's something to be said for the thrill of the hunt, right?

I'm considering adding this activity to a play day agenda. I'll keep you posted. Interestingly, I notice on the Geocaching website an event at Lake Cumberland that actually is beginning today---a weekend of geocaching. According to the itinerary, there are over 50 caches located within the park.

Meanwhile, if you have any first-hand knowledge of the sport and insights to share, please feel free to comment or e-mail me. [An unrelated formatting side note? I DO KNOW where I should be double spacing, ESPECIALLY BETWEEN paragraphs. Blogger, for whatever reason, has chosen not to allow me to do this. VERY annoying indeed.]

[Updated to add: I'm finding 365 geocaches within the 42001 zip code alone. Perhaps I am the last to learn about geocaching?]

Eleven Herbs and Spices

On today's play day agenda was a trip to the garden store. Wee! (Now crouched and waiting for lightening to strike. Unemployed people are not allowed to have this much fun. I'm pretty sure.)

Pictured above is my summer herb garden. A better writer than I could describe to you the intoxicating mix of heady green scents that waft off the leaves when I brush my hand over them. Ahhh. Heaven. In the box awaiting transplant is: sweet basil, Italian parsley, silver thyme, dill, dwarf sage, curry, cilantro, oregano,chives, and sweet basil. In pots outside at the front of the house I have already planted rosemary and lavender amongst the petunias.

I am only a recent convert to growing my own cooking herbs, but I have hardly ever found anything quite as satisfying. The difference between fresh and dried herbs is rather like the difference between real and silk flowers: no comparison.

Better still, the cost of a plant start is comparable to the cost of one snipped SPRIG of fresh herb at the store. Best of all, there's nothing that makes me feel quite as Martha Stewart as nipping out to the porch for a sprig of fresh rosemary for my chicken glaze sauce or a mixture of thyme and lavender for my herb crusted pork loin, or... Well. You get the picture. It's just a short hop to insufferable from here.

Which is what I'll be if I ever start growing my own vegetables.

Lake Barkley: Communing with the Redbuds

Viva NashVegas

Between bouts of the flu and, now, a raging head cold I'm still here and having a really good time. When I'm not sneezing or blowing my nose, that is.

They call me Snotty McSnorts Alot. Sexy!

I don't know, could it be that my body is telling me slow down?

Nahhhh.

I took a little trip to NashVegas last week. We had tickets to see Etta James at the Wildhorse Saloon. If you ask me, they are using the term "saloon" a bit loosely here. The Wildhorse is a huge venue in the heart of the NashVegas music district in a space more akin to a barn than a cozy-up-to-the-bar type saloon. But whatever.

We headed toward Tootsie's a little early and took in many of the kick-ass country bars (and refreshments) along the Broadway strip before heading to the Wildhorse for dinner. On the way (it was a long walk of at least three blocks), deprived the entire distance of an adult beverage, I amused myself by ducking into a store and picking up a cowboy had to add to my hat collection. Not, mind you, a Stetson-type thing, but one of those slouchy, wadded up cowboy hats. LOVE!

Once perched on my head, the hat served to distract me from the pain of separation from liquid refreshment for the last bit of distance to the Wildhorse. As we rounded the last corner, we encountered a huge line, of at least a block long, queued up for the Etta show. It was the kind of line that I knew I'd never manage, thirsty as I was, hat or no hat. It was the kind of line that makes you damn sorry you gave up your good seat at Tootsie's, only two feet from the bar. It was the kind of line that, in the state I was in, I couldn't possibly be expected to wait in without a) making a spectacle of myself and b) more beer.

Fortunately, some of the more alert people in our party realized the line we were seeing was for the poor bastards WITHOUT tickets. We, on the other hand, HAD tickets! VIP tickets! This meant we got to get in the secret, hidden short line, with the happy people and Emmy Lou Harris that the ticket-takers quickly hustled in to the front of the bar, seated at tables, and...gave us all beer! Also, chicken and french fries and possibly quesa dillas. Life was temporarily very, very, good.

Once served and in our seats, a girl in our party showed us an original 45 rpm record of Etta James' "At Last" that she had in her purse and tells us she's going backstage to get it signed. Which? I wondered, but okay. She disappeared for a time and came back telling us that Etta couldn't sign it at that point but that she would after the show.

But that wasn't the big news.

The big news was that Etta's road manager had offered her $50,000 for the record. And? SHE TURNED HIM DOWN.

I still don't even know what to say about that. I'll leave it to you to ponder.

Meanwhile, time is passing. By now it is after 7:00 p.m. and the opening band has not even taken the stage. I, personally, have indulged in enough liquid refreshment that I am about to get The Click. But I am restless and can't be expected to continue to SIT IN MY CHAIR (gah! this sh!t gets old). Nor can I be expected to suffer thru the anonymous opening band. I decide I'm going to walk back to the hotel and drink beer there for a while (I know. I don't know why. I'm just telling you what happened.)

There was one other among our number that was game, and together we headed back to the hotel, drank MORE beer and then walked BACK to the Wildhorse. Where? Absolutely nothing had changed. Except that the opening band had performed. We were told me we didn't miss much.

More time passed. And still? No Etta.

Suddenly, beer just wasn't hitting the spot anymore. Suddenly! I had a GREAT idea! Let's switch to drinking something more, I believe the word I used was, efficient. Tequila shots! Someone agreed. Shots were ordered and imbibed.

Now it is 8:30. No Etta. I am at this point stopping all the wait staff..."Excuse me...EXCUSE ME? Etta James? Anyone...anyone?"

One of Etta's sons takes the stage and announces that she has pneumonia and has been at the hospital where the doctor wanted her to check in. But, instead, Etta has bravely in the-show-must-go-on style decided to take the stage at the Wildhorse.

I briefly ponder how cool it would be for Etta to expire on the stage of the Wildhorse so I could blog about it.

And then I order another shot.

Worse? I drink it.

Finally, after what seems like FOREVER, Etta hits the stage. I am, by now, a little unfocused, but still able to observe that Etta is: 1) REALLY skinny with a Joan Rivers amount of face work in evidence 2) Mostly unable to stand. One of Etta's sons shepherds her in a kind of James Brown escort style to an office chair that has been rolled to stage center.

In Etta's defense, I have to say that girlfriend is seventy-eight years old, so it's fairly amazing that she's still even performing and releasing new stuff at all. On the other hand? Don't keep me waiting for almost three hours when you're charging fairly astronomical prices and then sing FIVE SONGS. (It might have been six, but no more.)

Etta chose a nice loose fitting black suit with a red sequined top underneath, but MOST rockin' was her choice of footwear: black cowboy boots. Yee-haw!

Once Etta got to her chair, the raunchiness began. Yes, you read that right. Etta James grabbed her crotch (Michael Jackson style if you can imagine him in a chair) and pinched her nipples and mimicked an, um, excited male member under a table napkin and was just generally hot and hunchy throughout almost the whole show, writhing around suggestively in her office chair. The one exception was when she talked about her grandchildren. I'm happy to report that she managed not to grab her crotch once during that story (whew!).

Of course the Big Finish was "At Last". They tell me that I sang along with this song not only out of tune, but also with a nasally Chicago accent (this is a voice that I often converse with my Mother in for reasons not entirely known to both of us). Pretty!

It was only after I arrived home that I learned that FurGirl was busy becoming a star while I was gone.

I've spent the weekend recovering quietly and enjoying seemingly endless American's Next Top Model marathons. I don't think I could take this show in once-a-week doses, but there's something incredibly satisfying about watching the episodes back to back. And anyway, it's really all I can manage at the moment.

Another Lovely Monday

I continue to exist in this bubble between jobs and it continues to be a wonderful place to be. I'm finally old enough to have learned to stop regretting and or rethinking the past and stressing about what may or may not happen in the future. Well...mostly. Let's just say I'm better than I used to be. By a factor of ten. Life tends to whack one upside the head with a proverbial frying pan until one finally learns these lessons. Can I get an Amen?

The weekend was very much fun and included yet another marathon karaoke Wii session and enough liquid refreshment to float a boat. Let's just say it took all day Sunday to recover. But still? Worth it.

I'm mostly thrilled to enjoy another beautiful spring in Paducah. We are entering that magical window when everything blooms in shades of pink, purple and white. I'm only mostly thrilled because, inevitably, spring signals the end of boot season meaning I have to shelve my beloved sturdy, ass-kicking masculine footwear in favor of something more practical for the tropical temperatures that are just around the corner.

It's enough to bring a girl down.

Unless, of course, said girl acquires a little something-something to cheer her up.

The lastest addition

Summing up Saturday

Guess Who's Playing Wii?

Decisions, decisions...

It's been a hectic day around here.

First, I was forced to sleep until 10:00 a.m. with my bedroom window halfway up so I could listen to the sound of the rain that fell all night. Ahhh...lovely.

Then it was up and at 'em and time for a long session w/Pinky catching up on my e-mails and reading blog posts.

And, now, finally, I am wrestling with the important question of where to hang my retro Coca-Cola sign. Those of you from Lowertown will almost certainly remember this large, metal sign that hung on the barn behind my house off the alley. It was easily visible from Madison Street and even from 7th Street.

I've loved the sign since we purchased the house and believe it had been hanging on the side of that barn since at least the 1980's (probably longer). Once the ex-man and I moved into the Lowertown house, I wanted to move the sign to our master bedroom to hang over the bed as a headboard, an idea the ex-man immediately vetoed, deeming it "ridiculous". Thus, the sign stayed where it was, on the barn, for the duration of the time we lived there.

Luckily, I thought of it before we vacated the house completely and, in the end, the ex-man took it off the barn for me and brought it to my new place. Initially, I thought the perfect spot to hang it would be the kitchen, and it would work there. Thing is, that's ALOT of red with the table and all:

So, I tried it over the couch in the living room:

If it stays here, it won't be leaning on the couch as you see, of course. It will actually be hung higher (a departure for me, I hang most things lower) with a strip of wall visible between the top of the couch and the lower edge of the sign. I am leaning toward this option since I think this would spread the bright blocks of red around more evenly in the space and I love the look of the black and white couch with the red sign. As an added bonus the Doisneau print that used to hang over the couch works perfectly in the kitchen:

So, there you have it. I was going to post a poll, but I think I've written my way into a decision.

Whew! I'm exhausted.

Nap time.

Random Wednesday Post

I got a great deal on a vase at (shhh....I got in major trouble over this post) TJ Maxx. I know! I'm not supposed to be going there any more. But, dang! What? I'm not supposed to display my Forsythia? I HAVE TO DISPLAY MY FORSYTHIA. It's gorgeous. You can't just drive by the stuff without partaking. Or at least I can't.

I'm adding a new sidebar feature to the blog. It's called, "Party Quote of the Week". I've been collecting them for a while (because no matter what I'm doing? I'm thinking of you guys. count on that.) or at least since the Year of Complete and Total Irresponsibility began [on or about 01/01/08].

Party Quotes are remarks you either overhear at the party, or that people actually say directly to you that cause you turn to the person nearest you and say,

"Did he/she really SAY THAT?"

And they say yes, and then you say,

"Is it just me or should that be on a tee-shirt?" And they say, "Aw, HELL YES."

Where possible, I will try to obtain permission from the Quoter to use either their name, initials, or first and last name (but I wouldn't count on that last one, no one's agreed to that yet).

Our first quote of the week comes to us from J. S. and was said directly to me at the party:

"I'm not the slut y'all think I am."

(I don't care who you are? That's funny.)

***

On to more serious matters. I was summoned today to a certain housing agency for a lunch meeting with some Federal Officials. Let's just say next Tuesday will likely not be a "good day". (yikes!)

[Edited to add:

***

Pot Stickers at TGI Fridays? Yummy.

***

Confidential to Shauna: You're welcome to visit the chairs any time!!]

A Short Recap

I had a great weekend. It was Christa's birthday and we celebrated with Pad Thai (of course) and Karaoke Revolution for the Wii. I can't imagine that the neighbors didn't hear us drunkenly warbling into the wee (get it) hours of Sunday morning.

Wii is a little behind in the curve in the karaoke genre of games, but still, despite the fact that the game was the "American Idol" edition and didn't have as many songs to choose from as we would have liked [read: we'd like to have every top forty hit from 1950 to present available], we had a very large time that included a faux-hawk and Rockette kicks and at least one party-goer who informed me that his level of inebriation was the highest it had ever been in his entire life. That's right--he had his drunkest experience EVER right here at my house! I was understandably proud. And you thought I wasn't really accomplishing much these days. Wrong! I'm doing IMPORTANT WORK HERE, PEOPLE.

Anyway, the Wii technology is amazing, the game somehow can recognize whether or not one's singing pitch is correct. The added benefit of Paula Abdul, evil Simon Cowell, and Randy Jackson critiquing our performances was actually pretty much of a hoot. I figure Saturday night was just the beginning of what may end up being some pretty fierce competition. At the very least, I foresee a lot more drunken singing going on up in here. (Apologies to the neighborhood.)

The photo at the top of the post is of my latest retro addition to the hacienda. Those model cars were actually gifted to me--how cool is that? (Thanks unidentified gifter!) The cars live in the bay window in my kitchen.

Saturday Night

Sometimes

Sometimes, I can’t believe I’m single. That it’s over. That I made it out alive and sort of internally okay. That I don’t have to keep trying. That I don’t have to feel bad. That I don’t have to be sad. That I don’t have to cry. That I don’t have to be the tragic lonely figure at the Christmas/Thanksgiving/Fill-in-the-Blank family/friends gathering who is married but always alone anyway.

Sometimes, I wonder how he is and if he is okay now, really okay, and wonder if I was the reason he mowed our yard for four hours each week. And I remember how surprised I was when my ex-wife came for a visit, offered to mow the yard, and was done in thirty minutes without even breaking a sweat. And I asked her how she got finished so fast and she said, “Your yard is tiny, you know.” I and I was all, yes, I know, but when he mows it, he’s out there for hours and hours. And she was all, I can’t imagine what he does to the lawn for that long. And I was all, maybe he is trimming each blade of grass individually? And she was all, whatEVER [unspoken subtext: Hate it for ya, sister], and going on about her business.

Sometimes, I look at my cell phone and think about calling him and, you know, asking about the yard. And then I wonder what he will do this summer without a yard, because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have one now.

But then I think, a phone call is sort of EXTREME isn’t it? All that dialing and talking and being vulnerable.

And so I send a card instead.

But it doesn’t mention the yard.

It just says I hope he’s okay.

Splurging

So, yesterday, I'm at TJ Maxx when I run across THE most fabulous pair of white croco embossed leather chairs. Many of you are familiar w/my B&W couch, so you know that a pair of white leather chairs (with black legs) are just the ticket for my living room.

I have up to now been using what were formerly my outdoor balcony chairs for additional seating and, while they're cute chairs, they are not comfortable (wicker flower chairs from Pier One) and once gotten into? Can be fairly difficult to get out of, especially after a few adult beverages.

I had to have many little talks with myself yesterday at the Maxx about the chairs, the state of my finances (frightening to the point of pants soiling), being responsible, the dangers of impulse buying, and why I can never seem to cut a ball on the rail into the corner pocket...

Oh, wait that last issue was a whole 'nother conversation.

Anyway, I'm having all my little internal talks and circling and stalking the chairs like a starving cheetah in the Serengeti, when I notice, high up on the back of one of the chairs, some black scratches. And bingo! That's when I knew they were mine. Because I could totally smell the damaged mark-down, baby.

Sure enough, the helpful folks on the floor knocked $50 off the price of EACH chair and ba-da-boom, before you could say ARE YOU INSANE YOU UNEMPLOYED TWIT?! I'm licking my chops and driving home with a pair of shiny new only slightly damaged chairs loaded into the back of the Subaru. Wee!

Lookie:

You really can't see the embossed croco finish in the photo, but it's there and it's, trust me, very cool. I have a thing for croco. Also, you'll note the previously discussed and voted on deviled egg dish table works surprisingly well with the new chair, even if I do say so myself. Also? The dog. Who, the minute the camera came out, made sure she was cozied up to the chair herself (but is all not looking at the camera and trying to make it look like a total coincidence).

Back? Maybe.

Hey. I'm back. I think.

I've been trying to write here for days; I have no less than three entries saved in my hard drive that I began and then couldn't finish for one reason or another. It is so easy to lose the thread of blogging when you don't do it for a while. I keep getting calls from people checking on me. They always remark that I'm not writing. Sometimes I don't know if this is a bad or good thing.

I did have the worst case of the flu that I've ever had in my life. I had fever, lost my voice, coughed, and was utterly devoid of energy for upwards of ten days. I think I'm still suffering the effects--I sleep a lot and will fall asleep any time I get too still, even now.

I don't suppose it's any wonder that I would contract such an illness considering all the upheaval in my life these last three months. No doubt, my defenses were down.

Still, I've managed to keep up a fairly brisk pace of fun when my energy level permits or when I just simply can't stand to be still any more. I've managed to brush up on my pool playing skills considerably, I got in some hiking before I went completely south with the flu, I've driven to NashVegas a few times and managed to see "Chicago" at the Carson Center.

I'm hoping to get back to blogging on my regular schedule now, but I know better than to make promises.

Because with me these days? You just never know.

Delerious

My love for fifties and sixties retro style is pretty well documented here. So, perhaps you'll understand why, in my feverish state, I've been unable to stop watching this video that I stumbled across at James Lileks' site today.


I can't really, for the life of me, understand why I am so drawn to the objects of an era that was so unabashedly Stepford Wife-ish, conservative, and sexually repressed. It is the antithesis of who I am and how I live my life. Nevertheless, I continue to covet all the home furnishings and even some of the appliances featured in the video. It's all so desperately modern.

Under the Weather

The bad news is I have the flu: coughing, aching, fever, etc.

The good news is that I am being dosed with every imaginable medication for this condition. I should be back up to speed in the not too distant future.

I miss you guys.

Any Excuse for a Photo

My friend Keena headed west just now, on her way to a brand new house and new life.

Keena also happens to be the Ex-Man's ex (stay w/me here), so this means her boys were my boys for the duration of my marriage.

Our paths all briefly crossed here today for what will likely be the last time for a very long while. And so, as trucks and cars were loaded and unloaded, out came the cameras. In homage to the Usual Suspects, rather than saying "Cheese!" we settled on repeating "Give me the f!cking keys" since we all thought our photo location was reminiscent of a police line-up.

My neighbors must be so proud.

I Wanna be a CowGirl

By popular demand (oh! twist my arm!), I'm posting a photo of the latest addition to my ever growing boot collection. I'm always a little partial to my newest pair, but, I have to say, it is taking a mighty long time for the shine to wear off of these (it's showing no signs of waning even now). I still can't believe my luck to have found them by the side of the road.

My house guest, Keena, and I managed to ride out the oft predicted Winter Storm that area meteorologists were all no doubt mightily relieved to finally welcome. For TWO WHOLE HOURS yesterday afternoon flakes fell from the sky while West Kentuckians frantically (I'm guessing) dutifully mixed, cooked and ate their french toast.

Keena and I bravely fought the elements together enjoying having shouted exchanges like these:

ME

WHERE ARE YOU GOING....OUTSIDE?!

KEENA

(Obviously about to take her dog out for a potty break.)

YES! OUTSIDE TO THE BARN TO FEED THE LIVESTOCK!

ME

YOU SHOULD STRING A ROPE FROM HERE TO THE BARN SO'S YOU KIN FIND YER WAY BACK!

KEENA

WISH ME LUCK!

I'll admit we didn't eat french toast, but boy howdy, did we ever eat. I cooked up a chicken stir-fry heavy on the fresh veggies in the wok and Keena contributed a crispy crunchy romaine salad with high-dollar Cesar dressing. We counteracted all these greens with chewy turtle cookies (caramel, chocolate chips, pecans) fresh and warm from the oven that we ate while watching Slipstream, a hallucinogenic film written and directed by Anthony Hopkins that starred everyone in the world.

It is mine and Keena's cosmic fate to have to watch these types of movies whenever we get together. She reminded me of our last visit during which we watched Inland Empire, David Lynch's schizophrenic film featuring a perpetually alarmed Laura Dern.

The good news about these types of movies is that they are largely without a plot, making it possible for us to both play on our laptops while still soaking in the cinematic weirdness.

Checking In

I am so out of touch these days. For all of you who've been concerned: I'm Okay! Really!

I miss writing here when I don't do it, but sometimes, real life takes over. At the forefront of my activities these days is my job search. Obviously, time is of the essence, and although I don't want to jinx anything, I may be headed back into the workforce very soon.

I have incredibly mixed emotions about rejoining the nine-to-five world again. One part of me feels the need for this structure and productivity and (most importantly) INCOME, but the other side wants to run into the woods with nothing but my dog and an internet connection. Okay, so let's be honest, I'd also need a generator for my blow dryer and a free standing shower. And my cell phone.

Okay, so the woodsy thing is a bad analogy.

As it is, I'm spending a lot of time just plain old unplugged, often with a beer in one hand and a pool cue in another. I've cut my hair (traditional bob that is very short in the back). I found some really cool cowboy boots by the side of the road that just happen to be my size. I'm obsessed with wearing them everywhere.

A generous reader of this blog made it possible for me to finally experience a few Lush products first hand and from what I can tell, it's all as good as it looks. Most notably, I've happened upon their Big shampoo. If you have fine, limp hair? You owe yourself a jar of Big. Trust me. I'm only slightly less obsessed with Herbalism, a facial cleanser I received as a sample. It's a little like washing your face with gritty guacamole with extra herbs, but the results are yummy, smoother skin that's not the least bit sting-y or irritated (quite a feat when you're as sensitive as I am).

During the glorious weather we enjoyed last weekend, I took a little trip with FurGirl to Giant City State park where we hiked a trail and spent time perched lazily on a high, smooth rock contemplating nature. I've said it before and I'll say it again, there are places in the Shawnee Forest that will make you swear you can't possibly be in Illinois and Giant City is one of them. The topography there is as far removed from flat, symmetrical rows of crops--what I at least associate with Illinois--as you can possibly get short of an actual mountain range.

After the hike, we came home by way of Carbondale in order to make a stop at the Neighborhood Co-op Grocery, the closest thing we have to a whole foods store in the region (as far as I know). I browsed through their collection of essential oils, tinctures, and herbs, all of which made me contemplate possible new Bizzy Fizzy scents and ingredients.

I took another side trip earlier this week to Murray, Kentucky to visit Jasmine, a Thai/Sushi restaurant that I keep hearing buzz about. Located in a strip mall on 12th Street, Jasmine definitely has the more upscale Asian look going on and the clientele was surprisingly, happily without the WestKY vibe I sometimes dread (probably due in large part to the college).

It was a lunch visit, but I nevertheless ordered up a big pile of food including Pad Thai, Tom Ka soup, and a shared sushi appetizer. I'm sorry to report that I found the Pad Thai so drowned in an overly sweet sauce (and nearly devoid of any other ingredients) that it was nearly inedible. The sushi, however, was perfectly acceptable and the soup...THE SOUP! Heavenly. I had only ordered a small bowl, but found it so delicious and perfectly flavored with lime juice and real live galangal root and lime leaves that I would have been more than content to have only ordered that and a huge bowl of it. Next time? I will order just that and be grateful it is to be found a mere 45 minutes from my front door.

After lunch, I took a drive down Olive Street in search of a little music store I used to frequent back in the eighties called Terrapin Station. I didn't have much hope of finding it, since it had been so many years since I'd visited. Back in those days, the shop was a comfortable groovy sort of out-of-the-way place in a little house in an older residential neighborhood. You could trade albums or cassettes and browse their eclectic collection in a fog of incense smoke.

And in fact, just as I suspected, Terrapin Station was no longer to be found on Olive Street. I was disappointed, but not surprised, and so I decided to just take a leisurely drive around town, maybe find a book store.

I made a few lazy turns in my usual disconnected reverie and was driving down a busier road when I noticed an older strip mall to my right that I turned into on impulse. I drove past a few stores and was contemplating my next move when I looked up to find myself directly in front of ...Terrapin Station (noise) in what turned out to be their new location which I've now learned is 920 S. 12th in the Bel-Air Shopping Center.

I sound calm about it now, but I assure you at the time, I was so surprised to have unknowingly driven directly from Olive Street to the new location utterly by accident that I nearly shat myself. After I got a hold of myself, I parked in the conveniently available FRONT ROW parking space the cosmos had clearly reserved for me directly in front of the store, and strolled in.

The new location is obviously larger and more commercial than the old, but the vibe was comfortingly the same: something Grateful Dead-ish drifting from the sound system, incense wafting from the back room, and a new staff of hemp clad hippies greeted me from the cash register.

Although they do still offer some record albums for sale, the Terrapin Station now trades primarily in CD's both new and used. Of course, they do sell tie-dyed tee-shirts and now offer a line of cool cloth purses made entirely of recycled materials and a small but astute collection of high quality new and used books. LOVE! I picked up a William Burroughs novel in honor of the occasion.

Otherwise, we are all here in Western Kentucky currently hunkered down in our homes trembling with fear that snowflakes MAY FALL from the sky AT ANY MOMENT. (Please note: they haven't yet despite dire predictions that the blizzard should have begun last night.) Nevertheless! Residents of the area are observing the law of the predicted snowstorm and continue to scour the shelves of local grocery stores in search of french toast ingredients: milk, eggs, bread in the Great Tradition. Don't ask me why. It would seem more reasonable to me to lay up a supply of nonperishable food items in case we are socked in until spring.

But hey! What do I know?

Knowing Me, Knowing You

For a very wide variety of reasons, this video kills me.

I'm All Right

I attended the monthly meeting last night for a group of which I am a member.

Despite my little blog here where I detail much of what goes on with me, there are still people I know in real life that are just now learning of the recent happenings with me. One such person stopped me last night to inquire after my personal state of mind in light of the fact that I am recently separated and currently not working.

“Are you…okay,” he asked meaningfully, looking me straight in the eye.

And, of course, my first inclination was to press the back of my hand to my forehead and stare dramatically into the middle distance while responding in my very most emotionally restrained Gloria Swanson voice (with just the barest hint of a Boston accent), “Yes, dahling, I’m fine…Don’t worry about me, dear!” while quivering my lower lip almost imperceptibly.

Because, is it just me or is it, like, REALLY hard to resist the temptation to over act like a thirties movie star in these situations?

While all this flashed through my head last night (including a bit where I strode a few steps away, rested my hand on a nearby table and gazed pensively out the window toward the river [because I was at Whaler’s Catch near the river] and added, “These things happen…” in a Gloria Swanson whisper), what I really said was,

“Actually, I’m doing pretty well.”

Because, believe it or not, I think I am.

Meeting the Challenge

I have to say, I've had more fun than I ever imagined meeting Aynex's recent challenge to be creative.

For inspiration, I looked no further than my own obsession with bath products. I probably shouldn't tell anyone this, but a really good way to drive me crazy would be to take away my cash, and/or credit and debit cards, and turn me loose in a Bath and Body Works (or any bath product based store).

In short, bath products? They are my crack cocaine.

I have lusted from afar for years after the products available at the Lush website and even torture myself by subscribing to the catalog, ultimately always deciding the stuff is too expensive to order (those shipping costs are murder!).

So it didn't take me too long to decide what I wanted to do to meet the challenge. It did, however, take me a while to assemble the ingredients:

Let's just say one doesn't find citric acid on the shelf at every grocery store. The helpful staff at a local health food store had some on hand though, and today I stirred up some magic by mixing most of the ingredients above to form this delightfully scented lavender concoction that I molded in soap molds:

And then, thankfully, successfully unmolded (does everyone get as scared and tight-assed as me when unmolding stuff? I mean, it's like I think if it doesn't pop out perfectly I'll completely freak out.)

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present, for the first time anywhere, the world's first Bizzy Fizzy:

That's right! A hand made, lavender scented Bizzy Fizzy for the bath!

What's that you say? You think it's just plain old WHITE and BORING? Au contraire, mon fraire! Because, when you pop it in the bath? Not only does it fizz up in the MOST delightful way, give off clouds of gentle, soothing lavender scent, and release healing baking soda, it ALSO (magically) turns the water a very pale lavender.

How cool is that?

But that's not all! Oh no! As us girls know, a quality product is only half the battle. The other half being: cute packaging. Not to worry! I have that covered (heh--get it--"covered"--heh) too. Because all hand made lavender Bizzy Fizzies come wrapped in a lovely and distinctive lavender bow with a sprig of (I can't stand myself) FRESH LAVENDER grown and tended by my very own hand attached.

Can Martha Stewart kiss my ass or what? [Insert crazy, whacked out Howard Dean scream here.]

Okay, calming down now. You need to see the final, lovely product all wrapped up in a pretty, pretty bow:

Most exciting of all, this Bizzy Fizzy from the very first batch of Bizzy Fizzies ever, can be YOURS absolutely free of charge if you are the first person to request it in the comments.

Happy soaking!

Fugging the Oscars

The Fug Girls will be live blogging the Oscars here!

Saturday

I swear, I am the busiest unemployed person I know.

Yesterday began with a 1.5 hour accidental yoga session. I say "accidental" because I thought I was in for about a 45 minute workout and only learned after I was there on my mat that it was to be a double dose. Not that I don't need it? But OUCH.

Then I dashed around procuring supplies for my challenge project and enjoyed a brief visit from my son who good naturedly took care of some electronic issues I have around the house (I don't even attempt such things on my own because it makes me completely crazy).

After that, it was off to Christa's for another amazing lunch: homemade vegetable beef stew, cheesy corn muffins and an amazing lemon chest pie (okay, so it's "chess" pie, I prefer the mispronunciation I developed as a kid). We then managed to load our stuffed selves into the car and head off to the library to replenish our supply of free movies.

Next, we took ourselves off to the real cinema to see "Atonement". Based on the novel by Ian McEwan, the movie is set in 1930's England where the events of one hot summer day echo in the lives of star crossed lovers Cecelia and Robbie forever. We were all pretty much thumbs up about the whole thing, however, we did agree the it could have done with a little more editing. We think this a lot, however, and generally prefer fast moving Tarantino, or Woody Allen type stuff. So, we may be the wrong people to ask to give our opinion on the straight forward epic.

I will say that I was enthralled by the score which was ingeniously woven into the story by incorporating the sound of a manual typewriter with the music. Sounds strange, but it really worked.

After the movie, it was on to the serious business of a few hundred games of pool and yet another party where I was forced to retoxify my body with more adult beverages and to hang out with this guy

who I haven't seen in...oh...a silly amount of time. He isn't blurry in real life, only when I am ineptly pointing my camera at him. To be honest, it's a wonder I got out with any pictures at all as senseless as I was (though I think I had some help).

Today? I am tired. Tired, but feeling totally justified about my plan to hang out on my couch and be a complete vegetable with the remote for the majority of today. Which, in my opinion at least, is what Sunday is all about.

Challenged

I've been challenged by Aynex Mercado to do something creative. I spent a few minutes kicking my own ass when I first read her post, since I've just recently mastered the art of making home made cinnamon rolls (with yeast and everything) and made a batch just the other day all the while telling myself I should take pictures of the process and post the recipe.

But, of course, I didn't.

Anyway.

I'm still picking up the gauntlet and planning to make something I've always wanted to try. It will take me a few days to gather the materials, but I'm in.

Party in the Playhooooouse!

Somebody turned thirty-seven last night and we were left with no choice but to have a party in the playhouse. Lots of fun things happened and were said. Thanks to Mr. Michelob Ultra, I'm no longer sure what any of them were. (BAD blogger!)

I do distinctly remember these super cute Nikes, a gift to the super cute Birthday Girl who declined to have her face posted here, but was all about displaying her shoes. And, damn, who can blame her?! It's a little hard to tell, but those Nikes have black and pink patent leather over regular white leather and spring-loaded soles. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say they are the hottest sneakers EVER (because they are).

[Edited to add: Oh! I just remembered! The Birthday Girl did agree to let me write a novel based on her experiences. We came up with a title, too: "Two Boobs and Three Boys: The Story of a Marriage". Catchy, no?]

Four Random Things

1. Saturday I visited a land where men cook for their women while said women lollygag and drink wine. And I’m not talking heating up a can of Campbell’s, either. I mean polenta and a creamy squash and tomato soup; braised steak in burgundy sauce and spicy baked chicken. All this and good conversation, too. It gives a girl hope.

2. Try as I might, I cannot adequately express my love for Gap Long and Lean jeans. I bought another pair (out of sheer necessity of course) and am not sure I’ll ever buy anything else. Once I got the proper size on in the fitting room, I couldn’t bear to take them off to purchase them, but rather peeled off the tags, paid at the register, and wore them out of the store (setting off the shoplifting alarms with a flourish).

Can I just say that there are few better feelings in the world than pulling on a pair of jeans that are just the right size and somehow magically DON’T make you look fat? (Girls? True?) I swear, the few times it has happened to me in my life, it’s like I button the top button and, out of nowhere, a perfect ray of sunshine illuminates me and a chorus of heavenly angels sing. At that moment? Whatever is on the price tag is SO beside the point.

3. I went back to my yoga class last night for the first time since The December Crisis. It was, in a word, delightful. I felt light and boneless afterward and relieved of at least half the stress I came in with. (No small feat for me these days.) Tim, my teacher, is amazing (and also a reader!). Every class is a gift that generates food donations for a local nonprofit organization called Paducah Cooperative Ministries that, among lots of other things, helps to feeds the needy. If you’re local, I highly recommend you check it out.

4. I am thrilled beyond words to report that Sara Astruc, possibly the best blogger ever, is back to writing again here. Her online journal, Perfect Way, is one of the first I ever got hooked on back in the 90’s and her writing inspires me to this day. Welcome back, Sara!

Brookfield, 1960

My Mom and Dad.

Innie

I'm innie these days. Which means I don't want to write at all.

I woke up this morning thinking about writing and art and how it seems to me to be all about sharing yourself or at least a part of yourself. And then I immediately thought about Joni Mitchell. Who seems to me to just go on and rip her chest open and expose her beating heart.

Of course, I then had to throw on my "Blue" CD and then later hop on over to YouTube where I enjoyed this video despite the weirdly wooden Masterpiece Theater-ish intro by Johnny Cash.



It just makes me sad to compare Joni to what often passes today for talent. She is probably even younger here than Britney Spears or JSimp and so completely beyond them that she might as well be from another galaxy.

Fortunately, other bloggers are not as pressed for content as I am today. You need to check out this one.

A Sweet Link

I have a strict policy in Bizzyville of linking to all posts of which I am the subject. With that in mind, I have no choice but to send you here today.

This Valentine's Day, I am especially greatful for and to all my friends. Especially the long term ones.

Iced In

The crazy winter weather around these parts continues. Everything is covered in a thick layer of ice. This is especially dangerous in a town like ours that has huge trees around every corner and in nearly every yard. I could have posted some really alarming photos of houses where trees and branches heavy with ice have crashed through roofs (like my next door neighbor's for instance), but I don't like to capitalize on the misery of others.

I was iced in last night at a friend's house where I was tragically forced to consume chocolate dipped strawberries and California Chicken Salad slathered on church crackers. For those of you unfamiliar, California Chicken Salad is God's perfect chicken salad recipe and includes curry, almonds, grapes and..oh I don't remember what else. It is magically delicious and was developed by a local restauranteur a couple of decades ago. No one in this town is without the recipe and, if mine wasn't somewhere in a box right now, I'd post it.

In the midst of all this cracker crunching and consumption of adult beverages, we got a call from some other friends. A power line heavy with ice had crashed into their roof causing all sorts of chaos and necessitating a call to 911. The whole situation was deemed unsafe by the Authorities until morning, and these friends, their house without power now, headed on over with their dog, Zoe, a very Great Dane.

We all got a chuckle out of Zoe, pictured here with Caron, who is trying to check her e-mail. Zoe is making this difficult for Caron because she for some reason feels the need to press her booty up against Caron, who is in fact not any bigger than Zoe:

This went on for about five minutes, the Zoe leaning and the giggling, long enough for me to get the camera and take this photo. What we learned only later, is that this behavior on Zoe's part was likely a silent cry for help and the only official warning sign for the Very Big Poop that took place on the rug just a few feet away immediately following this extended session of extreme leaning.

And, while I don't like to embarass a girl, I have to tell you that I don't know exactly what they feed Zoe? But from the smell of things (which was damn near bad enough for a time to force us out into the ice storm), I'm just guessing that it ain't Science Diet.

Icy

New Favorite

Try as I might, I cannot keep FurGirl's damp, stinky arse off the softest, most luxurious surface on the floor, my new Retro Diner rug. As soon as my back is turned? There she is again.

Flirting with the 'Fly (One last time.)

I know I said it was over with the 'fly (as in Lunesta). You'll recall my entry (or was it entries?) about my unconscious post-midnight ramblings under the influence.

And it really is still over. Except that last night I realized, quite late, that I was out of my natural herbal sleep supplement, Melatonin. Did I mention it was late? And there, on my nightstand still, now covered in a thin layer of dust, was the 'fly.

I popped the lid open. Only two left. I glanced around furtively. FurGirl seemed to shrug.

It was late (I may have mentioned that already). I was tired and I didn't want any dithering around about getting to sleep. I need my rest (I said). I need my rest, damnit (I said again, but with a little more force).

I downed the next-to-last 'fly pill, donned my favorite flannel gown, and tucked into my gently pre-heated bed. The dog snored quietly on her special rug in the floor next to me. By the time I queued up season six of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" on my DVD player, I was already feeling drowsy.

Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout...

I remember saying to myself as I drifted off.

I'm estimating that last conscious thought happened at about 12:30 a.m.

I didn't have another conscious thought again until 10:30 a.m. And that next thought was,

"What the hell...?"

I woke up to the slow realization that I was tenderly cradling something in my arms. It was something square and made of cardboard and I was also pressing my cheek lovingly against it.

That something turned out to be a box of zesty cheddar flavored Cheez-It crackers.

As my foggy brain continued to swim slowly to the surface of consciousness, I next realized I myself was nestled in a prickly bed of Cheez It crumbs.

And it was right about then that I had the worst realization of all. And that realization was the distinct feeling of (sweet Jesus!)...wetness.

Fully awake now, I threw back the covers with a gasp scaring the dog into premature consciousness, FurGirl let out a startled yelp, as my thrown off covers revealed an overturned diet coke near my hip, slowly gurgling its remaining contents right onto me, my high quality sheets, and, presumably, into my Simmons Beautyrest.

I leapt from the bed in a shower of cheez-it crumbs, tripped over my dazed, confused and still startled dog (Mommy is generally NOT a quick mover in the morning) screeching expletives all the way. Down. Boom.

I came up quickly, however, determined to save my matress from any more of a sticky fate than was already inevitable. I grabbed up the Coke can, and stripped the bedclothes and matress cover off in one fell swoop. As luck would have it, only a small stain of diet Coke had seeped through. And a few spritzes from my trusty bottle of Shout took care of that.

All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

So, I say to you once again? This time? It's REALLY over between me and the 'fly.

(If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'.)

Sad But True

I should have believed it the first time I heard it, but I simply couldn't bear it.

The truth is that our local World Market is closing. According to the people at the cash register that I grilled yesterday while purchasing the above pictured yummy French Soap (on clearance!), the reason for the decision is NOT based on a lack of profits. Yes, you read that right.

Apparently, there are reasons for the decision to close other than the economic kind.

I don't get it.

Deco Fever

A few newly produced rugs from from the people that brought you Retro Diner, this time in the art deco style.

Love!

Monday, Monday

I did the Super Bowl Sunday thing yesterday.

The festivities included all the traditional stuff: wings, cocktail wienies, beer and, in my particular case, really bad choices in the wager department. Football is just not my bag. Ask me to wager on whether or not I think Julie Christie will get the Oscar (YES).

See how I am? From football to Julie Christie. Welcome to my world.

Not much to report otherwise today. I’m obsessed with the “Juno” soundtrack which I can stream for free from the website.

Tonight is the first meeting of the 40-50 group. Get the particulars here.

Juno, Terry Fator, Custom Rugs

We saw Juno Friday night and, let me tell you, there isn’t a false note or bad performance anywhere in this little charmer of a movie. Falling on the scale at somewhere between Napoleon Dynamite and Little Miss Sunshine, the film tells the story of Juno, a teenager who finds herself pregnant after her first sexual encounter with her geeky friend, Bleeker. From the innovative titles to the quirky soundtrack to the fountain of smart dialogue, this one draws you in from the beginning and earns the Oscar nods. For shizz.

Last night, I saw Terry Fator at the Carson Center. I was repeatedly told that this guy had won some sort of prime time TV reality contest. As it happened, I posted a video of what I thought was his performance with his puppet, Achmed the Dead Terrorist, several months ago. Aside from this information, I knew nothing about Mr. Fator or what he does going in.

What I’ve just now learned (through the magic of the internet) is that Jeff Dunham is the “Achmed” guy and Terry Fator is someone else entirely. Actually, this is Terry Fator:



Mr. Fator performed last night with a staggering array of puppets and singing voices. And the fact that he is not Jeff Dunham would explain why he didn’t do the “Achmed” bit (duh!). We were, however, no less entertained. Despite his fairly ordinary looks and manor, this guy did dead-on singing impressions that ran the gamut, among them: Dennis DeYoung (Styx, for heaven’s sake), Etta James, Ozzy, Garth Brooks, Elvis, Sammy Davis, Michael Jackson, and many MANY others. It was lots of fun.

Lastly, but certainly most exciting of all, through the most fortunate string of events, I now have in my possession, a one-of-a-kind custom designed area rug made especially for my little retro hacienda. I invested a little sweat equity of my own and here is the end result:

How cool is that? Seriously? I sit and stare at it a lot. It measures about 2 feet by 4.5 feet and was originally designed to go in front of my kitchen sink. But, honestly, although I’ve been assured it can stand up to that kind of traffic, I simply cannot bear to put it in that kind of peril of food drips, so its final resting place is still TBD. This rug is but one of many soon to be produced by a gallery owner that will be going into Lowertown in the next year or so who has the capability of producing any design imaginable in any dimension. The possibilities sort of boggle the mind. [Note to Nikki: Yes, you must collaborate on a design.]

Hopefully, I can link to a website soon, but as for now the site is still under construction. My rug as you see it here, is not yet quite finished for all its loveliness. It will undergo one more shearing and contouring before it is complete.

But, you know me, I have no control and had to share IMMEDIATELY. Because I love you guys.