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.

A little link love

First, a link to a long-time friend who is finally fulfilling her calling and blogging herself. This is the friend who, among lots of other things, turned me on to blogging or "online journalling" as it was called back then, in the first place. And we're talking back in the mid-nineties here. She's going through a bit of a rough patch, so stop in and show her some love right here.

Next, I entranced by the latest video from Stephanie, one half of the driving force behind the William Sledd video heard 'round the world, "Ask a Gay Man About Denim" (and others). Most recently, she's put together something for her husband as a gift that she's also posted. See it here.

Good News

The latest word from Kenya is that David Okongo is out of the city of Naivasha and thus safe from immediate danger. THANKS to all of you for the prayers.

The Nightmare Continues...

["People are killing each other."]
[Edited to add: I found these pictures of the chaos posted yesterday by the BBC]

Another chilling message from my friends at Project AIDS Orphan.

This is the latest message from David Okongo:

Hi Ndugu (brother,Paul),

Thank you for your prayers. Actually i did not sleep. I was awake and hoping to die because there is no where to go. Justine was trembling, we could not eat,the power went off. Martin was affected, Billy was there. Susan and Joshua are in Nakuru. We cannot reach them. A friend Kikuyu called me to be safe. A group of ladies came to my house fearing the attach. I had some men who could not be in town came to our house. We pray hoping we will be safe. Many people who saw the TV were concerned and called. Life is very precious.

I only wish this killings will stop. Today Thy are saying will come to the farm to evict those who have displaced here! Just pray

David

It continues to be simply beyond my comprehension that, in this world, right now, a gentle soul like David Okongo and his wife and family along with countless others are in danger of being burned or chopped to bits with a machete for ANY reason, much less that they are a member of one tribe or another. I can only hold this concept in my head for a short time before it makes me cry. I cannot imagine what it means to actually live through such horrible times.

Please, please pray this brutal fate does not befall these wonderful people. Please, if you have any contacts or influence that could help, e-mail me.

Weekend Recap One Day Late

The Friday night excitement was yet another trip to the sushi den, this time with a HUGE group that let me eat off their plates (just call me Helen Keller). I was able to sample the mackerel (too fishy), the volcano mussels (yummy but could stand some heat), green tea ice cream (delish), a giant creamy white slab of raw octopus (tasty, I swear) some kind of soup and a touch of Saki (but not too much as I was the designated driver). The love affair continues.

I began my Saturday morning in Lowertown enjoying a warm pomegranate tea at Etcetera while I waited for my nine o’clock appointment. I was fortunate to see lots of familiar faces and, when my appt didn’t show on time, it just so happened that the next person thru the door had his cell phone number making it possible for me to call and remind him, thus salvaging the whole meeting plan. How sweet is that?

Paducah. You gotta love it sometimes.

Saturday night was my friend Mary’s birthday and the girl party convened at Christa’s house where, once AGAIN, she outdid herself with a dinner of stuffed pork loin, candied carrots, scalloped potatoes and, for dessert, chocolate praline cake with HEAVENLY layers of real whipped cream in between.

We enjoyed the raciest possible dinner conversation. And then after that the perfect Wayne and Garth moment in the car when together we belted out a rousing version of Tempted when the song popped up unexpectedly in my CD rotation (what we lacked in timbre we made up for in enthusiasm). Then it was on to the play house where we met up with no less than two other party contingents for Wii, foosball, and wild irresponsible consumption of adult beverages.

Sunday I was treated to a soothing delicious batch of chicken and dumplings, the best I ever ate to be honest, and a marathon movie watching session. This is, trust me, the perfect way to spend the day after.

Someone asked me what it was like to be single and on my own again. I found myself answering, almost without thinking,

“It’s like…um…one big…slumber party?”

I said it just like that with a question mark at the end.

Wishing

An Update

I received a welcome text message letting me know that David Okongo survived the long night. He was called on by the police to help some of the wounded.

I pray this means he is out of danger.

Helpless

It is a sad morning here for me and my friends at Project AIDS Orphan. Project co-founder, David Okongo and his wife, Justine, are currently under seige and in mortal danger in the Kenyan city of Naivasha where Mr. Okongo lives and works as a horticulturist.

According to a report by the BBC, inter-tribal violence broke out late yesterday, and at least nine people are feared dead in Naivasha having been hacked to death with machetes.

You can read the latest update at the PAO blog here.

The BBC story is here.

Please, please pray for David and Justine. It is literally all that can be done for them.