Ah, Family

Me, packing up the Titan Tote for his trip to grandma's house: "Oh, there's a bottle of wine in here."

My mom: "Oh, good! I'll take that! It'll be something for your grandmother and I to drink on the drive home."

Me: "Yeah, if you actually did that, I'd be really impressed. And then I'd call the cops."

Mom: "Some friend YOU are."

My grandmother, joining in on the Aarwenn trash-fest: "Yeah, thanks a lot, lady. Who are you anyway?"

Me: "Okay, I'm taking the bottle of wine. For myself. THANK you very much."

Mom: "Typical."

Who says we're not related?

Also.

Claire, my Tut-Tee, has expressed her opinion that my Blogging the Relationship posts are not as exciting as they used to be. "Spice it up," were her exact words.

Whatever.

In retaliation I say: I know ten times as many words as you do.

It's Already Been a Week? WHAT?

I saw my Number One Tut-Tee today. "You haven't blogged in awhile," she said, and I said, "I've been busy!" She accepted my answer, which is a good thing because if she had pushed the subject, I would have said, all self-righteously, "I just blogged, like, yesterday!"

There's two things wrong with this. First thing: My Brand New Tut-Tee (yes, a new one!) says "like" so often that in our first meeting I kept a Like O' Meter, so I should really be watching my own use of "like", and second, I blogged nowhere near yesterday. Even like, yesterday. I last blogged A WEEK AGO.

Dammit.

It's sad, really, because I've had lots of stuff going on. Tons of stuff to blog about. The LT has been gone--at his ten-year high school reunion, at the risk of aging him, and I've been doing lots of really neat things. Yes. Neat Things. I know adjectives, I swear.

I've been doing some home improvement, for one thing. I hope to (eventually) post a bunch of pictures from that. I spent a serious amount of money at IKEA. I hung out with someone I've referred to as "Dave's wife Julie" before this, but can now proudly refer to as "my friend Julie." I saw C, she of Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Sanity. Titan and I took ginormous walks. Oh yeah, and I went to work.

It's Sunday night, again, again. Titan is asleep next to me on the sofa, and I'm eating Garlicky Swiss Chard and Tahini Dressing, and for a full discussion of why tonight was the hardest cooking night ever, check out my Other Blog. I'm reflecting over the weekend, which is certainly not the first weekend I've spent without the LT, but rare enough that it's worth at least a little reflection. For example, on the night that Julie hung out, a guy tried to eat my arm.

I'll let that sink in.

Yes, a guy tried to eat my arm. It was was very bizarre. I have had nights before where men followed me around the bar and stuck their noses in my neck (my perfume, that I've worn for years, is a minor celebrity in my hometown) but someone trying to nibble on my arm was pretty new.

Although that level of attention can be uncomfortable, I have to say I hope this magic lasts until MIAMI!

I swear, I SWEAR, there will be a few more posts in the upcoming days before I leave. And on that note, I leave you with this picture of Titan in his vest:

Oh, whoops. Maybe tomorrow?

Hello, I Am Broke

But I had an EXCELLENT time.

An old friend of the LT's came into town this week, mainly just for vacation, and we had a great time going out and spending a great deal of money.

We ate out, we drank, we ate out some more. Then she and I bought clothes and ate out some more. And then...well, you get the picture.

LT and I drove her to the plane today and proceeded to do the only thing we knew that was free, i.e., eat leftovers from all the days we went out and then go on a long walk with the pooch.

As of now I am sitting on my sofa, thanking Blog that I get a bunch of new tutoring students AND (supposedly) my raise, because otherwise I'd be begging on the street. And I'm yawning. A lot. The Dawg and I are both exhausted. He was curled up next to me just now, and I tried to show Titan a recent (semi-recent) Mythbusters episode, entirely devoted to dogs, and although he usually reacts to barking dogs on television, in this case I may have been a victim of poor timing. On the screen, German Shepherds (Titan's own breed!) (mainly) did their guard dog thing, bloodhounds bayed, and Alaskan Malamutes (Titan's other breed!) howled, and what did Titan do? He snored.

Maybe I'll try again when he's more awake. The man is in his sixties, after all. Sadly, I don't have the same excuse, and I'm just as tired. 'Night.

Random Thursday Thoughts

Author's Tolerance Misplaced, Sense of Righteous Outrage Takes Over

I saw a bumpersticker on my way into the Lazy B today that read: "Marriage is One Man, One Woman. Visit: www.NoGayMarriage.com."

Someone who is more compassionate may have the courage to visit that site; I sure haven't. Much like I don't visit the site of the National Vanguard, or whatever the heck they're calling the Neo KKK these days. I just don't want to see that much hate before my first cup of coffee. Of course, it's possible that the owner of the car and bumper sticker simply believes anything his or her church tells him or her, and got that sticker out of a welcome packet, and hasn't done any critical thinking, so that this bumper sticker displays ignorance, and not hate, but I think it's unlikely.

But ignorance does happen. It reminds me of an episode several years ago in which a professor at University of Indiana Bloomington wrote in his personal blog, "Why don't they keep gay people from having childcare jobs, since they're so likely to be child molesters?" There was a huge storm following this post, in which several people challenged the professor to present his facts, and said professor was flabbergasted when people asked him for facts. Didn't everyone just know that gay people are child molesters? The poor guy was even more flabbergasted when he couldn't find any facts to support his assumption. The rest of the university was much more flabbergasted that one of their professors seemed to be unaware of the importance of "facts" in scientific research, and fired him. (Last I heard.)

Being Frugal Still Exciting to Author, Still Boring to Blog Audience

I have learned: driving down to the ferry after six and parking on the street, as long as you can manage to retrieve your car before eight am the next day, is the cheapest and fastest option to get to Bremerton. Parking: free. Time to drive: Maybe 12, the way I drive, if you head east on Aloha and take 12th Ave south all the way to Yesler.

What is not frugal: having houseguests. LT has old friends from high school in town this week, and we have eaten dinner out or had drinks every night so far this week. And I haven't had time to go the grocery store, so I'm buying my LUNCH, too. It's lovely, but terrible for the swimsuit figure (thirteen days until I leave for Miami!)

It's okay, I have totally given up on having a hot figure for Miami. I'll try to rock a Marilyn Monroe aesthetic.(Marilyn Monroe was a size 14, according to legend, although that probably translates to a size 10 in present-day vanity sizing).

Only slightly more tan, I hope.

Titan Receives Birthday Present, Not So Thrilled

But it does not matter, because I love it, and what humans think is all that counts, right? RIGHT?

Titan's birthday present was this K-9 Cooling Vest, the first piece of clothing he's ever owned. He doesn't much like wearing it, but the thing works like gangbusters--he doesn't even pant on hot days! It's really amazing. And it assuages my owner guilt that I don't make time to take him to play in the water every day, especially in the summer. And like I said. What I think is all that matters.

Blogging the Relationship, #18

The LT mentioned that I hadn’t done one of these in awhile, and that is indeed the case—but not because we’re not dating or talking anymore. I used to do them a lot, especially at the start of our relationship—we communicated well and were from very different backgrounds, so it was a kick to see how different—and how similar—we were, not to mention we spent every waking moment together, so there was a lot to blog.

Recently, things have been changing so much—LT’s getting out of the Navy! LT’s NOT getting out of the Navy! LT’s getting out in August! LT’s getting out in January—and we’ve had so many social engagements that a lot of our time has been spent strategizing, planning, and traveling.

Oh, and going to weddings. (The bane of my existence.) (Except for yours, T-Town.) But at any rate, we’ve mainly been doing stuff, not really chatting, and there hasn’t been much to blog that wouldn’t have required a map and a ten-minute explanation of the event, and no one wants that. Do you?

But just this weekend we got to run away together to Seaside. Yes, that is actually the name of the town. It’s a town…on the sea. Seaside. And it also happens to be the host of the largest amateur volleyball tournament in the country, and even though I hadn’t played volleyball since sixth grade P.E. and had bad memories in any case, one of LT’s old high school friends, now in Phoenix, is pretty big into volleyball and was going to this tournament, and the LT and I thought—why not?

So we ran away to the beach, leaving everything else behind, and had a magnificent time. I even played volleyball.

But the coolest part was that the LT and I got to…you know, TALK. When you’re stuck in a car with someone for ten hours round-trip, there’s not much else you can do. We talked about movies I wanted to see (Stardust) and meat substitutes (generally a bad idea) and our friends and what we’re going to do with his houseguests (LT has TWO ex-girlfriends coming into town, and they’re BOTH staying with him!) and fashion (!) and all sorts of stuff. It was nice.

And, of course, the hanging out on the beach wasn’t too bad, either.

Anyway, I'm now home with a dog who was spoiled all weekend by visiting family, a dirty apartment, and the worst traffic to hit I-5 since the Viaduct scare. And fifteen houseguests arriving. Fun, fun! If only the sun would come out.

My House is Filled with Fruit Flies and I Can't Take My Trash Out

Also I have nine things overdue from the library and some of them are CDs, and it's very gray here (this summer has been a much more typical Northwest summer than our previous summers, perhaps global warming is more of a myth after all) and for some reason neither the recycling nor the trash has been picked up from my apartment building in what seems like weeks, and I am not happy about it. At all.

However, in happier news, I did get to go to The Sale. Yes, THAT sale,, one of the main reasons to live in Seattle, in my opinion. I missed it last year and was distraught, much to the LT's bemusement, and was overjoyed that my aunt, my mother and myself got to go this year. We shopped until we dropped, and I haven't dared to look at my credit card yet, but I'm pretty sure I'm not in the poorhouse. Yet.

And in much MUCH happier news, I have bought a motorcycle helmet! The LT has bought a motorcycle, you see, and in order to ride on said motorcycle I need a motorcycle helmet, which I have finally bought last night and am super happy about it. It's plain silver, a full face helmet, and it's perfect.

Final note for Monday: RIP Aarwenn's microwave, which she bought not more than two and a half years ago and now refuses to cook. It does everything else--keep time, run a timer, all the lights come on--but it refuses to cook and the terrible Westinghouse people have screwed on the back with special fasteners that cannot be removed. T-Town, reading this, will remember that she and I had a similar issue with a Sharp Microwave that I ALSO ruined (with a baked potato) and she henceforth went out and bought a simple, twenty-dollar microwave that could be fixed if necessary, although of course it wouldn't be worth it to fix a twenty-dollar microwave.

Apparently I didn't learn from that experience and did not check the back of my Westinghouse microwave, being distracted as I was from its gorgeous dark gray color and general Jetsons style. (Really. It was pretty.) One might also point out that I didn't respect its beauty enough, as I moved five or six times in the two years that I owned it and I can't promise I always treated it perfectly, probably leading to its early demise.

Too bad. It was a very pretty microwave.

Finally, a Day Off

...and I spend it by blogging, of course!

As everybody local has noticed, the Blue Angels are in town for Seafair this weekend, as mentioned here, (albeit nastily). But don't mind them--or mind me minding them--as I'm a little pissed at that blog anyway. That blog mainly covers 15th Street in Capitol Hill, and they wanted someone to take over the Broadway Blog, which naturally I jumped at...but did they pick me? No.

I hope that guy's good, that's all I can say.

I planned to wash dishes today--I really did--and then this morning (or maybe afternoon) before I was really too awake, I was about to start washing when my elbow acted of its own accord and knocked a wineglass off the counter, sending shards of glass flying everywhere on my kitchen floor, right as I was trying to feed the dog. I froze, of course--suddenly I had glass everywhere and Titan was calmly eating his breakfast as if nothing had happened. I moved his food out of the kitchen, checking it carefully (almost gone anyway) and rinsed out his water dish, which had what seemed like hundreds of little glass shards floating on top. Not having a broom and having run out of swiffer cloths, I had no choice but to vacuum, which may not have been the best idea, but it got the kitchen clean enough for me to leave, which I had to do to buy a broom.

Of course, I also happened to swing by the Wayward Cafe and eat a full breakfast along with a peanut butter-chocolate square, just like the ones my mother used to make, and also return some shoes and also maybe buy some hot rollers and ALSO, finally, buy a broom. But I swear all those things were necessary. I swear.

After the busy-ness of last weekend, with a wedding, camping, Capitol Hill Block Party, a family reunion, and tutoring, I'm looking forward to this weekend being slightly more chill. On the radar: LT, our friend Dave, myself and a few others hitting The Ave tonight. Nordstrom's Sale with my mother and aunt tomorrow morning. (A Seattle tradition.) Motorcycle helmet shopping (!) tomorrow afternoon. House party tomorrow night. An oil change. And, of course, tutoring.

And I swear that is slow compared to LAST weekend.

Pictures!

LT and I, dressed up,

Leslie and I hugging,

Myself, posing by a fountain.

Leslie and Eric got married at the Thornewood Castle, a gorgeous manor house here in the South Sound.



These two taken by the LT or myself.

This one taken from the website of Thornewood Castle.

It was really stunning.

Off to shower and primp--it's 4:20 pm, and the weekend is fast approaching!

What Can Keep a Girl Up at 3:30 in the Morning?

A MAN, of course.

And I refer to just one man: Mr. Potter.

Yes, I have finally got my hands on a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I have read it, and I should be beaten heavily for doing such a thing to myself on a work night. It is three thirty in the morning and my eyes hurt, and I am going to bed for the next three hours. Everyone wish me luck.

Wiped out and Working

One of the interesting things about getting paid for your brainwork, with its definite intangible qualities, as opposed to getting paid for more visible work like (for example) running around waiting tables, is that your work is definitely cyclical. Some days you get to enjoy the results of your brainwork, days on which you write reports, attend important meetings in which Decisions Get Made, and tell your boss things like, "The Air Filtration team loves me!"

And then are days--that stretch into weeks, that stretch into months--in which you sit on your rear, read some reports, and do basically nothing.

Or at least it FEELS like nothing.

And while those times are happening, I'm worried and stressed out. I read as much as I can, drop by my bosses' office, try to arrange meetings with people--and nothing happens. I sit on my rear for months and feel guilty about it, terrible slow-motion knawing-away-at-me guilt, but there's nothing I can do about the nature of the business, and that makes me feel out of control and stressed about it, like I'm drifting along a pretty lake and pretty soon, with no warning, a gigantic pleasure cruiser will come along, and WHAM.

That never happens. Although this happens every summer, this period of downtime, I haven't dropped the ball yet, no one has suggested to me that I'm not working enough. But the possibility that they might--that eats away at me.

So let me just say that even though I'm dead exhausted and working on my days off, the sudden upswing in activity--just as it always happens--is so much easier to face than a vague, terrifying anxiety, and therefore even though I have fifteen social events to attend this weekend and only 24 hours in the day and people keep scheduling meetings on my days off and I can't take a break for the next two months, I feel great.

Also, my friend BL is in town--a very old friend from college--and I fully expect to kick it, as the kids say, with both him and assorted friends and motley hangers-on every night this week, and it will be awesome.

Send coffee.

The Birds and the Bees

T-Town, who is not dead but indeed is married, emailed me today to complain about her lack of exposure on this blog. "I do not feel that I have done anything so grievous as to be demoted to a once a month supporting character in the drama of your life," she wrote, "and furthermore, I object to being referred to as "panicked" the morning of my wedding. I think I was quite calm, thankyouverymuch! So if you could simply print a retraction of the aforementioned comment about my mental state the morning of my wedding and begin to include me in more of your online life, that would be great. Thanks."

Let it heretofore be said: T-Town was NOT panicked on the morning of her wedding. In fact she was remarkably calm. I admit to stretching the truth to make a funny blog post, so sue me. Calm brides are just not as funny as panicked ones. I have spoken.

Moving on: I wrote that I had appreciated the laugh, and that the LT had made me laugh that day too, as he called me and said, "HIBABY!" and hung up, just like that. And she wrote the following, which is too good not to share:

"I'm glad I could make you laugh. I am sometimes afraid that people will not understand my sarcasm over the Internet, but you always seem to get it.


For example: here at the Pierce County Office, there tends to be three kinds of people:

1. People who have had their sense of humor beaten out of them by working for The Man
2. People who are so tired of working for The Man they communicate entirely in bitter sarcasm, and
3. People who are too stupid or too new to feel as though their soul has been eaten by The Man.

And the other day there was a post on the Intranet want ads that displayed all of this very well. It was a contentious debate over how to rid your house of unwanted bees and the war raged on for three days.

The original poster was a #2. He explained that he had bees living under his house and before he sprayed them with gasoline and torched them out, he figured he would ask if anyone had a better idea.

The next poster was a #3 and he explained that gasoline is noxious and would probably kill the bees even if you did not light it on fire.

The next poster was a #1 and she said that bees are harmless and valuable and gave him the contact information of five area beekeepers he could contact to come "reclaim" his bees.

The next poster was also a #1 who suggested that the original poster would be put on some type of arson watch list if he was not careful about his posts from now on.

Then the original poster explained that these are not honey bees and he had no real intention of burning his hose down he just wanted some advice on riding his home of bees.

Enter a new poster obviously a #3 of the "new" variety, who suggested Simple Green, actually a reasonable suggestion...

...And then another #1 responded with, "O M G PLEASE TELL ME THAT YOU ARE JOKING....GASOLINE !!!!! AND UNDER THE HOUSE NO LESS !!!!!!!!. TALK ABOUT YOUR STUPID HUMAN TRICKS !!!!"

It went on and on this way with people cracking jokes about "igniting a firestorm of controversy" and other people berating people for joking about arson until...

The only sane person finally suggested that the man with the bee problem should acquire some Mexican killer bees to kill the bees he has.

A perfect solution! The End.

All Discombobulated

...a word that is not used often enough, I think.

LT and I were talking on the phone a few nights ago, and our chat turned to upcoming events, and people coming into town, and more weddings and trips we were taking and camping trips and all sorts of other things, and by the time we were done I felt like I should have gotten out my calendar. But since I hadn't done that, I was going crazy trying to remember everything instead, and my brain is now twitched so far ahead that I just looked at this blog and was SHOCKED to see that I had only written five posts in July. And then I was even more shocked to realize that indeed we are only halfway THROUGH July, and I still have half a month to go!

Which is good, because although the LT and I have gone camping, taken Titan to the beach, and also Titan and I stroll through a wading pool on warm evenings, therefore celebrating summer in a small, citified way, we have not yet played around with the sailboat, an important thing to do as much as possible every summer. In fact, I have bought a new swimsuit for just such an occasion.

La la la. Onto Aarwenn Summer Culture.

Watching

Burn Notice and Psych, both lots of fun.

Listening To

Back To Basics

Handsome Boy Modeling School

Lakme

Blue Scholars

Tombraider Soundtrack

Eating

Fruit by the pound. Hooray summer in the PNW.

Drinking

Strawberry and banana daiquiris. With a little added spinach and flax oil, you can convince yourself it's good for you.

Hooray for summer!

Also, a Note

I was just searching my posts and I can't find a mention of this at all! What is WRONG with me??

Happy One Year Anniversary a month late, sweetie! (Could I just say Happy 13-Month Anniversary?)

For our one year, we went out to dinner, and the LT got me two dozen of the most gorgeous, perfect roses I have ever seen:




They wouldn't even all fit in the same vase. They were stunning. They made my whole apartment look better. Thank you, love.

"Just Back Up Over That Tree!"

When we last left our heroine and her faithful companions, they were starting on a long, slow ride in the back of a sheriff's truck, away from a jeep our heroine thought she might never see again.

The sheriff dropped us off at our campsite with nary a lecture, and we moped around (or at least I did) trying to figure out what the hell we were going to do. We had trapped the Jeep on a path that couldn't even be called a road; there was almost no track, meaning that anyone we got to bail us out would need both a car that could get back there AND a towing winch.

We took a walk down the camping road, more for something to do with Titan than for any other reason, and lo and behold: we saw a great big rig with a towing winch being loaded onto a trailer. The three of us looked at each other, and agreed that even though they (the people with the four-wheeling rig) appeared to be leaving, they were our only shot, and we might as well try. As we approached, I asked the LT to ask them, and he looked at me. "You'll have a better chance," he said, a serious compliment to a woman who hadn't showered or combed her hair in four days.

We approached. I had no idea what to say. How DO you ask strangers to give up their plans and drive forty minutes up a mountain road to bail YOU out?

I stated our case, finishing by saying, "So, I was wondering if you could drive us back up there and help us tow out my Jeep."

The two guys looked at each other.

"Sure," the driver said, the sweetest sound I had ever heard. "We can do that. Give me a few minutes to set up and come on back."

LT, Dave and I ran back to our campsite with Titan, tied him back up, and ran back down the road. We did our best to make ourselves useful and complimented everyone effusively, and before too long, we were riding in the back of another pick up truck, pulling a four-wheeling rig behind us and praying the Jeep was still there.

Me, standing next to the rig that became our savior. The guy who owns it is under it. Notice the pretty sunshine and how cold I am--the mountain altitude bites through a sweatshirt in a hurry.

The rig, in position, with the winch.

LT and I watching the Jeep's progress. Notice how the rear passenger tire is actually floating. This is NOT optimal.

After a few minutes, we realized that the ground under the Jeep was so soft that, as the winch pulled, it was simply eroding the ground under it, not climbing back on TOP of the ground as we hoped it would. The Jeep was just scraping out the hillside like a big shovel. This was putting extra stress on the winch and compromising our leverage, none too strong in the first place. New steps had to be taken.

The guys backed their rig up OVER a tree, to solidify its bracing, and someone had to get in the Jeep and steer--and apply the brake--as the boys rearranged the winching. That someone was me. LT offered, but it was my Jeep, and if it was going anywhere, I was driving it.

LT giving me helpful instructions like, "Let the clutch out veeerrrrry slowly. If you pop it, the sudden stress on the winch could--although it's unlikely--snap it."

Coming around...

Success! (No picture.)

Posing with my rescuers, and my boyfriend.

Off the mountain WITH Jeep.

And that, ladies, and gentleman, is how you get the donkey to come down the minaret.

Moral of the story: don't get the donkey up there in the first place.

Ah, Seattle

There are weeks--or weekends, rather--when I think I get out a fair amount, that I actively explore this city that is mine, an amazing city that is the destination of so many pilgrimages.

And then I learn about the Pioneer Square Fire Festival, and an art installation in my very own park, which is sadly gone. (The temporary quality being, of course, once of the characteristics of an art installation.)

If you have five minutes, want to watch something trippy and relaxing, and need to get your art in for the day, definitely watch the video.



Anyway, it's times like these when I think, "Damn, what do I DO with my time?"

Sigh.

Whew! Wedding is over!

No, not MY wedding! T-Town's wedding, the wedding of the year, the wedding that has consumed everyone's thoughts for at least a month, or at least all of MY thoughts, or at least all of my thoughts that weren't devoted to work or my novel or my dog, or my cousin in town, or my boyfriend or the three other college friends coming into town in the next few weeks.

The wedding went very smoothly, considering the size of the bridal party and the number of completely slacker bridesmaids (moi) and the number of things that had to be coordinated at the last minute. For example: as the wedding was at noon, and the pictures were first, we were up at SIX. Six. In the morning. Six grumpy bridesmaids, one panicked bride, having all spent the night together in a hotel room after a rehearsal, up at six in the morning to start getting our hair done at seven.

I do not do early well.

But fortunately, after enough caffeine, we woke up:

Sassy!

More about this coming in a later post, I promise this time, no excuses. Because I have a ton of other pictures to post, from my cousin and her fiance visiting me (hi, guys!) and about a guy on a motorcycle, and a bunch of other things. Yes. I swear.

Random Pictures:

Pretty Titan.

LT and I on our one-year anniversary.

Next up: How did my Jeep get off that mountain, already?

Update on my Soda Bread

It molded in the hot weather while I was gone. Boo.

On the one hand, it's okay, because it cost just the price of a tiny bit of flour to make and at least Titan didn't get it, but on the other hand, boo that my time and energy to make bread were wasted! Boo! Stupid bread boo!

Off to Trader Joe's again. (I have time and money to go the grocery store, and yes--I successfully avoided going last week when I didn't have the budget! Yay!

Adventures in Housekeeping

In Which I Discover How to Treat a Rust Stain

...Sadly, AFTER I tried to treat it with bleach. Bleach had just whitened my sink and I was about to use it on my bathtub. Why wouldn't I splash a little on a rust-stained counter?

Because the oxidizing action in bleach SETS rust stains, which are themselves a reaction of metal and oxygen. I can't believe I have a degree in chemical engineering and still didn't think that one through. Now instead of a small rust pan-ring on my counter, I have a large orange diagram of an ameoba.

In Which I Set My Kitchen On Fire

I've flirted with this for some time, as I often turn my oil on very high even for non-high-heat things like sauteing, but finally it happened: the oil in the pan caught on fire. Nice big orange fire, too--nice red flames. I looked at my pan, and said, out loud, "My kitchen's on fire," very calmly if I do say so myself. LT, who happened to be at my house at the time, rushed in. I said, "Oil fire," he looked around for anything solid (NEVER put out an oil fire with water!) I handed him a gigantic bag of baking soda, which was not open. "Knife," I said, handing him a knife. He opened it with a few cuts and dumped the baking soda on the fire. Crisis averted. Later he said, "At least I know you don't panic in a fire," and I appreciated this, although I felt pretty panicky at the time--I had to have him come in and put it out!

In Which I Make Soda Bread

I am not Irish at all, but between my name, my reddish hair, and my strong angular features, I swear something weird happens when I walk into an Irish bar. Suddenly my freckles show up and my hair glows real, actual, red; fiddles start playing in the background. I've had people ask me how long I've been in the States. I should learn an Irish accent just to give them a thrill. (Often I pretend to be Irish, actually, even in real life, because no one believes me when I claim I'm a mix of various Scandinavian countries with a little Native thrown in.)

Anyway, even if I'm often mistaken for Irish even though I'm not--that doesn't mean I can't make soda bread, long thought to be an Irish invention when all they had was potatoes and no yeast. It can be made with any kind of flour, gets its rising action from a combination of vinegar and baking soda, and doesn't require special dough rising cycles--you just throw the dough together and stick in a pre-heated oven. Since Titan ate my second loaf of bread this week, I went ahead and tried soda bread instead, since I have several more days to go before I can visit the grocery store--and even when I do, I can only spend negative thirteen dollars. Yes. I am over The Grocery Budget. It turned out fine, although a little heavy. Next time I might glaze the outside, which will give it a crisper crust, and actually mix the wet and dry ingredients separately, which will allow more overlap of the baking soda and vinegar. The taste is quite nice, though--a nice sweet flour flavor. (No yeast taste. Odd.)

In Which I Learn to Apply Contact Paper

I always thought contact paper was for frumps with too many cats. But then I saw some very nice applications in some of my favorite design magazines, and I looked at my plain brown shelf in my kitchen, and I thought, "Hmmm!" So I ordered some nice black and white checked contact paper, looked rather like the pattern used on racing flags, and also threw some tan and green printed diamond paper in for good measure. (It looked vaguely harlequin-like on the website.) The rolls came in about two weeks ago; I cheered at the black-and-white, frowned at the tan-and-green, and let the rolls site under my entry table for weeks. Finally, yesterday, I had a chance to clear off the ugly wooden shelf and apply the black and white.

It's surprisingly hard to apply a very, very long sheet of contact paper with no wrinkles or bumps, but I managed it--I peeled one end off first, stuck it down evenly, and then peeled the paper from under the patterned side in stages, pressing as I went. No, no pics--sorry. But boy, does it look good!

In Which I Learn How to Clean My Gas Stove

My particular gas stove top is a bear to clean because the pilot lights are always on, meaning that any sort of cleaning spray I use immediately fumes up--not to mention even the littlest stain on the stove is continually baked onto it by the heat. Finally I hit upon the bright idea of filling a plain spray bottle with water and just spraying the stove down constantly--this got off a majority of stains, especially with a little elbow grease. For tough stains, I sprayed enough water to make a pool on the stove and sprinkled in a little cleaning powder. And then I applied lots and lots of elbow grease. And hey, presto--clean stove!

Even the LT noticed.

And finally, a product plug: the Pet Hair Removal Sponge. (Brand shown is not quite the same brand as the one I have, but the sponge looks identical.) I got this almost a month ago after the pet store guy had rave reviews for it, but I wasn't ready to try it until yesterday. (Who knows why?) I can tell you: IT WORKS. It is absolutely amazing. The pet hair clings to the sponge and balls (or threads) up, eventually rolling off for easy removal. I cleaned the futon and Titan's bed with no electricity, and no "blowback" from the vacuum! Amazing!

Next trick I plan to try: putting aluminum foil on the sofa to prevent Titan jumping up on it. Will it work? I'll share it here.

And I Was All Worried That I Had Nothing to Post

Once upon a time, (aka a few weeks ago) the lovely and breezily elegant Kristy had a burst of creativity. She suddenly remembered her old corporate seminar days, and offered a very lucky ten people the chance to field Deep and Important Questions from her and answer them on their blogs!

And I thought, What a fabulous idea! I love talking about myself and answering random questions, and I love Kristy! I will volunteer! And I did!

And then I completely forgot about the whole thing.

But never fear, Kristy. I have finally answered them. And let me just take this moment to say that it is Kristy, and Kristy ALONE, who got me into this fabulous world of blogspot and introduced me to Crazy Aunt Purl, and my life will never be the same again. (Also, apparently Firefox spellcheck doesn't recognize Blogspot or Spellcheck as words. That just seems wrong, somehow.)

Without further adieu, onto the questions!

1. You've been kidnapped by crazed plastic surgeons. They will release you, of course, on the condition that you let them perform ONE feat of cosmetic surgery. What do you do?

This one is super easy: my...okay, no it's not. My boyfriend reads this blog!

Um...think, Aarwenn, think...well, okay, I'll just be honest. I would have them slim my thighs. If I could change one thing about my body, it would be my thighs--I know, I know, they're muscled and womanly, but hey. She asked me.

2. Poof! You are The Queen of Kingdom Fabulous. You have devoted royal subjects and are allowed -- as is the decree of this land -- three servant-like people who are on-hand all the time. Each of them have very specific roles; they each assist you with a specific duty. The question is, if you did have three people who tended to you every day, taking care of one of your needs, what would those three things be?

This one, too, seemed easy until I tried to answer it! Hmmmm, three servants, three specific duties...okay. I would have one collect all the dog hair in my house. Her job would be defined by dog hair, be it bedroom, bathroom, sofa, on the floor, on my clothes, whatever. She would be the Anti Dog-Hair Zen Master. I would have another one do my laundry, if that's not too many subtasks under one--she'd wash, dry, fold, and iron. Laundry Zen Master. And finally, when I wasn't racing my many motorcycles or sports cars, for everyday driving, I'd get a damn driver! All I want to do is read while I'm in the car! (Too many years of being an only child and accompanying my mother to work and back, I fear.)

3. What's the hardest you ever remember laughing?

During Bambi, at the ice-skating scene. The image of Bambi losing his traction on the ice and skidding into a snowbank with Thumper on his nose STILL makes me giggle.

4. In what role was Michael Keaton sexiest? Why do you think so?

I have only ever seen Michael Keaton in one movie, and it was Batman Returns. Therefore.

5. What's one bit of trivia that you know and love to be able to throw out every now and again to (maybe) perhaps the company you're in?

76.4 percent of statistics are made up on the spot! No? Okay, I admit that I told people that a few times, and then the joke got very old--which didn't deter other people from telling me the same joke, apparently. My favorite new statistic for environmental supporters is this: in Puget Sound alone, the Lazy B's employees drive a total of ONE MILLION MILES A DAY.

It's pretty amazing.

The author would like to thank Kristy, Blogspot, and most importantly...people like you.

New Blog Widget Announcement

Don't pretend like you didn't notice, you totally did, I saw you look over in my sidebar.

Moving on.

The absolute BEST thing on the internet today--seriously, you can skip everything else, except maybe perusing my webspace--is this article in Wired. I have reprinted the entire thing below, because the risk that you might not read it if I left it as a link was just too much to bear.

Narcissistic Blog Disorder and Other Conditions of Online Kookery
Lore Sjöberg

The AMA recently suggested that perhaps gaming addiction should be considered as a sub-category of internet addiction. This is a step in the right direction. Clearly "internet addiction" doesn't begin to cover the realm of bizarre and pathological behaviors the internet inspires. Herewith a list of afflictions and syndromes I feel should be added to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders IV, or perhaps the DSM IV.Ib.

Narcissistic Blog Disorder

This disorder is characterized by the creation of a blog in which the individual consistently denigrates not only the opinions of others, but the very fact that others have opinions, saying things like "nobody cares what some overpaid starlet has to say about global warming" and "nobody cares what some crusty career politician thinks is wrong with society today." Simultaneously, the individual assumes that people do care about what he or she has to say, in spite of the individual's only political or activist experience being watching the movie Dave twice.

Bookmark Loop Disorder

Web bookmarks remain a popular way to waste time when one should be working. You check a site or two, get something done for a little while, then check your bookmarks again. Careful research, however, has shown that at a certain point the list of bookmarks grows, the "get something done" period shrinks, until the reader goes directly from the end of the list back to the top, just in case there are new updates. Once entered, this "bookmark loop state" often cannot be broken until a couple hours after a sane bedtime.

E-mail Gullibility Syndrome

Adults who preserve a healthy skepticism when people knock on their door asking for assistance or political support often lose that sense of suspicion when they first receive an e-mail account. Every caution about the dangers of kiwi fruit, every warning that the U.S. Congress is about to outlaw Santa Claus and every plea for assistance from deposed royalty is treated with utmost credulity and, where appropriate, forwarded to a dozen of the recipient's long-suffering friends and family members. Luckily this is usually a self-resolving disorder, disappearing after two years or $30,000 lost, whichever comes first.

Atemporal Fad Disorder

The desire to participate in an internet fad is considered by psychologists to be a natural, if sometimes unfortunate, aspect of human nature. Some individuals, however, appear to have a clinical inability to recognize the fleeting nature of fads, and continue to attempt to participate after everyone else is sick to death of the whole thing. The current diagnostic criterion is "the use of the phrase 'all your base are belong to us' in any non-ironic context" but in 2010 it is expected to be expanded to include any suggestion that a photo depicts a cat interacting with an invisible object.

Pugilistic Discussion Syndrome

In this curious form of aphasia, the subject is unable to distinguish between a discussion and a contest. The subject approaches any online forum as a sort of playing field, and attempts to "win" the discussion by any means necessary. The rules of the imaginary contest are apparently clear to the individual as he or she will often point out when others break them, but when asked to outline these rules the individual is reluctant, perhaps not wishing to confer an "advantage" on any "opponents." The conditions for winning are similarly difficult to pin down, although in some cases the individual will declare himself the winner of a discussion that, to all others, appears to be ongoing.

Amusement Identify Disorder

This is a sort of inverse cousin to Pugilistic Discussion Syndrome, in which the individual has difficulty distinguishing between an online game and real life. The individual sees his or her online character as being as "real" as the individual's real-world self, if not more so. One manifestation of this disorder is the tendency to treat game accomplishments such as impressive magic items or guild leadership as the equivalent of real-life accomplishments like pursuing a successful career or raising a family. In addition to impairing the individual's personal growth in the real world, this disorder also makes them extremely boring at parties.

Huge props and credit to Lore Sjöberg, in case you didn't notice his name earlier. According to his bio, Lore was born helpless, nude and unable to provide for himself, Lore Sjoberg eventually overcame these handicaps to suffer from at least two of the above afflictions.

The blog author herself also suffers from at least two specific afflictions in the list above.