Titles

I think the title of my blog should have been "You Can't Make This Shit Up,"** because I've got another one for you.

I had dinner with my sister and her roommates tonight, and Bia told a story about visiting Caribou Coffee. She was visiting with a friend near a window that looked out over the patio when they noticed 3 (?) kids sit down outside. They were dressed very strangely--in army fatigues and leggings and leg warmers. They had tattoos on their faces, and they looked more filthy than the two dogs they had with them (which had collars with tags and leashes, thus making it look as if they couldn't possibly be homeless). Bia and her friend watched one of the kids rummage through the garbage and fish out a used coffee cup, which, they both assumed (probably as you are) that they were going to use to give the dogs water.
If that's what you were assuming too, you would be very, very wrong.
Instead of filling the cup for the dogs, Bia and her friend watched in horror as the vagabonds (heh) produced a can of pumpkin pie filling (the un-seasoned kind), open it up, dump it into the coffee cup, stir it up with whatever was left in the bottom and proceed to pass it around the circle until it was gone.
Then they left.

Now just wait a minute and let the HORROR of what I've just written wash over you.

Lauren suggested that perhaps they were just getting into the "autumnal spirit."

The truth is that the story poses more questions than it answers.
Do ponder it for the day--I know I will.



**But none of you would have listed me on your FaithCom Bloggy Blogger thingy.

Career Woman

I just had a really great meeting with Arnie.
Turns out, he likes me and thinks I'm doing a great job. Who knew?
He asked me what my long term goals were for my career at 3M--where did I see myself in 20 years? This poses a bit of a problem for me, which, I don't plan to describe at my desk at the moment, but if you think hard, I'd be willing to bet that you can figure out where I'll be in 20 years.
I told him that in 20 years, I'd like to be in a job where I can really utilize my degree, which is something I am actually quite passionate about (and between you and me, there aren't a whole lot of occupational things I can say that about).
He seemed satisfied.

In other news, I've been hearing a lot of Bob Marley on the radio these days. Any ideas on why?

Cow Farts?

In or around 1929, Gram and Grandpa Cliff moved from Chicago to an Indiana farm with their two children, Charles and Shirley. The Great Depression had driven down Cliff's wages at his "good job in the hospital as a biologist" to the point where they could no longer afford their rent.
Cliff's brother (?) owned a farm in Indiana and it was a safe place to "just exist," as Gram put it this afternoon at the farm, until they could weather the storm and get back on their feet financially. They were bound and determined to never go looking for help from the government, and never did.
They didn't know anything at all about farming and looking back on it now, the entire thing is more a nightmare than adventure to Gram. There were no fences for the cattle, of which ther were precious few and scarce enough money to purchase any more, were apparently allowed to wander aimlessly in the barnyard and near the farm. This didn't turn into a problem until they got into the green oats one day.
Cattle are never supposed to eat green oats, because for some reason it makes them swell up with gas--like balloons. So, of course, the cattle swelled up like balloons.
Gram's father happened, luckily, to be visiting, and knew exactly what to do. He sterilized a pocketknife and stuck the first cow in her belly. As the gas escaped, it sounded like a balloon flying around the room as the air runs out of it.
They stuck each cow.

You can't make this shit up.



Gram told me this story today when I went to visit, and we both cried with laughter. What a secret and lovely treasure I possess living up there "just existing" in that little house in Northern Wisconsin.

Wow!

Interestingly enough, Naomi's post, "Beautiful" much better describes my sentiment in my post, "Women."
Check it out.

Women

Here's something interesting.
Take a few minutes to flip through the women on this list.
It's interesting that so many of the world's most powerful 100 women are not American. At the risk of sounding feminist I'd like to point out that it's a little sad and strange that Chile, New Zealand, Jamaica, Bangladesh, Israel (vice pm), Finland, Phillipines, Liberia, Latvia, Greece, South Korea, Jordan, Mozambique...on and on, all have presidents or prime ministers that are women. I didn't intend for the list to be so long, but once I got going, it was a bit startling. Perhaps I'm acting under stereotypes I've created in my own mind, but many of those countries do not immediately strike me as the kind of places that encourage women to succeed and move forward.
Note also that countries like Afghanistan, China, Singapore, Nigeria have women in positions of serious power! Not to mention all the female leaders in the UK and other European countries (France! Hel-LO)!
Two American leading women that caught my attention were the host of the "Today Show," and the executive for Playboy. Yay America. What's our problem? Why do women of Third World Countries and countries that (in our minds) are completely anti-feminist (I think if I tried, I could come up with a better way to describe it, but you know what I mean), end up as the movers and shakers of the world--absolutely no pun intended--while American women are powerful because of their jobs on TV or at Playboy?
(To be fair, there are some impressive American women on the list, too...but that defeats my point.)
Just a thought.

Now, I have mixed feelings on this, because I have to wonder--what have these women sacrificed to succeed in this way? Have they given up satisfying and fulfilling lives as wives and mothers? There are things that I will never sacrifice for any job or career. I could never be happy as the president of any country or corporation--I lack the killer instinct. What is the appeal for these women?

That's my weekly rant...or something. Do scroll through the list. It's really interesting.

In other interesting news, Milwaukee ranks as the nation's drunkest city, followed closely by Minneapolis-St. Paul. Nice.

Welcome, Little Boy!

Easton James is here!!
Easton James was born to Miranda Beckenbach (my cousin) and Adam Tharp on the afternoon of Saturday, September 2, just in time for the Huskers to play. He's just a little guy weighing in at 5lb, 13oz, but he's a keeper! He has very long fingers and toes, and looks just like his granddaddy!


Welcome to our family, Little Boy! We are so excited you have finally arrived! You are the beginning of a new generation, which is no small thing. Just like King Josiah--a young king--I believe "Good Things Come in Small Packages," and you will do great things! I pray that you will be a leader among men, and a gentle and loving husband and father. Moreover, I pray that you will always turn to the Lord and trust your life in Him.
But first, let's get that nursing thing down.
I can't wait to meet you at Thanksgiving! I love you!

Tom Cruise is Crazy (and probably gay)

Cute kid, but come on...seriously.

"The Taliban are on the move again in Afghanistan. And, in other news, Suri Cruise has two eyes, a nose and a full head of hair."

Well said, Joal Ryan.

A series of haiku in honor of Baby Suri.

Tom Cruise must be gay.
It's the only thing that can
explain the weirdness.

Maybe if he would
just come out of the closet
things would make more sense.

Don't care if he's gay--
more power to him, I say.
The charade must end!

I'll Put Your Name to Shame!

I regretfully inform all of you that I will not be using any of your name suggestions, though I do appreciate all of them, and will consider them for future publications.
The name will be revealed at a later date.
A consolation candy bar will be available at my home on the evening of Tuesday, October 31 between the hours of 6-9pm.
Thank you for participating.

Hair's the Thing

Good title, eh?
Remember the last haircut?
I've found the key. It's not getting your girlfriend to fix whatever Harrison botched. Let me describe the scenario for you.
You're waiting your turn at Great Clips (I know, I know. I vowed never to go back, but I was in a hurry and what can I say? I like a little danger every now and then.), and you hace the choice between the hipppie lady with orange hair and the impeccably dressed, clean-cut, well-spoken, charming, interesting, gay guy. Who would you choose?
Let's just say I made the right choice.
I have a great $14 haircut, and I guess a girl can't ask for much more than that.

I sill need a tough, intelligent, rebellious name for Ruthie. Help me out folks.

Writers, Writers Everywhere--Part 2

So the first night of the writers group went well.
I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and I feel like I got some good feedback on the first 6 pages of my Romance Novel.
I need help though. My heroine needs a new name. She is currently (and was named before Baby Ruth joined us) Ruthie. She, I'm sorry to say, is not a Ruthie. She's tough, rebellious, and confused.
So...help me out folks. What's her name?

Winner gets a free candy bar of his or her choice.*
*I reserve the right to not choose a winner if I deem none of the names given satisfactory.



Ruthie you are not,
heroine of my story.
We need a good name!

Gotta Love It

Gotta love McSweeneys.net!

BiblicalHorror Movies.

BY JONATHAN SHIPLEY
- - - -
The Garden of Bleedin'
The Ark of the Coven
40 Days and 40 Frights
The Bloodthirsty Apostle
Slain and Able
Give Us This Day Our Daily Dead
Gold, Frankincense, and Murder
Lazarus Returns, With a Vengeance
The Kingdom and the Power and the Gory, Forever
The Dead Sea
Thou Shalt Murder
I Know What You Did Last Supper

Writers, writers everywhere...

So, NAOMI started her own blog! It RULES. Everybody's gotta check it out.
It's at http://dialogueofawallflower.blogspot.com.
She's got several good ones up already. I swear you won't regret it. As soon as I can figure out how to add her as a link, I will. So watch for that. She's a talented writer! I'm so proud--and sad that I didn't know until now!

In other news, I'm joining a writer's group.
Yep. I'm pretty nervous about it. I haven't written anything other than this blog since I graduated from college.
BUT. 3 Years ago, Jenna and I joked about how fun it would be to write a Christian romance novel. I've always thought that writing a romance novel in general would be a fun challenge(though not all that challenging, to be honest). They tend to follow the same recipe every time. You know, boy meets girl. Boy woos girl. Boy and girl have great time together, fall in love. Girl finds out something secret about boy. Boy overcomes differences. Boy and girl wed. Or do it, depending on the target audience.
So...here's my rationale. If I can write the above recipe with any quality whatsoever, I think I could sell it. To a PUBLILSHER. Or maybe just my mom. I dunno.
Wish me luck. We're meeting tomorrow at 7.


I'm joining a group.
To start my first real novel--
this is really it!

(I hope.)

Communication Skills

I've been thinking lately about how differently men and women communicate--with each other and one another. I know this isn't new by any means, but amusing, nonetheless.
For instance, two women want to go out to lunch. To schedule it, it takes no less than 7 email. They go like this (in the interest of saving space, I have cut their convo down to the bare bones):
1. Would you like to go out to lunch with me some time?
2. Yes! When and where?
3. You can decide.
4. Well, it really doesn't matter to me...whatever you want.
5. Ok. Do you like Chinese?
6. Not really.
This is where I get fed up and turn into a man.
7. Let's just meet at Subway at 11:30 on Tuesday. See you there.
I then proceed to ignore any follow-up email. I'm mean like that.

Two men want to go out to lunch. They don't email at all. They call (highly effectual). The conversation goes something like this:
"Hey--what are you doin' for lunch today?"
"Nothin'."
"Let's meet at Subway at 11:30."
"K."
Then they hang up. They don't even say goodbye.

A woman and her husband want to go out to lunch. They email because for some reason, they have fallen under the dilusion that writing to each other can help wit communication during the work day. The email go like this:
Woman's email: Do you have lunch plans today?
Man's email: No.
Woman: Well, I was thinking that maybe we could have lunch because it would be nice. And we haven't gone out in a long time. I think our flame is fading. Do you love me anymore?
Man: Ok. Where should I meet you?
Woman: Well, I can't meet you because my car is parked, like, a mile away, so I was thinking that maybe you could pick me up. That would save time anyway because I only have an hour, and since you don't have any time constraints, it would be better for you to drive both of us. Do you know how to get to my building? I'm in 223 now, which is different from last time. You have to find your way into the quad. It's that big building that faces the highway. 223 is part of the quad that is made up of buildings 220, 224, 223, and 225. You should be able to find me. Call if you have problems. I'll try to find my campus map, just in case.
Man: What time?
Woman: It really depends on when you can get here. My lunch is scheduled from 11-12, but if I need to adjust, you need to tell me right away so that I can tell the girls where I'll be and when.
Man: 11.
Woman: Cool. Can't wait to see you! Love you!!
*half hour later*
Man: Will 11:30 work?
Woman: I guess so. I'll have to ask the girls...yes it should be fine. Do you know how to find my building?
Man: Is it different than last time?




Shoot me.

Don't Blame Me...

Have you seen those bumper stickers? The ones that say,
"Don't blame me...I voted for Kerry."
I think they're really lame, and they puzzle and trouble me every time I see them.

This is the guy I automatically assume is driving the car when I see that bumper sticker:

I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, do you think any of those people really get blamed ...for the state of our country? ...for the way our president may or may not have handled things, ever? ...for whatever they don't like about our government? Or is it just a way to tout their liberal stance even when it's not an election year? I'm guessing that's probably closer to home, but I'd prefer to see a "Liberal Ass" bumper sticker than "Don't blame me..." It just gets right to the point.

Also, I'd like to point out the high incidence of my being cut off in traffic by these people. Again, I'm just sayin'.

I guess I just don't get it. Why would anyone blame any one person for how they think the country is shaping up? Hm...like we (metaphoric we, folks) tend to blame one man in the first place.

Ooh...deep.

Ok, so not one of my best blogs, but you have to admit--the guy in the middle is sorta funny.

My Identity

I was accused, this weekend, of being a yuppie.
Upon further thought, I think it might be true.
I took the following mental quiz:
Caucasian, check.
Silver Volkswagen, check.
Fine taste in shoes and purses, check, check.
Ipod and accessories, check.
Dog, half-check for lack of chocolate lab. (By my testing standards, miniature dogs rate higher on the "Hipster" testing scale than the "yuppie" scale. See: Britney Spears & Paris Hilton. Go figure--it's a fine line.)
Corporate cube job: cha-check.
House in the suburb of all suburbs: check.
Useless 4-year degree (i.e. Art.): check.

I was still hesitant to take on this new title until I read the following passage from a book I'm reading by my second-favorite author, Nick Hornby:
All those wooly hats, and mustaches [sic] with parts of them missing, all those new tattoos and plastic shoes...I mean, I'm a liberal guy, and I didn't want Bush to bomb Iraq, [...] but these people fill my heart with fear and loathing, mostly because I know they wouldn't have liked my band. [...] They don't like real music, these people. They don't like the Ramones or the Temptations or the 'Mats; they like DJ Bleepy and his [...] stupid bleeps. Or else they all pretend that they're [...] gangstas, and listen to hip-hop about hos and guns.
-A Long Way Down

Now, what got me in this passage isn't the part about the Ramones or the Temptations (who doesn't like either of those?), but the clincher is the part at the end about hip-hop.
I'm pretty sure that the fact that I ride around in the aforementioned silver VW listening to hip-hop and rap, turning it down, discreetly at intersections clinches my status as a yuppie. After all, I'm still just a white kid from Wisconsin. I won't ever be able to change that.
So, friends, go ahead and judge. I am all of these things--but at least I have finally found my identity. I now know myself.

Fa-shizzle, ma-nizzle.



I'm not afraid now.
I embrace my yuppie-hood.
I know who I am.

Bathing Suits

On Sunday, Richard and I are heading to his parent's camp-site to spend the day drinking bloody mary's in the sun and riding on the boat. I'm thinking of trying water skiing. I haven't tried since I was about 13, at which time, I possessed a bit more upper body strength, and a lot less weight in general. The odds aren't good, folks. Add to that my ridiculously high center of gravity, and I've almost got myself talked out of it.
Anyhow, I need a bathing suit. I have, in my possession, several bikinis, but I'm not feeling all that confident lately, and I don't want to try to maintain proper...decorum...and try to water ski. So, I think I need to go find a bathing suit on sale on Saturday. The idea has had me cranky all day.
The criteria:
-One-piece
-Youthful, not matronly
-Secure hitchum & hoistems
-Modest, yet mysteriously alluring, but only to my husband--NOT assorted uncles, etc.
-Attractively slimming without creating any extra bulges in the thigh or back area
-Thigh minimizing not necessary or plausible, but would be a plus
-Breast lifting and enhancing (again, without being too revealing)
-Inflatable life preserver, hidden attractively in the straps or bra area
-Small transistor radio
-DVD/VCR in case it rains
-Water-proof iPod pocket
-Size 10 (please, please, please, please, please)

Any suggestions on where I should shop? It shouldn't be too hard, right?


Swimsuit season is
supposed to be over soon!
I'm just starting now!

Miranda

This morning at 11:30, my cousin, Miranda, is scheduled for an amniocentesis to determine whether the little boy she's carrying has lungs developed enough to survive if they induce labor tonight. She is approximately 8 months pregnant, and they have determined that the baby weighs about 6lbs. This is both very exciting and very scary for the whole family. If you would, please keep Miranda and Baby Boy in your prayers today. It could turn out to be a LONG day for both.

Baby Boom

Everyone's all excited that more baby panda bears have been born in the last few months than...ever. Just a little rant here, folks. Why is China spending all this money to try to preserve the Panda population when clearly, Pandas are WAY TOO STUPID to survive on their own? Whatever happened to survival of the fittest?
It seems like a waste of money to me. I mean, I though people were starving over there.

I See Dead People...

This weekend I went to the Science Museum of Minnesota with my in-laws to see Bodyworks. I had a great time with the fam--I learned a lot about bodies just from Brenda alone, and of course, I always have fun with Bob and Mandi (That's my sister!!!).
I was really nervous at the time to go, because I've been a bit weak-stomached lately, and I thought for sure that I wouldn't be able to take it, but that wasn't the case. My nervousness went so far, in fact, that when the Senior Volunteer taking our tickets warned us not to touch the "Plasticenes" (sp?), I guffawed. Like I'm gonna be tempted to reach out and touch a dead guy.
I was not, in the end, tempted. Believe it or not.
I've been trying for two days now to figure out how to blog about the exhibit, and to be honest, I am still at a loss for words. So, here are my general impressions. I'm not about to mince words, so consider yourself warned.
1. Brenda and I determined afterward that the whole thing was about one thing. The Penis. There were a lot of them--penises, that is. (Which begs the question; what is the plural form of the word, penis? Peni? Penii? Penises? Somebody help here.) Dissected penises were EVERYWHERE.
They weren't as upsetting, though, as the Human Tongue Display, which is not what it was called, though it was the only display case that I had to walk away from. It went like this:
Brenda: Hey, look at that big tongue.
Erin: Where?
Brenda: There! You can see the taste buds and everything.
Erin. Oh. [Walking away.]
2. How interesting / sick / weird that a man has spent his life dissecting human bodies, plasticizing them, and putting them on display.
3. Everywhere I look now, I see dead people. I saw a lady in a car yesterday, and we made eye contact briefly, and for a moment, I could see her--dead. Thanks, Science Museum.
In short, the exhibit sort of messed me up. It was really interesting, and sure, worth $20, but I can't say I'd go again. If you go, DO make sure to see the baby/fetus room. It was AWESOME. A little girl ralphed while Mandi was in there, though, so it might be a little hard to take for your TEN-YEAR-OLD. Yeah, people. Don't take your kids. It's a 10+ activity. Really.

I see dead people.
They're everywhere I look now.
Too many Penii.

Just Can't Wait to get on the Road Again...

On my way in to St. Paul today, I saw an accident between a car marked "Student Driver," and a Menards truck. Guess who won. I said outloud, "Ohhh...that poor kid." Until I saw that it was actually a grown man--the instructor, perhaps? Either way, how embarassing.
THEN, I pulled into Davanni's (my latest guilty lunch pleasure--their lasagna is to. die. for.), and was almost run down by a Ford F350 with a trailer completely filled with cat-scratch posts, cat houses, and cat jungle-gyms (Apostrophe? Yes? No? I don't think so...). It was a giant, looming, lattice that swayed precariously, made entirely of carpet-covered 2x4's.
I had to laugh that I was almost run down by something so cute, cuddly, and generally not offensive in any way.
Of all the weird things I've ever seen on the highway, my experience the other day, however, takes the cake.
I was on Highway 36, heading home--talking on the phone, of course--when I saw a Port-a-Potty tipped over on the side of the road. My car read that it was 100 degrees outside. Bleck. Enough said.
Then, a couple of miles and a different phone call later, I saw another one. Then another. Finally, almost ten miles later, I saw a truck pulled over with a flat bed loaded up with more Port-a-Potties than I have ever seen in one place outside of the State Fair(probably 15). He had lost 3 before he realized it between Oakdale and North St. Paul. I'd say he was a little over-loaded, and probably kicking his own ass for not planning well enough. (Strong language? Maybe--but how would you feel??)
I do NOT envy that guy. I still think about him sometimes. He always makes whatever is wrong at my job seem a little more bearable.



Potties on the road--
hot and sticky day outside
my job's not so bad...