Conspiracy Realities

That's right! It's not a conspiracy theory it's a conspiracy REALITY.

You know how I 'outed' a certain secret organization in my previous post?

Well!

The very next morning my car radio antenna was GONE! Vanished! POOF! STOLEN!!!!

I'm not kidding! It wasn't snapped off the way vandals do it, it was unscrewed from it's seating.

It's like they were sending a message: Talk about us again and you will lose more than your antenna ball...you'll lose the whole antenna!

So my lips are sealed!

Jack Ball Where Are You?

Today I was watching a Jack in the Box commercial and I told my friend that all the Jack balls I've ever had have gotten stolen from my antenna.

He said, "So have mine!"

We pondered this for a moment.

Where do they all go? Is it just one person who is stealing them? Or is there an entire army of Jack in the Box Antenna Ball Thieves? Do they move about in stealth and darkness, harvesting the Jack balls in sweeping phalanxes? Are there secret storage facilities deep within the bowels of some desert mountain range overflowing with holding tanks stuffed with pilfered Jack balls?

I'm probably endangering myself by asking such questions in an open forum like this, so I'll quickly yet subtly change the subject.

I have been learning to see out of my new trifocals. I never knew until now what a bobblehead I must be. Any slight movement and the world spins, my stomach churns with butterflies and I fall over. Alas, I seem to be in motion every moment of the day. Even sitting perfectly still looking into the optometrists eyes as he told me I just had to be patient while I get used to them , I was watching the world swirling and spinning out of focus.

And all I was doing was listening attentively!

Here is a picture of me with my new lenses:

See what I mean? The world is TOTALLY out of focus right now.

Cat Manners

There are good guest manners and good hostess manners. And then there are Pet Manners which seem to be a credo unto themselves.

I recently had a house guest for a few days. No, I didn't put a fresh raw fish in her room, but I did put fresh flowers. (After a week the fish stinks and the guest is driven from the residence.) But if I HAD put a fresh raw fish in her room, perhaps my cat would have treated her with less disdain.

I've never seen anything like it, as a matter of fact! He lets you know how he FEELS about you, one way or the other. He either comes on over to be petted and admired or bites you to register disapproval.

Poor Bee just got the cat equivalent of 'talk to the hand'! He wouldn't look at her, acknowledge her, or join us when we were doing fun things with paper. Nada, Zip, Zilch. He wanted nothing to do with her.

Since she is a big cat lover, donates to Big Cat animal rescue charities and has owned many, many cats over the course of her life, this was a big mystery to both of us!

I finally came to the conclusion that he simply didn't wish to acknowledge her because he didn't want her moving in with us. Don't ask me why he thought she might or why I think that's what he thought. I just do.

This is the face he showed for the whole 4 days! How Rude!

The flowers I had put in her room were astroemeria. I don't usually buy them because they look like lilies and lilies remind me of funerals, but these were so pretty and at $3.99 a bunch, much more within my budget than the dozen yellow roses I would have chosen had I won the lottery.

Although my friend has been gone for a week, the flowers have lasted until this morning. I was so pleased with how long they lasted I bought myself some more!

Oh, wait. There's no cat in the picture...

That's better.

I deny all allegations of guest cruelty!

The Ides of March

Yes, it's March and it's time for the March Winds. I holed up for the weekend and played in the Rubber Room (yes, like in an insane asylum! But also the place I keep my rubber stamps).

I decided it was time to make new place holders for my card organizer. The old ones were just flimsy poster paper and had gotten rather dog-eared. I decided to layer some colored card stock and take the time to print out labels.

The Padawan Paper Apprentice opted for holing up as well.

Waiting...

Everything is ready and waiting for my friend to arrive from Indiana! She was due for about noon today but she's stuck in Atlanta for an additional 12 hours...and that means it will be midnight before she arrives.


I didn't want this pretty welcoming table display to go unseen so I took a picture of it for posterity.



Mackie is waiting, too...

Eet eez Different Meat

If the world ends and the economy falls, we can all just get jobs at McDonalds. Or so I thought until the other day when I went there and realized that nobody in there spoke or comprehended fair English.

That means that rather than hire good old American folks, they've taken to hiring illegals or barely culturated foreigners for some reason. So they won't be hiring the likes of us anytime soon. We're doomed.

At the drive-up window I asked the attendant what was the difference between a Big n Tasty burger and a Quarter Pounder. He told me, "Eet eez different meat." He made the word meat have about 3 syllables. me-ee-eat.

"Different like it's not 100% beef or perhaps it's made from the hooves or liver?"

"No, ees jus different mee-ee-eat."

"Well, which is bigger, the Big-n-Tasty or the Quarter Pounder?"

"I don' kno-o-ow, Ma'am"

"You don't know which burger is bigger?"

"Ees the mee-ee-eat. Eez different."

"Well, what do you mean by different?"

"Thee bu-uu-un ees thee same si-i-ize, Ma'am. Eet's jus the me-ee-eat that ees different."

I ordered the Quarter Pounder and went to the pay window. I asked the girl there what was the difference between the Quarter Pounder and the Big n' Tasty.

"Eets jus bigger mee-ee-eat" she said.

Bigger isn't always better, you know. Sometimes littler things are so much nicer. And miniature things can be the nicest of all. Here are some of mine:

This little cat likes to sleep curled up on the tea tray.

A creamer for a very small cup of tea.

The bluebird of happiness is really quite small.

Ladybugs, Katherine. Lots and lots of Ladybugs.

Nursery Rhymes should be wee, don't you agree?

And a poodle is supposed to be miniature!

My favorite, favorite: A miniature Barbie.

I Lovia de Haviland

Yesterday I went to say goodbye to a friend's home which is in foreclosure. Just another ridiculously over-zealous lender letting her yank equity from her home...except in this case, the equity was so large she ended up with a $14,000 mortgage payment a month! Imagine that! And her only income is social security of about 800 a month. $14,000 per month. That is about twice what my income was for the ENTIRE YEAR last year. (Yeah, I told you I was po!)

She'd like to blame the bank, I'd like her to place the blame squarely on her own shoulders but it's never going to happen...but that's all in the past now!

Everything she's ever owned is being sold out from underneath her.

Including this set of Haviland:


Which is priced to sell at $2,500. I would like to buy it but doing a quick mathematical configuration I see that is about....um....$2,495.00 over my budget.

Seeing her once cluttered home practically gutted and bare

made me want to run home and hug my own china.

CURRENT EVENTS!

I write the best blog posts while driving in my car or in the middle of the night or while tight rope walking--some place where I can't get to a pen and paper--and since my own brain is no longer a reliable storage unit for retrievable data, I feel like so much of my best stuff gets lost and is never written!

Last night in my sleep I wrote the funniest blog entry evah, but this morning all that remained was the EXCITED title, "CURRENT EVENTS!"

I guess I'll just fill in the blank with whatever's on hand, since I have no idea what fabulous current event I was dreaming about.

Here is a recent thrift store find, now on it's way to one of the winners of my caption contest:


So much for mood lighting.



And here is another CURRENT EVENT! The preparations for a little birthday tea I had for my friend Queen Q. What is missing here is all the fabulous food that she brought! Such as the sausage and onion quiche and the good olive oil in which to dip all that focaccia bread.

I don't know if you can see it, but I stuck a tea light in the center of the Tortuga Rum Cake to make it more festive and birthday-ish.

Her husband was totally skeptical of my claims that a tea light will burn for about 2 hours. "Are you sure?" he kept asking. I could tell that he was multiplying the length of the wick times the volume of wax divided by the circumference of the tin receptacle and coming up with about a ten minute burn.

I'm not interested. I'm not helping. I'm not even paying attention.

Seriously. I'm not helping.

I'm not helping. I'm supervising. Just a little.

Does My Butt Make My Butt Look Big?

The Gang of Unashamed Dorks caught flashing secret gang signs!

Lately here and there I've been musing about all the changes that have occurred in the world during my lifetime. Some good, some bad, and some make me fly into a rant of incoherent rage.

And thus today I bring you Pet Peeve # 235. Elasticized Bed Sheets.

Long, Long ago, someone invented the fitted bottom sheet. And it was Good.

Probably a woman because it was a brilliant idea. It saved time and energy that were better put to use elsewhere like watching soap operas and gabbing with the neighbors over the back fence. The corners of the sheets were mitered and sewn, thus creating a nifty corner that fitted perfectly on corners of the mattress. The top and bottom of the sheet were elasticized and that made it easy to tell the top and bottom from the sides of the sheet and also helped to tuck it into the cramped space of the headboard and foot board.

But those days are long gone. Some fool who has never made a bed in his life, probably doesn't own a bed or know what a sheet is for because his Mother always did it for him, who now spends his adult years living in travel hotels where they have maid service as he flies over to China or Taiwan to check on the progress of his other stupid inventions being manufactured over there by peasants and displaced rice farmers who work for pennies a week and still squat over a smouldering pile of dried yak patties to cook their meager daily meal and don't own a bed either because they still sleep on bamboo rafts that float on the Yangtze where sheets would be useless because they would draw damp right away and make for miserable sleeping, probably thought up this newest folly.

The Elasticized Bottom Bed Sheet. You know what I mean. Instead of the nicely folded corners and the elastic at the top and bottom of the sheet, they now make them to have elastic that runs the entire circumference of the sheet. Which? makes it? impossible? to tell which are the sides and which are the top and bottom.

So instead of just popping the sheet on in no time, you have to attach one corner, stretch and pray that you've got the long ways going the long ways on the bed. But of course you haven't. So you have to pop that corner and spin the sheet but somehow, no matter how careful, you end up with the short side of the sheet again still trying to stretch it to fit the other end of the mattress.

All that elastic does NOT make the bottom sheet stay one whit more taut than if it was the old, un-elasticized way of bed-making. In fact it kind of makes the sheet bunch up and bulk around the edges.

And when you pull those things from the dryer? They are wadded into an elasticized ball and I defy ANYONE to figure out a way to fold them other than leaving them in the wadded ball and shoving them in the bottom of the linen closet somewhere.

It's this modern age, people. It's got to be stopped. Just because we have the technology to create an endless supply of elastic, does not mean we have the right to inflict it on our fitted bottom sheets.

What's next? Elasticized dish towels? Elasticized oven mitts?

Gone are the days of effortless bed making. We've entered an era of unnecessary complications dreamed up by people who think they have to improve things all the time.

It's the simplest of joys and amusements that make life so worth savoring.

Thrift Store Thrills

For some time now I've been freaking out at how bad the visibility is in my car when it's raining or misty. It's like my windshield wipers just smear instead of wipe. I dread driving in the bad weather because I just can't seem to see anything.


Today was payday and like a parched and starving man who just crawled across the desert on his belly like a reptile searching for an oasis with dates and water, I headed out on a little mini shopping spree.


After taking 5 hours to do my taxes yesterday and coming up with either owing the IRS $250 or getting a refund for $42, I decided that there was just no point in stressing about it anymore. It was time to splurge a little.


As I was driving in the misty rain to the nearest Goodwill store, it suddenly dawned on me. I just needed new windshield wiper blades. What in the world made my brain not CLICK on that original idea many, many rainstorms ago? I don't know.

All I know is, in the bleary, blurred streets of Sacramento I found--almost by feel--a car parts store and purchased a set of brand new wiper blades.


Wow! It's like I've been HEALED!


There is nothing like a drive of blindness that is successfully changed into clarity to make the day turn into an upswing! From then on out there was no stopping me from finding the very things I had long been wanting and needing!





Such as this mustard colored Nine West purse. Need I mention here that I refuse to pay full retail price for anything? In fact, I actually hate shopping in places like malls and brand-name stores. I like to go to thrift stores and find bargains. This purse cost me 29 cents and it's brand new! Probably the woman who bought it realized it was the color of Dijon and thought better of keeping it. Probably the woman who priced it thought it was the color of baby poop and knew it wouldn't sell for more than a quarter.


And Then! This is my favorite, favorite! I've been wanting cool jars or canisters or pots or something to put my kitchen utensils in. It's been on my list for more than a year, but I've never found anything that would work. Either too tall or too shallow or too wide-mouthed. Or tippy. But check out these urns!




Okay, the one on the right looks like it was lifted from a grave site but it was a mere 3 bucks and it's that wonderful vanilla-white with a crazed glaze which is my favorite. The one on the left cost two dollars.

And THEN! I spotted this pale yellow floral twin bed comforter and I knew I was going to be blissfully happy forever and ever. It's the PERFECT color and the PERFECT floral pattern.

I'd like to mention here that I don't pose Mackie in any of these shots. He absolutely has to have his nose in anything I'm doing. As soon as he got wind of the new bedspread and heard the camera shutter he was ready for his Close Up, Mr. DeMille.

This bedspread cost $15.00 and was worth it since I've been pricing them at about $29.99-$115.00 anywhere I looked. AND! It doesn't smell like anybody died in it.

Contest Winners!

Well, It's a TIE! I laughed so darn hard at the only two entries I got for my caption contest, that I decided I was just going to awared both Wiggy and Bethany a First Prize!

Just email me your addresses and I'll mail your goodies right out to you! And thank you for participating. I really enjoyed those perfect, adorable and funny captions!!!

Caption Contest

You can win a prize! Just submit (to comments) the winning caption for this picture. Judging is based solely on the whim and caprice of Miss Pink Ponsonby. The prize is going to be something totally feminine and drooly from my china cabinet. Or maybe the linen closet. Or my fabric stash. Or from my paper craft/rubber stamp supplies. I'm not sure yet but I know it will be good.

Get a Clue

I got stuck this weekend in a rinky dink motel in the middle of cow country due to the fog, with nothing on the television but 3 channels and they were in Spanish.

(Understandable. After all, this isn't America, it's Tax-Free North Mexico.)

I was so bored I made up a new game in my head. Actually it's just a spin on an old favorite: Clue.

I used to love Clue! I loved the names and the game pieces and most especially the game board with the floor plan of a house with secret passages and everything.

I loved it that Mr. Boddy had a Library! And a Conservatory!

I was thinking that to folks nowadays, what with the dumbing down of America and all that, it would be more marketable if the characters, house and weapons were more in keeping with this new generation.

So I came up with some alternatives:

Trailer Trash Clue: Cousin Billy in the Coon Shed with the Meth Pipe.

Or:

Country Clue: Aunt Doraleen in the Grainery with the Pitchfork.

I love that word; Grainery.

Or:

Ghetto Clue: Brotha Darryl in the Alley with the Glock.

And finally:

Illegal Alien Clue: Jose in the Tomato Fields with the Machete.

Oh, wait, here's one more:

Miss Pink in the Morning Room with the Lead Teapot.

We Stick to The Old Ways, Here

We stick to the old ways, here.

Manners; tea brewed without using a microwave; cookies baked from scratch rather than squeezed out of a tube.

Stuff like that.

But there are things I don't miss one little bit from the Happy Olden Days of Yore. Things I am glad have passed away.

Such as the Gym Class Tank suit

This devil's spawn of crotch-sawing ugliness was the required outfit for gym class. It was made from something that was not breathable cotton, but just what I have no iota. I only know it wasn't stretchy.

Because spandex had not yet been invented.

This item had to be ordered before the start of the school year. It came in an industrial powder blue and snapped up the front. It had an elastic waist, and unlike this little mini-looking number here, it had knee-length stovepipe legs.

Which made everyone look like they had tree trunks for gams.

There was a generic sort of sizing chart that had nothing to do with actual human measurements, which meant that the suit when it arrived was either big enough for several Sequoia Tree Trunks to grow in the legs, or so small that no seedling or sapling could ever grow thicker than an inch before shriveling to a suffocated death.

Or--in my case--cut so short-waisted that I went the entire 3 years of junior high afraid to raise my arms in gym class for fear of bisecting myself all the way to the ribs.

Stop for a moment and try to think of a gym class activity that does not require raising the arms in some way.

I failed gym class.

So, although I leave my phone at home firmly on the hook where it belongs, drink my water in a glass from the tap instead of in a squeezable nippled plastic bottle glued permanently to my hand in case I hit an arrid zone and start to dehydrate between one 7/11 and the next, and flat-out refuse to learn 'texting' language because it spells your as ur, I firmly embrace the invention of stretch cotton.

And happily bid farewell to the Tank Suit from the era of the Old Ways.

Mackie the Map Reader

Mackie is an excellant map reader. He is also quite the navigator. He can find any route that leads to a bowl of Meow Mix!

Friend of Mine

One of the nice things about having a cat who is more intelligent than most people I know, is the lively, constant need to be helpful.




One of the bothersome things about having a cat who is more intelligent than most people I know, is the lively, constant need to be helpful.

However, in a pinch he can always be used as a paperweight.

A Bit of Depth

Like most of America, I was riveted to the television yesterday watching the inauguration coverage. The love affair will end, but for now it's just heady stuff.

I love the chemistry between those two and fireworks between the President and his First Lady are a fun change, at least for me.

They are young and they are strong, and I love it. Not since President Gore and Tipper have I been so smitten with our First Family.

Even if it did hit me like a ton of bricks that President Obama is 5 years younger than me!

And I also love the chemistry between Michelle Obama and her clothing. After years of dowdy First Ladies, I am thrilled and excited by the unique fashion sense of our new First Lady.

Not too many people like her style, I've noticed. She makes bold choices and her color palette is completely at odds with what people are used to.

But I'm fascinated!

Because whatever she is wearing, it is certain sure it will have a deep texture to it. She is all about texture, and I think that is what she sees when she looks at a garment in view of buying it.


Where others favor a particular color, or a certain cut, with Mrs. Obama it's all about the rich, deep texture.

Everyone commented on the rather odd cast of this particular shade of yellow, and everyone had some kind of fit about the green gloves and the green shoes. Those were Jimmy Choo's, by the way. I'll say no more, as nothing needs be said.

But I think it escaped attention that her dress was figured with raised daisies. I was so happy! Daisies!

The fact that texture adds inches and bulk on the rest of us, it doesn't seem to effect the First Lady's figure. How does she do that?

So even before we caught a glimpse of the Innaugeration ball gown, I could have told you exactly what it would look like. I knew it was going to be single-shoulder. I knew it was going to have a train and be wispy, (although I was sorry she didn't realize that train was impossible to manage on the stairs and on the dance floor)...



...and I could have told you without a doubt that it was going to look like a shredded chenille bedspread.

Survivorman With Les Stroud: A New Episode! Urban Jungle: The Apartment

Today I am going on a survival adventure in one of the most hostile environments ever! The Apartment!

Located in the heart of the urban jungle, it requires stamina, insight and vast arrays of survival savvy to navigate this terrain.

I'll be your guide as we search for those survival essentials: food, shelter, and heat! Join me now as we start our New Adventure...

I've parked my car in the allotted parking. You have to be careful out here and know your days and times. Parking Enforcement tribes are everywhere and extremely hostile. They will tow your vehicle without warning, leaving you stranded and without a GPS Tracking Device. Plus you could lose your gym bag and your best CDs.

Once inside the complex dead bolt alignment on the front door, I quickly set down everything in my hands except my hand held camera. For this adventure I've opted out of the nifty moving picture camera strapped to my waist. We'll have to make due with still photos, later developed at a Photo Lab found only in...The Urban Jungle!

Armed with only the essential cell phone, I quickly scope out my surroundings. If I'm going to survive it's crucial that I get some heat and some nourishment immediately. I scan the horizon...and there it is!

The Thermostat.

This is an older model and may not work as originally engineered. It may take some fiddling to get it to trigger the heating unit, but I don't have time for that now. I make a note of where it is located and move on. Time is of the essence when you are trying to survive in The Apartment.

After a long trek of just a few feet, I spot a terrain change:

This is indeed a good sign! The change from brown carpet to hard vinyl means there is possibly a source of water nearby. I proceed with caution, as this surface has been known to be either slippery or contain sharp particles that can stab your feet, like crumbs.

Scanning the horizon once again I spot it: The kitchen sink. Not as deep as most swamp ponds or the croc-infested billabongs of the Australian outback, it will provide me with a steady source of water that will only need to be boiled if I choose to make tea.

But there is something else I want. I desperately need a source of food. The proximity of the sink, combined with the vinyl floor means there is bound to be an important element of The Apartment.

And here it is! It's called a refrigerator. It's an integral part of the Urban jungle; a known source for the proteins and nutrients vital for survival in The Apartment. It emits a low frequency hum so I know that the food inside will be good and not give me giardia or hepatitis.

Refrigerator's are totally benign, so there is no need to proceed with caution. It's just a matter of finding the means to pry it open.

I curse my luck as I see this fridge has no handles, but running my hands along the perimeter--always cautious for deadly hidden brown bull snakes--I feel the indentations in the side of the door that mean I will soon be able to open it. A few moments work and it's done!

This is nature's fecund blessing, indeed. Not only are there ample sources of protein, vegetables and rare condiments, but I've been spared the need to forage for a corkscrew: the bottle of Charles Shaw Merlot, a staple of the Urban Environment, has already been opened.

My next need may not be so easy to satisfy...

After several seconds of scanning the shelves and opening crisper drawers, I've found it. I've struck survival gold!

It's the Trader Joe's Big Block Pound of chocolate. I can use the bottom of the Charles Shaw bottle to smack it into bite sized pieces.

Nearby, I find some furniture that I am able to use as a table and chair:

It's crucial that I eat and drink now while my energy is just beginning to flag. If I wait too long, I could become dizzy and too weak to think straight or continue navigating...The Apartment.

This chocolate and wine is not as tasty as wichity grubs and edible moths, but you have to take what you can find when surviving in the Urban Jungle.

Having fortified myself and to some extent rested and re-hydrated, I must now go in search of a safe place to bed down for the night. In the near distance I see what could be a bower of some sort. I approach slowly and yes, I've spotted it! One of two prevalent predators that exist in The Apartment, this one is the more benign of the two. This is the Apartment Cat.

While the Apartment Dog has been known to steal your food and drain your energy by engaging you in exhausting 'fetch' rituals, the Apartment Cat spends most of it's days sleeping. They can dangerously suck your source of heat, though, so you have to be careful.

I choose to avoid this particular spot for bedding down as it's already taken, and leave the sleeping cat lie.

The Apartment has shown me many facets, today, and I know that it will glean even more useful tools for Survival tomorrow. But for now, I must find a place to sleep. Going without sleep in any survival situation can be dangerous and downright deadly. Lack of sleep causes delusions, paranoia and depression. And depression can hurt!

(cut to commercial for Cymbalta.)

And here it is! I've found it! Almost deceptively close to the food source and the heating mechanism, I still have to be careful. Open one wrong door and I could find myself in a dark closet filled with clutter and really ugly old clothes.

In the Urban Jungle, one wrong move could land you sleeping on cheap polyester sheets or worse, huddled under a discarded zippered sleeping bag on a lumpy sofa. So I am careful to check for comfort levels and a ready availability of blankets. This looks like a good spot.

I've been fortunate today. Pitting my survival skills against the foreign and hostile environment of The Apartment, I have managed to provide for all my needs. Food, heat and a bed for the night. This is what being a survival expert is all about!

Join me next time as I brave the Urban Streets to meet with the ultimate Survival Challenge: An afternoon at a crowded Starbucks.