I saw the absolute coolest thing today.

Well, nevermind. See Crossfire, McKrackpype, page 4.

Number One: Beaver’s Skull

Number Two: Pissed off Piff

Number Three: Scheming Little Imps

Kudos to Piff and Psy for playing and for such great answers!

Bored, so bored. I have these images I’ve been saving for my blog, so let’s get them out and have some fun.

All you have to do is guess what they are.

Number One

Number Two

Bonus

I’ve been tagged by Minivan Mom and here are the rules:

The game consists of answering five questions and then tagging three blogger friends to answer five questions. You can also add three categories.The questions are:

If I could be a scientist…If I could be a farmer…If I could be a musician…If I could be a doctor…If I could be a painter…If I could be a gardener…If I could be a missionary…If I could be a chef…If I could be an architect…If I could be a linguist…If I could be a psychologist…If I could be a librarian…If I could be an athlete…If I could be a lawyer…If I could be an inn-keeper…If I could be a professor…If I could be a writer…If I could be a llama-rider…If I could be a bonnie pirate…If I could be an astronaut…If I could be a world famous blogger…If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…If I could be married to any current famous political figure…If I could be an Office Supply Salesman…If I could be a Dog-show judge…If I could be a Coal Miner…if i could be a baker…if i could be a comedian…if i could be a monk…if I could be a TV commercial director…if I could be car designer . . . if I could be a postal worker.

1. If I could be a monk: Wow. That would be a hard one to pull off, but if I could be a monk, the question would have to first be - what kind? Tibetan, Catholic, Hindu? Do I want to meditate, walk barefoot over coals or make cheese? If it weren’t for having to put Christianity on the backburner, I think I go with Tibet. Peaceful bowl tapping and such while looking o’er sparkling mountains. I think I’d skip the koans though. Seems I’d just want to sit and be quiet without having to ponder whether or not the sound of Rosie Perez yapping can be heard if no one else is around. Plus, the Catholic girls who go out for that sort of thing always lose in the end. You know, Pope Joan, Joan of Arc - wait -my names not Joan - maybe I’d have a chance . . .? Hmmmm . . . cheese good . . .

2. If I could be a Gardener: One thing I’ve always dreamed of doing is living in a place where anything botanical is possible. I someday want to have a garden that surrounds my whole house and is reminiscent of Candyland. I want a peppermint walkway with star petunias, a cotton candy corner full of pink hydrangeas and the path will be tumbled glass pebbles of various colors. I won’t go into any more specifics - I don’t want any of you crackers stealing my idea.

3. If I could be a Painter: Sort of on my way to that one, but if I were a full fledged painter and people paid me the big bucks, I’d use some of the cash to paint out in the open in beautiful, remote locales like the purple mountains of Chile (or wherever the Tauk guide said that picture was taken?). Or, I could be a street painter in France, but no, that sounds boring. I could do transgender paintings like the one at the beginning of this post that I have titled Jinny as Monk In Repose.
To see the original go here

4. If I could be an Inn-Keeper: Well, you can bet your bottom dollar that it wouldn’t be at the EconoLodge on 45. No, if I were an inn-keeper I would have a small inn on some country road in the middle of nowhere on a wooded lot. It would have a sign that says “Since 1698″ and I would serve fresh homemade bread and muffins and heat up antique fire branded bed warmers for people. I’d have a deer feeder (attractive one) out back so that when people enjoyed their morning coffee they could comment about quaintness and peaceful nature and shouldn’t we move to Stepford and nevermind that last one. But seriously, I’d wear a peasant blouse and have ‘ironed daily’ swiss curtains.

(A close approximation of the above is a childhood memory of mine that you can see here. There were deer in the creek that could be seen from the dining room. You’ll have to exuse me now, I’m ferclempt. Pass the tissue.)

5. If I could be a llama rider: I’d say “I’m done with the U.S. and I’m going on walk-about.” Then I’d ride off into the sunset, or actually I wouldn’t because then I’d end up in Cali, so I’d ride south of the sunset where I’d put myself and my llama onto a cruise ship headed forVenezuela, because who really wants to cut through Mexico anyway, and we’d ride from Venezuela all through
South America hitting the hot spots like Machu Pichu and other ruins, Carnivale, Montevideo (great rental prices there) and then we’d take a time out in Peru to visit my llamas cousins. I’d meet up with Juan Valdez somewhere along the way and get the hook up on some good coffee. I’d also be sure to try some of that hot chocolate from Chocolat. I’d end up in those mountains from the Tauk guide that I wanted to paint and when I was done I’d have Sean wire me $20,000 or so and I’d set up a homestead in Chile for our retirement which would probably be shortly thereafter seeing as how $20,000 is lot of money down there.

I tag: Merrie, Haggis, Star998

I’m sure many of you have heard about our new friend, Rocky, the racoon that has been hanging around at night for the past couple of weeks, eating Moxie’s styrofoam leftovers . . .

Well, tonight, I was sitting on the porch reading and he scared the bejeezus out of me! I looked down and his tail was nearly brushing me (yes, he was that close) and I screamed bloody murder! Well, I scared him too with all of that commotion and he ran and hid. I felt bad so I went and got him some food and put it out with his water. I’ve also been leaving him water every night, because if I leave my own glass of water out overnight he tumps it over. I’ve always wondered what was up with the water, if he was drinking it or washing his hands with it as I’ve heard racoons do.

Well, after I put out his food and water about eight or so feet from me, I continue reading my magazine. Within about 15 minutes he approaches the food bowl, looks at me, and starts his ritual. He washes the food before he eats it! He washes each little bite diligintly before putting in his tiny mouth. Rocky soooooo rocks!

Reasons to never live in the city:

1. Filth: There is filth everywhere and not just litter or unkempt lawns or concrete esplanades rife with weeds. Nope, the real filth is the pollution embedded in the benches of parks and courtyards that have been washed, but can’t ever be clean, or the blackness embedded in the concrete sides of buildings.

2. Personal Space: People in the inner city have no concept of personal space. Were I sitting in the waiting room at Tomball Hospital this morning instead of St. Lukes, the gentlemen (very nice term for these scallywags) would have sat in one of the many rows of empty chairs. Where did they sit? Right next to me. Not one chair over, or across from me - no, I had to share an armrest with one of these guys because apparently they wanted to be by the window or something. Who knows.

3. Weird Traffic Configurations: I hate all of the intersections downtown that use strange rules to direct traffic, like having to take a right because you absolutely can’t take a left (on a two way street) so you have to go down two more streets before you can make a U turn and go the direction you meant to go in the first place.

4. Inconvenience: The whole point in living in a city is to be near things for convenience. I find it quite inconvenient to have to drive four miles this way to get to the one way street going the other way and go five miles on that street to get to the gas station. Another inconvenience is having to drive 15 miles to find a McDonald’s to grab a drink or use the filthy restroom. Yes, in the country you would have to take the time to do these things, but in the country there is no confusing, stressful traffic and you can admire the view along the way instead of puking in your car at the sight of heroin junkies shuffling down the street.

5. Hideousness: Something is wrong when you can look 360 degrees all around you for 300 feet (if you can see anything that far off) and see nothing but concrete and sky. Something is wrong when you can’t see any nature, not even a pigeon. It’s like a bad apocolyptic movie.

Well, that’s all for now. I’m tired from my day of having to deal with the Medical Center and downtown Houston.

Goodnight.

So Ole Milty (my neighbor Milton), and his wife Verna are up to their usual unusualness. This past weekend was the Bi-Annual Spraypaintathon. Twice a year they cover half the truck in newspapers and spray paint it. I’m telling you, they make up crap to do. Have I mentioned garbage can hammering?

Monday, as I was driving by, Verna was out in the yard walking around with a trowel studying the ground. Every now and then she would stop and tap the ground with her trowel and pick at it. Then she would move on to another spot and repeat the process. Now, if this isn’t making up crap to do, I don’t know what is. That’s worse than garbage can hammering or cardboard placement. Have you heard about that one? Once a week they put random pieces of cardboard down throughout the yard and then collect it before dinner. Speaking of, the only thing I could think of that she was doing or looking for with the trowel was dinner . . .

I have been tagged by Epiphany to do the Book Meme. What is a Meme anyway? Someone’s French grandmother?

Total Books I’ve Owned: How on earth could I ever count? Right now, about 800 in the house, of which possibly 150 are mine,
and over the past year, I’ve probably sold or taken to Half Price about 50. Over my lifetime? I don’t
know, somewhere close to 3000? I didn’t think I read that much until I started writing them all down.
Since last summer: 112 that I remembered to write down. I probably forgot to write down five or so.

Last Book I Bought: Why did you have to tag me right now? The title: French Women Don’t Get Fat . It’s fairly popular right now.
In fact, I got the only one in the store and a woman tried to steal it from me. It’s really good. I’ve loaned it
out right now, but anyone who wants to borrow it when it comes back is more than welcome since it’s
expensive and hard to find at Half Price.

Last Book I Read: Entering Normal. Very good! I won’t ruin the story by telling you anything about it, but it was a great read.

Five Books That Mean A Lot To Me: The Little Princes by Frances Hodgson Burnet
The Heidi series and other books by Johanna Spyri
Caddie Woodlawn
Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver
The Camino by Shirley MacLaine. Don’t laugh - this one is mostly a legitimate story about a
spiritual trek that Spanish Catholics take to the shrine of Santiago. It’s a cool book and I
am mostly drawn to her will, determination and love of nature. It takes her almost six
months to walk the distance.

Are there five people I can tag? : Haggis, Sean, Psyguy - oops, ran out of people!

Psyguy had an excellent suggestion and I am now going to make use of it.

Five Things I Like About My Friends:

1. All of my friends are for the most part Conversationalists. This is important to me as I don’t really want to paint the town red as much as I just want to chill and laugh and kick back with my friends over stupid things like politics and dumb talk about quarks. That was an oxymoron.

2. My friends can Laugh at my oxymoronic statements that are made on a continual basis and at all of my other silly quirks.

3. We all have vastly different ideas of what good reading is sometimes, but hey, we’re all Readers.

4. My friends are Not Fashion Junkies and could care less if I shaved my legs today or yesterday as long as I’m ready to hang out and have a good time. Back to the laughing bit, they can now laugh at the stupid grossness of the previous statement. There was that one time though that all the guys thought I should change out of my yoga pants before we went to Saltgrass. “Hey Jinny, when are you going to get ready, we’re starving. What do you mean that’s what you’re wearing?” Oh well. But seriously I don’t have to worry about anyone making me cry at the mall over a pair of house shoes.

5. My friends are Themselves. That whole forum dorkiness thing would never fly with any other circle of friends I can think of. Thank God we can dork out sometimes.

Okay, to avoid the schism that this new fad is going to create, I will first address and explain why I like some of the things that I do before I go into the things I don’t understand about my friends.

Diners: “A Clean Well Lit Place” Hemingway says it best. I’ll be posting this short story as soon as I get my hands on a copy so you may all be enlightened. We don’t go to diners for the great cuisine. We’re not idiots. We go to diners (as opposed to snotty, wanna be espresso bars) to be, well, in a clean, well lit place late a night. I’d rather sit around jabbering with my husband and friends over shitty coffee and french toast than sit around my house trying to figure out whether or not to fry my brain with X-files or Southpark. Real bars don’t appeal to me because I have no fascination with inebriation and get deathly ill from alcohol. I also cannot enjoy my friends when I can’t hear what they’re saying over the bad music filtered through speakers that are mostly static and bass and few vocals anyway. I like to sit in a comfortable booth and be waited on by someone who knows me, what I want, can tell what I want by my mood, can make me laugh, and knows my name. The Cheers theme song is one of my guides to life. I love being a regular. I love walking in the door at Denny’s, grabbing my own menu, and sitting down wherever the hell I want to because every waiter on duty and the manager don’t care, they’re just happy to see me. This also guarantees me exquisite service. The food might not be great all the time, but I don’t go for the food. I go to sit there and do whatever the hell I feel like doing for hours because I can because the waitstaff loves me. And there’s something to be said for a greasy plate of chicken fried steak and eggs at three in the morning. Smokin will agree that’s it’s better than chamomille tea for putting you gently to sleep. You just can’t get comfy like that at Pappadeaux. Or Starbucks. I can’t sit outside all night in a rickety wire mesh chair sipping coffee that’s as bad or worse than a diner’s anyway. When I want great coffee I go to Luby’s. That’s right. Luby’s. And I’m not going to explain the joys of the cafeteria - you either get it, or you don’t.

PS Haggis: Triggs Humble Inn is a restaurant and a catering service. Cake platforms on the counter do not a diner make. You sat in the front room. There are two other rooms, the back being the main part of the restaurant. Did I mention that they’re a catering company? When’s the last time you saw Denny’s pancakes at a wedding?

I agree with Psyguy on wine wholeheartedly. Blech. Why do I want to drink something that makes my mouth dry and causes every muscle in my body to cringe at the sour impact?

We eat late because I grew up eating dinner at 8:00 or later and when Sean get’s home at 6:00 he wants to chill for awhile. Then we forget to go for awhile, then we can’t figure out what to eat for another thirty minutes, and so on. We have tried the whole eating at home thing, but what happens is, I thaw something out and then Sean comes home and says “Chicken? I had chicken for lunch. Can you make it tomorrow?” Tomorrow rolls around and “Chicken? With what? Broccoli? No way. Let’s get Taco Bell.” And so on and so on until the chicken is spoiled or goes back in the freezer not to resurface for some time to come because Dean calls the next night to go to Strack’s and then it’s the weekend, and so the cycle continues. I think I’m going to start shopping on a day to day basis like the French and then maybe we’ll eat at home more. But I can’t fathom eating before 7:00 anyway. My land! Wouldn’t you be hungry again later if you did that?

Also mostly agree with Psyguy about Beck too. I like a couple of songs off the new album, but before I absolutely cringed whenever I heard him.

I am 100% behind Epiphany on hair care and the mall. Wash it, dry it, Fantastic Sams is good enough for me. Working retail takes the fun out of shopping. I look at new fashions and wonder if the jokes on me. I remember working at Express when jodhpurs came back in style, and when we pulled them out of the box we laughed at how ugly they were and laughed even harder when people actually bought them, even though we tried to steer them towards something more flattering and less ridiculous.

Seinfeld is like Kids In the Hall. Not neccessarily all that funny, but once you’ve seen the episode twice or three times, the joke just keeps getting better.

Well, those are my defenses, and tomorrow I shall impart my thoughts on things my friends do that I don’t understand.

So who wants one of these for Christmas?

On sick leave until further notice.

Good times, good times.

Hope all is well with the rest of you.