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...

Haiku--Touching Every Corner of the Globe

[Clutching clasped hands to chest]
I am proud and honored to know that I have been able to touch so many lives...
[Looking down, humbly]
I have been truly blessed with a great talent. I am hugely talented.
And clearly I have inspired many, who in turn encourage others to pursue greatness through the art of the Haiku.
[Lifting hands and looking East--toward Wausau, Wisconsin]
Thank you, Dad. Thank. You.
As you can see below, my love of Haiku has touched more people than I ever imagined possible.
[Lowering hands to sides, and standing tall, triumphant as I begin to read aloud...]

Dear Boss,
Seriously, you oughta think about haiku. A cadence of 5, 7 & 5 syllables and a passing reference to something in nature. I think you're a diamond in the rough. I see poetry readings at the local bookstore with your minions lined up for an autograph on the flyleaf of your new book, Haiku for the New Millenium--It's Not Just for Feudal Japanese Anymore (which you will freely donate, of course) as a cost savings measure for the remainder of the year.
ry,
cmd




I am brilliant as
the shining sun or fair moon.
I just can't help it.

Through the Night

For those of you who were worried, Pedro did fine through his surgery. So well, in fact, that they called and said we could bring him home early. (Richard said he could hear Pedro barking in the background...)
He is lathargic and sore, though, and I feel even more terrible than I did before the surgery. He actually seems...sad.
Is it possible that I'm asserting my neuroses on my dog? And that he was simply sleepy and sore from a rough day? Nah...not possible.
Whatever. That's what blogging is about, right? Embracing and flaunting our strange quirks and individual neuroses.

The Chop

Pedro has to be at Dr. Blair's office tomorrow morning by 8:30a for "The Chop."
In short, I feel terrible. I can't even talk about it without crying. I am SO going to be one of those moms...The kind who cries over everything (not a whole lot different than now--let's be honest), and keeps weird shit...like locks of hair and teeth.
I kept Pedro's first collar. I admit it. I'm that mom.
The trouble that I'm having is that he trusts me. He thinks I would never hurt him. (As we discussed in an earlier blog, he knows I didn't mean to hurt him when I kicked him off the deck...Something about reasoning skills. I don't know--the whole thing is fuzzy for me now.) But the truth is, he won't know where he's going, he won't know why he has to stay over night--he'll be scared and confused, and I hate the idea of purposely putting him in that situation.
And then, when he finally gets to come home, he'll weigh less (a LOT less, if you asked me--wink, wink), and have to suffer the humiliation of wearing a plastic cone on his head. By the time the cone will come off, he'll have forgotten his testicles completely. RIGHT???
Hopefully, along with the memory of the testicles, he'll forget that I was the one who did this to him.
Perhaps this is a good lesson for me, before I become a mom. That you have to let your kids suffer a little in order to grow up.
I just don't think I'll be able to keep dog balls as a souvenir.
Call me crazy.

Pedro, your testes
are about to disappear
that's just how it is.

Mac N Don's Supper Club

I've been feeling sorry for myself today--not for any reason that I care to blog about where Big Brother could be watching--so I decided to treat myself to McDonald's for lunch.
Now my gut is feeling sorry for itself.

I love McDonald's,
it does not love me back--my
tummy doth protest.

Nutrition

Wouldn't you like to be the guy (or gal) from the caramel apple company who landed the deal with McDonald's for their Happy Meals? Two things, though. The apples are peeled, and then fortified with calcium. (How do they do that?) And then they are served with a "low-fat caramel dipping sauce." Surely these are more nutritious than french fries, but I can't really see how.
And this is all I have to blog about. Pathetic.
I need kids or something. Kids make the funniest blogs.
Oh, also, for your reference, Tide to Go stain sticks remove the caramel dipping sauce that you spilled on your pants like magic.

My blogs are getting
stale*; Not much compares to Big
McClain's fire* picture.

*Sure, stale and fire are
a stretch as one syllable.
Like I said, I'm stale.

Stuck in a blog rut--
no peacocks or ruined shoes
to report of late.

I'm sure something fun
or funny, sad, or rad is
coming up soon. Right?



Know how I know today's blog sucks?
NONE of you are going to comment. Watch.
You'll all read it and think, "Hunh. That wasn't very good."
And not write anything.

BUSTING with Pride

LOOK AT MY BABY BROTHER!

This is a link from the Missoulian--a newspaper from Missoula, Montana, highlighting what the Forest Service Rangers are doing to stop the forest fires in the Western US. I don't know how long this link will take you to McClain's story, so if it only takes you to the online newspaper, do a quick search either for "McClain Duffert" or "Gash Creek Fire."

I couldn't be more proud. I really couldn't. I've been trying to think of a way or day that I could be more proud, but honestly, none come to mind. He'll get married some day, yes, he'll have babies eventually, true.

But for now, this moment--here is my brother, a hero.

God is so good.