Saying yes...

Blogger Help/Contest/Opinions, Etc, Etc, Etc!!@!

This dear blogger has decided to open a Zazzle store to offer up some of her more quirky art offerings... This blogger has done a lifetime of piece work and labor intensive stuff... some serious, some fun, but is ready to embrace the offerings and convenience of this not so new digital age (I'm still resisting my digitizing tablet, but one step at a time...).  As I said, I plan on offering a number of things that I've done over my blogging career and before, including various ways to sell individual letters (on coffee cups, etc) from the Snag Alphabet so that Snag and I might make enough to go get a drink.

Anyhow, here's the deal. No, I'm not asking you to pony up, what I need is help with the name. I thought I had it. It had been in my mind long before there was a Zazzle... It was Sn'Art. It might make sense to some of you, but what's more important was that it made sense to me. I was 99% sure that this was what it was going to be, but asked a couple of people what they thought and did they like the apostrophe or not...

I had Googled Snart  spelled in a variety of creative ways and saw nothing that seemed prohibitive... until kind Google Guru fish informed me yesterday of THIS! Ok, I can have an immature sense of humor along with the best of them and as I said, this store will be for less *serious* stuff, but I don't think I want it associated with a sneeze/fart...

I had mentioned to fish that I was tired and really didn't want to come up with a new name... I liked it better when they just popped into your head in the middle of the night... perhaps I'd call it Cottage Cheese... no, that wouldn't work. fish was kind enough to offer up a number of suggestions

Ouis in Art? (Made me think of the Piss Christ although I liked it when he said it rhymed with Cuisineart.)

Straight to D'art?

D'art of the Possible? (This has possiblities)

Thelma's Truck Stop? (Wha??? While Thelma could outdrink a trucker, she's no truckstop gal...)

And while I'd take almost anything coming from fish, this didn't necessarily strike me as *it*. fish then suggested crowdsourcing. My first thought? Hell no! I don't want anyone to know about this!!

Ok, ok, I saw the silliness of my ways. He was right (you're not always right, fish, so don't let it go to your head.)

So, if you would, please put your minds to work and see if you could offer up something quirky. It would be nice if art were in the name somewhere, but that's not manditory. It also does not need to have Saying yes... in it. If we come up with a winner, I'll send you some of Pinko's Blueberry Whoppers. :)

Argh, It's Monday Again...

I've had the same fantasy, off and on, for about the past 18 years. I first had it while on vacation from a job I really shouldn't have been at any longer, but unfortunately, it took me a few more years to figure that one out. The fantasy has followed me though... in varying forms of intensity. It's simple, really, but impossible. I'd like to take a minimum of 6 weeks off from my daily existence only to return with no time having passed. That's it. It's that simple. 6 weeks (maybe a little more) of time all to myself, no interruptions, no responsibilities, other than to do what I wanted to do at that very moment, no deadlines, no duties, no aging, etc, etc, etc. Just 6 weeks that no one would feel, but me...

... and then, when the 6 weeks were over, it'd be like I just got up the next day and went on with my business, but I would be a little better rested, a little more well read, better exercised, filled with ideas, some of which may have actually gone from idea to reality, etc, etc, etc, and no one would be the wiser. My family wouldn't know. The neighbors wouldn't know. ComEd wouldn't know. Only I would.

I'm guessing the dog would know... he knows everything, or seems to, but he doesn't talk, so that'd be ok. He'd wink at me, I'd wink at him and I'd fill his bowl with dog food and life would go on... and I'd have 6 weeks of wonderfulness recharging my batteries.

A Danger to Society

I lost large portions of last week due to a messed-up back. It's nothing new. When I was in high school, in Driver's Ed actually, I was pedaling my way home on my zippy red bike when a car, turning right, underestimated how fast my zippy red bike was going. He turned right into me. The last thing I remember was being airborne above the hood of the car and thinking, oh shit... I just got my bike fixed. Next thing I remember, waking up in an ambulance with a maroon shirt. Hmmm, that's funny, I thought I had worn a blue one to class.

Either way, I survived. I have two souvenirs from this experience. One is a scar on the back of my head. To this day, hairdressers will inform me about the scar, as if I wouldn't have a clue as to where a 4 in. scar came from. The other souvenir is a back that will spasm out of the blue. It's never something huge that does it either. I could be doing a clean and jerk with a moose, but no, that won't do it... it will be something more innocuous, like brushing a hair out of my eye or turning ever so slightly to maneuver a bag through a turnstile.  This last spasm was do to gently reaching for something. That's it... gently reaching... BOING! SPROING! I turn into a groaning, gasping sailor, spewing words no one under 21 should hear.

Over the years, I've learned many ways to lessen my downtime. I've learned the tricks of proper icing and heating. I've found having children has helped because they can pick up the things I can't reach. Ibuprofen is a gawd-send, kidneys be damned. As I've said, I've gotten much better at dealing with it and even taking preemptive action, but this last week caught me off guard and I was down for the count. I tried too many times to get up too early. I tried to power through, to ignore. I even, at times, forgot. There's nothing like finding out the entire house has overslept and even though you've woken up at 5ish for the past 13 years, the morning your eldest lamblet is going on a field trip and needs to be at school by 5:45, you'll be snoozing on the firm, supportive couch. You'll wake up at exactly 5:45... will be so startled, you'll fall off the couch and will then go hurtling up the stairs, yelling, "GET UP!!! YOU'RE LAAAAAATE!!!!" You won't remember your back hurts until the lamblet is out of the house and the adrenaline wears off. Oh well... another day as the prisoner of the ice pack and supportive chair.

I think the stellar example of forgetting though would have to be one of the days I dared to venture out. I had had some small successful ventures beyond the house and still had a ton of errands that were days past due and Grizzled had already been doing more than enough extra stuff, plus I was sick of having to stay put. My back was feeling... ok. It was threatening, but was behaving, so off I went. I cautiously got in the car... made it to the store... made it out of the car and was heading in when what did I see, but an elderly woman in the fire lane who was struggling to get into her car. She had packages and a cane and was hobbling along much like I probably was, but she looked older and my instinct was to help.

I forgot the back pain, I forgot the back completely, went sprinting up, saying ,"Oh wait! Let me help!" And as I leaned to grab her hand and lead her into her car, my back went, "YOU FOOL!!!! SPROING!!!" and I think I let out a slew of cursewords that no doubt lessened this already old woman's life by years... but she was kind, she grabbed my arm and helped me back to curb, while somehow using me as a ballast to launch herself back into the car, seconds before her elderly husband hit the gas and peeled out of the parkign lot to get away from the groaning, swearing stranger.

By the time my lungs regained some oxygen and I was certain I could stand up like other bipeds, I looked at the store and the throng of people and looked at the privacy the car had to offer, muffling my groans and profanities. I lurched back to the car... realizing I was a danger to society and that it would be best if I returned to my icy pack/supportive chair prison.

Update: I seem to be moving freely and have not scared anyone, including my dog, with errant groans, for the past 5 days. If by chance that elderly woman somehow stops by my blog, I'd like to say, I'm sorry... She still had some brown hair when our paths crossed, but by the time our interaction was over, it was all snowy white.

There's something wrong when....

...you find yourself pleading for the early arrival of your least favorite month, which holds the beginning of your least favorite season. March... gack. It's usually damp, gray, mushy, chilly, muddy, did I say GRAY?!?! And yet, I cannot wait until it gets here. I've gone with the flow this winter. I've done what it's asked of me and I've done the majority of it with a smile on my face, but it's time for it to go and it's time for the promise of spring. Late spring is glorious... it's the early part that rubs me the wrong way. Yes, I'm ready for the muddy promise that is spring... even if that promise comes wrapped in March.

I can empty that basement in 3 seconds! Ok, empty that basement!!

When told by Mr. Flood Restoration that we could salvage our carpet if we acted asap, but that a serious cost would be moving our furniture and stuff (fyi, TV is not stuff!), Grizzled and I responded with a unanimous, "Pffffft!!!" We assured him we could do it ourselves, moving our furniture and "stuff" would be no problem... and it really wasn't.

Was it a mental pain in the ass? Sure. Was it something I'd rather not do during Christmas vacation? Yes. But was it the biggest task?? Hell no!!! We'd gotten emptying our basement down to a fine art! We had turned loading our bathroom and laundry room with the contents of the main room into a game of Tetrus, filling every square inch with the perfect size and shape. Through practice and paring down of goods, we had become, the Indy Pit Crew of emptying our basement.

I'd like to think we've reached perfection and will not be tested again, but I know better, so talk of French drains and regrading continue to fill the air, but in the meantime, we were almost giddy when we took on the task of clearing it out once again. We can do this. We know this. I swear, I think we were both tempted to set a stopwatch...

Where's aif when you need him??

There's the most beautiful full moon tonight. It's as close as it's going to get since it's December. It's full and heavy and orange and it looks unbelievably electric next to the blue/purple snow. You can't help but feel it and understand why it might make people a wee bit crazy.

I went out to try and take a picture. I knew I didn't have the right equipment, but still, I tried. All I could think of when looking at that moon and at my inconsequential camera was I hope aif is seeing the same thing and is taking a photo for me.

I know, it's not snowing in India, but it is snowing on his blog.

I apologize... kind of...

Although fish has not been able to come up with the blown glass T-bone, he has been sending numerous sausage links for meat-themed ornaments and lights, thus proving that if you google it, it will exist in a form of its own choosing. All google prayers are answered, you just may not get the answer you want.

One of the good things about holding a contest where you offer a prize is that fish is overly-competitive... see above... fish is also ultra-anonymous. Fish will win, but fish will never divulge his true identity or his locale, so even though he wins, I never have to pony up with a prize. I may have to send Dan Leo something though for being first in with a meat-themed ornament. Honorable mention goes to Zombie Rotten McDonald for his artistic use of meat in a decorative challenge and for his inclusion of another blogger.

Meat ornament suggestions and links are still welcome.

Sometimes a man's gotta have what a man's gotta have

We're still in the midst of repairing/rearranging/assembling our basement after the flood of aught-8. We decided now might be a good time to update some of the furniture that the lamblets got when they were 2. The Eldest Lamblet was having to fold up her limbs in order to work at her old Ikea table. She's over 5" tall now... it might be time for a big girl computer table.

There's also been talk of replacing the Summer of Lust futon with a real sleeper sofa. Although the futon has many good memories (it was Grizzled's when I met him), it takes up a lot of room even when folded. Our basement isn't big by any stretch. We could use the room an actual sleeper sofa would bring.

At some point during our reassembly, Grizzled decided it might be a good time to fill the one vacant wall in our place with a HUGE PLASMA TV. I thought a plasma TV might be nice, but didn't think we needed the 58" model. Again, the room is not that big and we're not going to be watching the TV from the yard. I suggested the still big, yet tamer younger brother... the 50" model. It was met with silence.

Days would go by and Grizzled would talk about the benefits of the larger model. I reminded him the country is in an economic meltdown and that the smaller, yet still BIG, model was a lot less expensive. This was usually met with a "Yeah, you're probably right..." followed by more out of character silence.

Grizzled is not an impulsive man. I'm more impulsive than he is. If I want to buy a big ticket item, he's always wanting to do research. I role my eyes and say, "I know where it's sold! Let's just go get it, to heck with Consumer Reports!" That's why his wanting the bigger TV surprised me. Sure he was doing his research... he was emailing it to me daily and filling me in on his latest discoveries at night. The pros always fell in the court of the larger model...

I held my ground until one Saturday afternoon. I was giving my latest sensible schpeel when I noticed his shoulders drop and heard him say, "But I want it. I want the big one." It was then that he had made his case. Does it make sense? No, but then he so often makes sense that this one dalliance must be necessary. I'm guessing Snag would understand.

Now this was just cruel...

I went to pick up Grizzled from the train. While waiting, what comes on the radio??? That's just cruel. When I got back home, I opened the fridge. Nope... it's never there... never, ever, ever, ever there...

Does anybody remember Sniglets?

They were words that Rich Hall felt should exist. I believe at one point he even had enough to fill a book. I believe there was one for what I just did... and if there wasn't, there should have been.

My stomach has been growling for about the past hour or two. It wants rasty cake. It wants bad frosting. There is none in the house. I ignored my stomach.

About 10 minutes ago my stomach reminded me that it still WANTED CAKE! I got up, looked in the fridge for something to shut it up. I scanned the carrots, the apples, the broccoli. I looked at the cheese, saw some yogurt, but no cake. I knew there was no cake in there, but I thought I might be pleasantly surprised. Nope, no cake.

I then shut the door, stood there while my stomach growled and then opened the door again. Any cake yet?? Anywhere in there? Was it just hiding?? Hellooooo?? CAKE??? No, still no cake. I shut the door...

I then turned to walk away, but found myself turning back and opening the damn door! AGAIN!! Shoot! Still no cake! I ate a couple of green olives instead. It seemed to make sense, somehow.

There has to be a word for looking in the fridge again and again, hoping to find something you know is not in there. Yeah, I know, insanity might work, but I'm thinking of something more succinct.