The Fish Experiment (part 2 of 2)

I know you've all been waiting with baited breath for the rest of the fish story (get it? BAITed? Oh, whatever...).

So I get home with the scallops in hand. SEA scallops by the way, for those of you who needed to know. As far as I know, there are no free range scallops. So on to the cooking...

Since I realized that 1 pound of SEA scallops is more than 1 frying pan can handle, I decided to take the experiment a step further...TWO types of preparation techniques. TWO pans, folks... don't try this at home! Leave to us folks that have had our Hepititis A shot recently.

So, TWO frying pans. ONE pound of scallops. Still with me?

In Pan #1, I put olive oil, a pressed garlic clove, 1/4 stick of butter (REAL butter, mind you), some green onion, white wine vinegar and lemon juice. Don't ask me measurements...I was in an Emerill mood, yelling "BAM!" and "BOOM!" and lots of cursing (kid-friendly of course).

In Pan #2, I put olive oil, a pressed garlic clove, 1/4 stick of butter, some green onion, (my creativeness only goes so far!), some of the white wine that we had with dinner (Chardonnay for you keeping score at home). Now for the little critters...

Did I mention the flour? Yoda told me to dry the scallops a tad and roll them in flour, so I did that and lovingly put them in the pans. I forgot the "start with the handle" thing, so I backtracked and put them in the right order. They kept pushing and shoving to move to the front of the line, so I had to knock some scallop heads. I also wasn't sure where the inevitable "leftover ones that had to go in the middle" were in the pecking order. Cooking is so complicated!

They cooked. I flipped. I drank some wine. I flipped. They cooked. I drank more wine. Etc., etc., etc. When the heavens parted and Neptune, King of the Sea Scallops cried, "THE SCALLOPS ARE DONE NOW", I took them out of the pan and served them. We had some stir-fried veggies on the side, by the way.

Like any good experimentor, I separated the Pan #1 and #2 results (and gave Junior all the broken apart scallops pieces, since we were fairly sure he wouldn't like them) and taste-tested.

And the winner was.....drumroll, please...Pan #1.

From our post-dinner analysis with John Madden, we decided that since Pan #1 had less liquid (read: wine), the garlic stuck a bit more to the scallops and gave them a bolder flavor. The ones with the wine were just a little wimpy tasting.

And with the luck of a first time seafood-cooker (and guidance from my buddy Neptune), I cooked them for just the right amount of time. They were nice and juicy and not dry at all. Of course, we kept looking at their inside middles as if they would be pink if not cooked, like chicken. Unfortunatley, scallops have no "tell" like chicken does. If pressed, I would tell you that I cooked them for the amount of time it takes me to drink one glass of wine. That's about the right cooking time.

And thus ends the Scallop Saga. But feel free to keep giving me your seafood tips and side dish ideas. I'm listening...

The Fish Experiment 2 (part 1 of 2)

Some friends and I went to Bluestem this past Saturday and someone ordered scallops. I had never had a scallop, but they looked interesting, in a small white half-dollar pancake sorta way. I tried it...and I liked it! So I decided we must try cooking scallops at home.

I ventured forth to Hen House, since my local Price Chopper doesn't have much seafood. It does have good MEAT though. Yum. Anyhow, I found the seafood section, complete with fake fishing nets strung from the ceiling and fake seagull sounds which auto-repeated every few seconds. No, I'm not kidding folks. If I worked there, I would go mad from the "RAWK!" seagull sounds over and over and over and over and...well you get the picture.

So there's this 75-year-old dude working the seafood counter and so I quickly surveyed the scallops and confidentally proclaimed, "I'll take a pound of scallops, please". Later I would discover that a pound of scallops is a little much for 2 1/2 people.

As he scooped the scallops into a bag, I conversationally asked, "So...how do I know when they are done?"

He asked, "Howya cookin' 'em?" Hmmm....hadn't really thought that one over yet.

"Er...frying them, with some wine and garlic". Whew! Good answer, I think.

"WINE?!" he exclaimed. "Sweet or dry wine?" Uh-oh. What's the right answer here?

"Sweet?" Not so confident now.

"SWEET?!" Oops. Wrong answer. Dam!

"Well, don't put a lot of wine in there. Actually don't put it in until the end. Don't put a lot in. Or it will end up tasting like fruitcake!" Dude...just say not to use sweet wine. Don't fuck with me.

"Uh...okay" Just wanting to get the hell out now...and save my dignity. But I still needed an important bit of information.

"So do I cook them for a certain length of time?" C'mon old guy, throw me a bone here...

"Oh no...don't cook them for a period of time, just cook them until they are brown. Flip them every 20 seconds or so. Also, start at the handle of the frying pan and put them in a circle around the pan. That way you'll know which one needs to be flipped first." Ah! Persistance pays off! But Yoda was to impart some even juicier info...

"Roll them in flour" he said, "They'll brown up real nice and the flavors will hold better." Martha Stewart...watch out. I'm armed with scallop-cookin' gold now!

I thanked him 100 times or so and ran from the seagull sounds to buy my $16 worth of scallops.

(continued tomorrow... Sorry! I gotta work now...)

The Fish Experiment

Loving Husband & I cooked fish for the first time tonight. Yes, the first time. Hey, we are both born and bred in the Midwest. We can make a kick-ass steak, but fish has just eluded us for, er, almost four decades.

We bought some tilapia fillets at our favorite meat counter. The grand total was $6.00. Six bucks! So I'm wondering...Why do fancy-smancy restaurants charge $18 for tilapia? Oh yeah, because people like us are too intimidated to cook fish at home.

Loving Husband was the brave chef. I provided the recipe. Thanks Cagey! For each fillet, we put olive oil on a sheet of aluminum foil, rolled each fillet in it and put the fillet in the middle, then covered it with a bit of white wine, lemon juice, green onion, roma tomato and capers. Then wrapped each package up and threw it on the grill for 8 minutes. We served it on a bed of rice. Can I get a "YUM"?

It probably could have used a bit more of SOMETHING. Not sure what. Garlic? Salt? Onion? We weren't sure and this was our first time, so we didn't want to overpower the fish with too much other flavor.

I also wasn't sold on our side dish of plain, white rice. What else goes well with fish? Any ideas? I'd love them, if you've got some good fish side dishes.

Had I known that fish was this easy (and FAST - only 8 minutes to cook!), I would have started cooking it long ago! As long as it's a fish FILLET and not anything resembling an actual, live FISH, I'm good to go.

More about my food-with-a-face aversion in a later posting...

Ah! New Carpet.

It's 11:45pm and I have new carpet. Do you?

It's nice. Squooshy soft and firm and no dog vomit, mud, coffee, red wine, dog drool, blood, crayon, nor pee stains in sight. It's the little things in life that please us most.

We could have moved! We had most of our possessions, boxed, down on our first floor. We were told to do this by the carpet company. "Move all your nick-nacks, paddy-wacks, and give the dog a bone". Well, something like that. So we did. We worked for four (seemed like forty) days and nights. And the carpet layers bowed at our knees in thanks.

While we were at it, we did about twelve years of spring, summer and fall cleaning, which added up to 3 crammed trash cans, an overflowing recycle bin and a small herd of orphan trash bags huddled around the 3 momma cans. Oh yes, and the mountain of old carpet. Which is STILL HERE. Sitting on our driveway. For 3 days now. We are certain to have the Wrath of the Homeowners Association come down on us very soon.

Was it worth it? Yes. It's almost like a new house now. New carpet smell. No clutter...yet. No overflowing closets. It's very nice. Which no doubt means we will be moving soon. Sigh.

Lights Out!

Last night it stormed. Bad. I personally love storms as they give me a cozy "well I can't go outside, so I might as well settle in and be comfortable" feeling. They also make for great sleeping. Usually. Not last night though. Let me explain...

Storm, storm, storm. Turn on news station to see brightly-colored weather map with weatherwoman describing 50 mph winds, hail, etc. very close to us. See trees in backyard doing the limbo in high wind. Reassure toddler that "rain is fun", "rain makes the grass and trees grow", "rain is good", "see the fun and good rain?". He giggles and points. Loving Husband furrows brow at weatherwoman and eyes the basement door. Lights go out. Weatherwoman disappears. Toddler giggles. Husband says, "Uh-oh" and eyes the basement door again.

Since it's bedtime for bonzo, I take him up and put him in bed. He agrees with the "rain is good for sleeping" theory and dozes right off. We find camping headlamps and walk around lighting candles, only seeing what's directly in front of us, in the thin beam of headlamp light. I realize how much of a habit it is to enter a room and switch the light switch on. I do this about 20 times, berating myself each time. No power, idiot!

With no weatherwoman to watch, Husband settles in on couch and promptly falls asleep in the candlelight. I quickly assess my options. No computer. No microwave. Not tired. I straighten up the kitchen a bit, take out the trash. Feeling like I've done my share of work, I make some tea (we have a gas stove...bonus!) and decide to do some reading. By headlamp, of course. Nice and relaxing. Ah. No guilt of things to do...couldn't do them anyway. All I can do is read. And relax. Ah....

Then around 2:00 (I'm guessing because power was still out and all clocks were dark), Junior starts crying. Dam! It's not really storming anymore, so it's not noise that woke him up. A quick check rules out the typical late-night-awakening reason (POOP!). No poop. Why is he awake and crying? I pass Junior off to Husband, and go let the dogs outside, as they are now standing by the door with legs crossed. I hear coughing then a cry for help. From Husband. Junior has yakked. Vomited. Yelled for Ralph. In his crib. And (of course) on himself. DAM!

I slowly peel the crib sheet and mattress pad off, trying not to get any on me. I can't see well because the lights are still off. I only have a beam of light to work with. Not wanting to deal with the EW!-ness just now, I decide to throw the entire mess into the bathroom tub. I replace the sheet and soothe Junior back to sleep. He feels a bit hot, but not burning hot. And I am too tired to find a thermometer and attempt to take his temperature. We all go back to sleep. Until...

About 4:00am we are awakened by SCREAMING TELEVISION AND LIGHTS!!!! The power is back on and all the things that were turned on are now on again...and LOUD. Guess that wind was pretty noisy earlier in the evening. I put a pillow over my head as Husband sprints downstairs to OFF the TV before it wakes up the dead.

This morning, I groaned and got out of bed, and felt Junior's head. He was still hot, but not burning hot. I went down to eat breakfast with the guys. Junior ate well (Husband did too) and they headed off to daycare (and work). I got in shower, and in the interests of time, skipped the makeup (HORRORS!!!). I was getting dressed when I got a call from daycare. "Junior is not feeling well. He is uncounsolable (sp?). Also he seems to have a slight fever." DAM DAM DAM! Okay, I'll pick him up.

He seems grumpy when I get there, but in good spirits. "I trow up!", he proclaims. "Did he?" I ask his teacher. "No" is the answer. "Oh, you threw up LAST NIGHT." He nods to this. "I trow up". Maybe he's just upset that he threw up. Who knows?

I get him loaded in the car and the little guy babbles and giggles the entire way home and points out all the basketball nets he sees on the way. I keep telling him he's sick, but he's not having any of that. "I sick"..."Go outside?"

Great. I have a two-year-old that knows how to play hookey. Wonderful. BTW, he's fine now. No "trowing up". No fever. And I'm stuck at home watching Baby Einstein and making grilled cheese.

Got Poop?

Over breakfast this morning, I saw Junior shift a bit to one side and heard a "toot" resonate against his plastic booster seat. I waited for him to say, as usual, "Got poop!". He can't tell yet whether it's air or the real stuff moving around down there. But he didn't.

He waited a beat, then looked at me and said, "I darted". I said (as usual), "Huh?", and he repeated "I darted". A few seconds later I made the connection. "Oh, you FARTED.". He nodded and said, "I threw out gas".

The boy's a genius!

Hair-Raising Adventures

No, I can't afford $500 a cut to go to Jonathan Antin, so I venture forth to my local salon. The one by work. The one with the Lamar's Donuts conveniently located next door, so I can get cut and get some "lunch" on my way back to work. A chocolate cream-filled long john qualifies as lunch, right? In my world it does. But I digest...er, I mean digress...

So I went to get my hair cut yesterday, and as I walked into the salon, I noticed that the linoleum floor had been painted. With lots of bright, retina-burning colors. In big splashes. That stopped just short of the front reception desk. "Cool floor" I exclaimed, really not knowing what else to say. And not mentioning the fact that the thick black stripes that had previously adorned the floor were peeking through the new paint treatment. "Thanks!" said the eccentric new owner of the salon, decked out in her low-cut mumu and Pippy-like pigtails (did I mention she was eccentric?), "We finished it late last night". Okay...

As my stylist steered me over to her chair and started the obligatory small talk, I mentioned the floor. She got down close to my ear and started giving me the scoop, in hushed whispers. The owner had, over the weekend, decided to paint the floor of the entire salon. She and her cohorts had entered into the back of the salon, begun painting with a vengence towards the front of the salon, until they realized that their purses (and car keys) were in their purses. In the back of the salon. Across the sea of wet paint. And the back door was locked, thus barring any "run around the building to the back door" solution.

They had called my stylist to have her come let them in. When she got there, she noticed the very strong smell of the polyurethane wafting from the salon. She whispered, "I'm surprised we didn't find them passed out here this morning from all those fumes!". THAT would have made an interesting story, eh?

This new owner is a strange bird of the wildest variety. She's a wannabe artist. But not a good one. Her hair cutting station is decked out with a variety of artistic touches, including a fabric wrap around her chair. I can't imagine how much old hair lives in that stylish wrap. Ew!

Also, I was in another time when she rushed in, in a frenzied state, picked up a little hammer-like tool and hit a gong that I hadn't seen sitting there by the front desk. The noise was deafening (the salon is not that large) and the receptionist and I had to wait for the din to finish (it lasted for about 20 seconds!) before we could finish my transaction. My face had an straight expression of "Oh sure, I see gongs in many stores that I visit on a regular basis...no big deal...yawn", but I nearly peed my pants from the shock of the noise! And she stood there, eyes closed, taking a yoga-like cleansing breath. A gong! Many Gong Show jokes come to mind, but that's just too easy.

It will be about five weeks until my next haircut. I can't imagine what my next visit will expose me to, but I'll bet it will be blog-worthy.

Goofy Ole Bag...or Trendsetter?

While surfing some blogs (do you "surf" blogs? Or is there another trendy verb I should use? Lurk? Peruse? Read?), I discovered that I am not the only Goofy Girl in cyberspace. Sniff-sniff. There is another Goofy Girl. And she has shelled out bucks for her own domain, unlike my cheap ass. I hate her for stealing my domain name, even though I would never cough up bucks to support my blogging habit.

I took a look at her blog, hoping somehow for a kindred spirit. Instead I found a goofy 24-year-old, pictured with a dog (fake? real??) on her head. How goofy is that! This somehow makes me feel old...very old.

She seems excited about her next oil change, collecting mosquito larvae and seeing a new movie about penguins. Like I said...she's 24. Isn't that what all 24-year-olds want? Maybe it's been too long and I don't remember. Could I be getting Alzheimer's? What was I writing about just now?

And just when I think I had absolutely nothing in common with this youngster, she mentions that she's a Survivor fan (hey, me too!) and she writes about a book she recently read, The Kite Runner (hey, I read that book and liked it too!) She writes a lot about food (gotta love her!) and her dog (yep, I'm a softie for the canine species too). And she's an only child (okay now we're getting scary...)

Then I get to the really scary part. She writes "I stole this idea from some person's blog that's a mom." Whoa. Hold up. A mom. I'm a mom. I write about it. Is it Me? ME? Did she steal her blog name from ME?

Wow. The idea is not so bothersome as it is flattering. In fact, I think she just made my day!

The Revenge of the 'Net

Well, I made my goal...and then some.

As some of you have noted, I did not re-appear until, well, until today. This was not by design, and rest assured I have been having some serious Net Withdrawl.

As planned vacation days always seem to go...we got up later than expected, needed more prep than expected, but actually managed to get on bikes and start riding about 11:30am on Friday. After a 2-HOUR RIDE (yes, it was me that suggested "one more trail" Doh!), we packed our bikes up, did a cool-down stretch...and noticed the rain drops. Damn you Weatherman! Damn you Weatherwoman too!

We had to grab some lunch, so maybe it would stop. We did have 3 more hours of Junior-free time and we had planned on hitting the lake in our kayaks for a quick paddle.

We ate lunch and watched the rain pour down....

"What was our Plan B?", Loving Husband asked. "Plan B?" I replied. We made a couple lame attempts at shopping (not our favorite thing and being dressed in muddy bike gear made it so much more fun...NOT), then headed home. We ended up taking a well-needed nap.

So, I was good and avoided the Net, until after midnight. "Yeah, I made my goal!" I declared. I'm going to go check email. "Not so fast," said Loving Husband, "we haven't gotten a signal this afternoon". What!? WHAT?!?!

I hadn't planned on this turn of events. Of course, I checked myself and he was right...no signal. I did the obligatory rebooting of the cable modem, rebooting of the PCs (all 3 of them). No dice. I gave up and went to bed.

Next morning...still no Net. Damn Net! I knew that I had dissed it on Friday and now was giving me the cold shoulder. I tried lamely to get it working, then finally gave up.

Around dinnertime last night, it finally came to me...I hadn't rebooted the ROUTER. Damn it, I'll bet the Router was the problem. Sure enough...that did the trick. Now the Net was working again.

I sat there trying to think of all the things I had wanted to do on the Net while it was down. I couldn't think of anything. So I went downstairs and had some wine.

That will teach that darn Net...

A Goofy Goal

I have a vacation day tomorrow. Yeah! Yippee! Yee-ya! And here's my goal:

Do absolutely no work-related tasks.

No brainer, huh? Well, not really. My real goal, although I'm skeptical that I will actually pull it off, is:

Do nothing on the computer for one day.

No email. No surfing. No i-Poding. No blogging. Sorry about that last one!

I don't know if I can do it! I don't think I can go 24 hours without doing something on the computer.

We will see...stay tuned.

Yawn.

I am testing the most unbelievably boring system on the face of the earth. I normally don't do testing like this, but I somehow convinced someone that I was responsible enough to handle the entire project. Note to self: Do not do this again.

So here's what this stupid system does:
We take about 5 types of data and match them up with about 5 other types of data. So I have to test..uh...oh crap, how would I calculate the number? A permutation? A combination? No, the things don't get thrown back in, so I guess a permutation would be it. So let's just say the quantity is a Giant Butt-Load of different combinations of these types of data. The thought of having my fingernails pulled out, one by one, slowly, is looking pretty good right now.

So I take each combination...let's say A and B and I go looking in at least 4 database tables to find out how many occurrences of this specific "A to B" connection there are. See, you are already bored! I can hear you yawning out there! Poor me...poor, poor me.

Oh yes, and there's also date ranges that must be considered. Which differ and add several more iterations to each test. It's horrible, I tell you. I'm going to need some toothpicks to prop my eyelids open very, very soon. It's fast approaching 3:00pm, my 'sleepy time' of the day. I'm already mainlining the Diet Coke, so I don't know what's next.

And not that I would advocate doing this, but I am tempted to cut some corners in the testing, just to get the pain over. However, after testing, I, yes, yours truly, will be the main user of the abomination. So if it doesn't work, I have to deal with it.

Damn. Shit. Fuck.

Click the Color, not the Word

This is way fun, although the Beatles-esque song gets old after a while.

Click the Color, Not the Word

See if you can beat my score. I got 74.

Ants! (Update)

I haven't seen the ants.

Do you think they read my blog? Are they preparing their counter-attack for the Terro? Or are they happily munching on my coffee beans in the cabinet, out of sight?
I fear that they know we are having friends over for dinner on Saturday (they've probably got the phone lines tapped). As we serve the main course, I can just see the Ant Brigade swarming in the house and onto the dining table. They will have little flags that proclaim, "Ants Rule!". I will faint into my medium-rare steak and miss all the excitement.

Ants!

We have ants. In our house. Ew.

Ants do not generally bother me, when they are outside, doing their ant business, like building ant hills and carrying off small bits of picnic food. In my kitchen, however, they are bothersome.

I found a few over by the coffee pot about 2 weeks ago. After looking further, I realized they had traveled up into the cabinets and into our salt shaker. Yes, I said "into". Ew.

We bought some little ant traps, which look like small plastic spaceships for the ants to travel back to their mother-planet in. "Look there, Jacque, it eez our spaceship. We go home now. Bonjour!" The trap has some mysterious "stuff" in it that gets on the ant's little toes and they carry it back to the ant headquarters, where it gets on everyone and kills them all. That's the theory at least.

We put a trap by the coffeemaker. The next day...no ants. Cool. That was easy. A little too easy...

About a week later (they must have been planning out their next attack), I discovered a trail of ants coming up from the floor on the other side of the kitchen, past the dog food (luckily they couldn't breach the dog food containers) and into the sink. I basically came home to a thick black trail of ants from floor to sink. Ew. Ew! EW!

I squashed and cursed. Cursed and squashed. Put a trap on the counter. Put one on the floor. I had to go meet a friend for dinner, so I did that and came back to find no ants and a chewed up ant trap. My dog had decided that the spaceship looked tasty. Quick call to Animal Hospital. Vomiting? No. Diahrrea? No. Lethargy? No. Well, yes, but no more than normal. Dog is okay. Whew.

The ants retreated for a while, but last night they were back, although their numbers had diminished. I squashed and cursed some more and left for dinner with hubby and Junior.

After dinner, I moved my wrapper that my food had been sitting on and there was an ant underneath. AN ANT! I didn't see any other ants on the table, just the one, under my FOOD wrapper. Say it with me folks....EW!!!!!!!

"Hah-hah! My name eez Pierre. I jump in zee purse and come to dinner vith jou. Zurprise!" (because we all know that ants speak with a bad French accent)

I tried not to think about it too much. Ew. Ew! EW! When we got home, the ants had retreated. Or maybe they had taken off in their spaceship. Who knows. I didn't look too hard.

As I was getting ready to go to bed last night, I pulled open the covers, got in, was arranging my pillows and there he was...a lone ant. IN MY BED. Trying to look casual. EEEEEWWWW!

Loving Husband saw my horror and before I could stop him, he flicked the ant across the room. "NO!" I screamed, "KILL HIM!"

I could almost hear the chuckling as the ant got away clean.

That's it. It's on. Me versus the Ants. Stay tuned...

My Shopping List

When I caught a glimpse of my shopping list for this week, I just had to laugh:

Fruit
Fudgsicles
Softball Bat
9-Volt Battery

What a goofy selection of items!

However, when I thought for a moment about the list, it really said quite a bit about who I am. What the hell do I mean?

Let me explain...

Fruit - I really try to be healthy...
Fudgsicles - ...but I have very little willpower
Softball Bat - I'm competitive by nature
9-Volt Battery - I'm a mom - the battery powers the baby monitor - my Key to Freedom after Junior goes to bed

I showed you mine...now show me yours.

What's your shopping list look like?

Headline of the Week

Man's Giant Weenie Stolen

I'm no detective, but I think someone needs to talk to Paula Abdul about this.

If I were a...

I've been tagged by Mojavi to participate in a serious experiment. No, not really, it's just a fun game. Here's how it works...

I pick 5 of the following occupations and complete the sentiment, adding an occupation of my choice to the end.

THE OCCUPATIONS:
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 archaeologist...
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 innkeeper...
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 a servicemember...
If I could be a business owner...
If I could be an actor...
If I could be an agent...
If I could be video game designer...
If I could be photographer...
If I could be a circus performer...
If I could be a spy...
If I could be a fashion designer...
If I could be a high school student again... (Gerah)
If I could be a clothing designer for very small dogs... (Diana)
If I could be a personal assistant... (mojavi)
If I could be a blogger... (Goofy Girl)

And now, my contribution to the madness:
(to be read limerick-style)

If I could be a video game designer...
I wouldn't make a dime,
cause all the video game "testing"
would take up all my time.

If I could be an archaeologist...
I'd dig up lots of bones,
I'd find a brand new dinosaur
and keep her for my own.

If I could be a chef...
I'd bake and bake some more,
you'd have to get a crowbar
to fit me through the door.

If I could be a clothing designer for very small dogs...
I'd outfit lots of pups,
I'd make them tiny belts and shoes
and hats like buttercups.

If I could be a musician...
I'd play the drums like Peart*,
but if I ever tried to sing,
I'll bet your ears would hurt.

*That would be Neil Peart, the drummer for Rush, for those of not quite as old as me. ;-)

No Drinking Buddy

There is a wine tasting this weekend that I want to go to. So what's the problem?

Babysitter? Nope, got one of those ready to go.
Too Expensive? Nope. Only $20.
Other Plans? Nope. None. Nada.
The problem is...I don't have anyone to go with!

Loving Husband is out of town, hanging from rock formations by a thin rope that I don't like to think too much about.

My usual drinking buddy A. has number 3 of 10 weddings that night (not hers...other people's, I should add).

My friends K., S. and J. are all pregnant and aren't doing much more than sipping and feeling guilty about it. Another friend K. just isn't a wine drinking and wouldn't have fun. Yet another friend C. is going to the casinos (it's becoming a habit for her...but she always wins).

My friend down the street J., who is single and not pregnant, has turned into a dog-loving recluse that I never hear from anymore.

I haven't heard from my friend-since-college C. since New Year's Eve, so either she's pissed at me or she's pregnant again.

My guy-friend-that-I-do-fun-stuff-with M. is going climbing with Loving Husband.

Maybe I should take Junior as my date...how lame would that be? Sigh.

I Don't Wanna

Don't want to be here. My head hurts. Can't concentrate on work. Can't stop thinking about real estate investing. I could make millions and be my own boss. I could be a slumlord. Cool. I'm plagued by my entrepreneurism. I'm supposed to be entering fake data to test a system that I don't care about. I don't wanna.

Calgon?!?!?!? Where the fuck are you?

Party 'Til You Puke

We held Goofy Junior's birthday party this past Saturday, complete with giant Clifford-the-Red-Dog's-Head balloon, cupcakes (two flavors!), dollar sandwiches and park shelter. Junior had 1 1/2 hours of visiting with friends, eating cupcakes, playing on the playground equipment and blowing bubbles...followed by throwing up of the cupcakes (Note to Moms: cupcakes and bubble mix do not mix well in toddler tummies), red eyes, no nap and much whining. Oh happy day!

This was followed by Mother's Day on Sunday, which Junior misstook as "Second Day of Birthday Celebration", instead of "Mommy Needs some Quality Time Away from Junior" Day. Again, no nap (for any of us), much whining, kicking of the dogs, etc. But at least I got a nice chicken parmesan dinner (with wine!) compliments of Loving Husband. I was almost able to ignore the spaghetti flying past my head.

All in all, a successful weekend.

Red Eye

I woke up yesterday morning with bright red eyes, almost crusted shut. EW!

After I took a shower, they felt mildly better, but were still bright red. Eye drops didn't help. Makeup didn't help. But off to work I went...well aware of the fact that I looked like I'd been hanging out with Cheech or Chong.

At about 3:00pm, with my eyes throbbing (yes, eyes can throb, I discovered) and a headache approaching migraine level, I surrended and went home.

Home at 3:30, I thought of all the things I wanted to do, but couldn't. Check email? Ouch. Watch TV. Owwie! Read a book. Uh-uh. Moving the eyes back and forth created dull aching pain. I just wanted to close them, even though I wasn't tired. So I ended up taking a well-needed nap. When I woke up an hour later, the eyes felt tired, but not as painful. Today they are a bit red and achy, but not too bad.

Is there such a thing as strained eyeballs???

Running

I'm not a runner. I never have been. I don't run. Well, to be fair, there are 3 situations where you will see me run:

1. Late for airplane. (this is more common than you would think)
2. Brownies in the oven and the timer goes off. (they might burn!)
3. Trash day and the trash is still in the garage and the trash truck is rumbling down the street. (two words here: Toddler Diapers...you'd run too)

Other than this....no running.

But I am in awe of runners. Why do they do it? What drives them? What do they think of when they are running?

I did do an organized run about three years ago. It's a local race here that is basically billed as a "Your Grandma with the Walker Can Run this Race, What's Your Excuse?" So I did it. I started out fresh and motivated and ran for at least 50 yards. Then I walked the rest. I had little old ladies passing me, so I walked faster, but still couldn't keep up. Maybe I should have trained for it, I dunno.

After that race, my knees hurt. They still hurt. So I'm thinking running is not my gig.

I tried running with my dogs (two Siberian Huskies). Let's just say that they didn't run with me, I ran with them. I was basically the "Sled" for them to pull. They are "sled dogs", you know. If I ran with them more, I would end up with long monkey-like arms, hanging down to my knees, from all the pulling (at 50lbs per canine, they got some pulling power, for sure).

This time of year, I still look at the runners in awe. They all seem so fit and happy. But it's just not for me. Maybe some of those cute little shorts would help...

Best Headlines

Leave it to the Australians to come up with such hilarious headlines as:

Plastic potty helps pussy pee

and

Roo poo used to make paper

There's just no way I can top that with anything that this goofy brain could generate. So there.

What Would You Do?

Back in fall of 2003, Aron Ralston was found wandering out of the aptly-named Maze district of the Utah Canyonlands. He had been trapped for 5 days by a boulder, which landed on his right wrist and pinned him to a canyon wall. For 5 days, he was pinned in the same place, and gradually drank his only bottle of water (then his urine) and ate his remaining food, which was only supposed to last for a single afternoon of biking and hiking.

The two hikers that stumbled upon him quickly realized that he had cut off his own arm at the elbow to escape the boulder.

I just finished listening to Aron's story on audiotape, "Between a Rock and a Hard Place", which he wrote and also read. When you listen to what this 27-year-old went through, physically and mentally, during those 5 days it just blows your mind.

You can't help but think...what would I do?

Would I have the stamina to last 5 days on 1 day's worth of food and water?

Would I have the mental capacity to not go insane from being trapped like an animal for a work week? (dying to make reference about being trapped in cubicle...but also trying hard to be serious here...)

Would I know enough about stone to know that there was no way to chip away at the chalkstone...that it would be stronger than any knife I would have?

One that note...would I even have a knife? (I don't usually hike with one. I will now.)

Would I have the unbelievable bravery (craziness?) to consider sawing my own arm off with my pocket knife to escape?

Would I bleed to death before realizing that a pocket knife would not cut through my two forearm bones?

And finally, would I have the discipline and control over pain to BREAK MY OWN ARM in TWO places, so that I could then cut through the remaining tendons and veins to break free?

And what I came up with was...NO. I wouldn't. Would you?

Bead Show Ramblings

I went to the Bead Blast 2005 this weekend, in my home town. What?! You've never been to the BB 2005? Nor ever heard of it? No worries, I hadn't either until this year.

Since I technically am in the "industry" (I make jewelry that happens to contain beads most of the time), I felt it my obligation to check out the newest and greatest trends in beading and jewelry making. Okay...okay...so I just wanted a day or two away from home and Goofy Junior. So shoot me.

Anyway, this bead show was some primo people-watching territory. There were many ladies (and it IS mostly ladies, as much as I'd like to think we live in a equal opportunity world) strutting around like peacocks, with their huge hand-made pieces of jewelry dangling perilously from their ears, necks, and wrists. Some stuff was neat, or fun...some stuff made you wonder what they were smoking.

There was a trade show of sorts, with probably about 50 vendors. Pick up your jaw off the floor...yes, 50 vendors. Beading is this huge trend now...which sucks because the prices of raw materials is now going up. But enough "shop talk".

Some vendors were cocky about their beads...and the prices reflected that. Others seemed more like family-owned businesses or friends that had gathered to buy the space, and they seemed to be having more fun (but not selling as much). They were more fun to visit with and seemed more open about their craft.

I never know what's a good deal in these places, so I end up with a potpourri of beads and other supplies that don't really go together to make one "piece" and that will sit in my storage containers until I buy something exactly the same and then find the others. Such is life...

I managed to drop about $200 on beads, snacks, and two classes (and materials). But I had a good time and got re-energized on a hobby that I have absolutely no time to do. Cool.

Amuse Yourself, Folks...

Goofy Girl is on vacation today! Yeah! Yippee! Yee-ha! My goal is to completely purge my home office of all the crap that has accumulated over the past 12 years. Not a small task...but I'm up for it.

If I finish that, I will move to Goofy Junior's room, and purge it off the 6-9 months' sized clothing, since he is officially 2 now and looks like the Amazing Giant Boy in the old clothes.

So, in the meantime, amuse yourself with these wonderful examples of fashion-gone-horribly-wrong ads from the 70s.

Something Awful
(Make sure to scroll down a bit, really fast, if you are at work. There's an obnoxious ad at the top that might "offend" someone peeping over your shoulder. I clicked on it, cause I'm the curious sort...and it's for a video game. Marketing...who understands it?)

Public Service Announcement #1

Compliments of the Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook :

In the United States and other countries, turning your glass upside-down might indicate that you do not want anything to drink. In some pubs in Australia, however, finishing your drink, turning the glass upside-down, and placing it squarely on the bar may signal that you believe that you can win a fight with anyone present.

You might thank me some day for this information.

Tag! I'm it.

Cagey has tagged me for a Literary Quiz. Just so we are on the same page (dontcha love my hilarious pun? DONTCHA?), I tend towards pop fiction, rather than classical literature, so my answers will reflect that.

1. You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be saved?
All of them. Except for Bill Clinton's book. That sucker was just too damn long. The book, I mean. (sheepish grin)

2. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Ranger, from Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series (see question #5-b) - he's a dark, mysterious bounty hunter who can make a woman's toes curl from across the room. And he smells good.

3. The last book you purchased?
"The Dark Tower VII" by Stephen King - still haven't had time to read this monster 800+ page book. One sitting would be ideal. Ya right.

4. What are you currently reading?
I'm listening to "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" by Aaron Ralston - this is the story of the young adventurer had his arm trapped by a boulder while hiking solo in the deserted canyonlands in Utah. He ended up cutting off his own arm to survive. Powerful stuff, especially since the audiobook is read by the Aaron himself.

5. Five books you would take to a deserted island?
(as others have done, I've cheated with some book series)
a. Stephen King's Dark Tower series - I would definitely be rescued before I was done reading this epic 7-book series...but I would continue reading all the way home.

b. Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series ("One for the Money", "Two for the Dough", etc.) - I would need some laughs while stuck on the island and these books make me laugh...out loud...enough to frequently wake Loving Husband.

c. J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series - whilst stuck on the island, it would be nice to think of magical forces that could allow me to levitate, make cheeseburgers appear out of thin air, etc. These books would allow me that pleasure. And if another person calls these "kid's books", I'll kick their ass. These are awesome books for anyone would loves a good tale.

d. Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch detective series - these are seedy, dark, detective mysteries that always keep you guessing until the end. Gotta keep that mind sharp while on the island.

e. A Dictionary - I love reading the dictionary! And I'd have a hell of a vocabulary by the time I got rescued.

Goofy Tax Update

And the Goofy household's taxes are (drumroll, please)...DONE! Finally! It seems I only needed an extra 10 days past the deadline. Such an efficient procrastinator I am. Chortle.

The ultimate irony? After procrastinating until the deadline, getting an extension, then taking 10 post-deadline days to complete the fun-with-numbers extravaganza....we are getting a refund.

It seems that Uncle Sam has the last laugh this year.

Me Speak Pretty

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Here's me:
Your Linguistic Profile:
70% General American English
20% Yankee
10% Upper Midwestern
0% Dixie
0% Midwestern

Kinda boring, huh? Funny how I've lived in the Midwest my entire life, yet have no "sound" from there.

How do YOU speak??

My Son, Baby Einstein

Junior had his first FOUR-WORD SENTENCE! And it actually made sense! Proudly glowing, I am. It was:

Casey go potty outside.

(FYI - Casey is our dog, not me or a neighbor child or anything)

He's a genius, that son of mine.

Another Goofy Interview

This time It's Only Me has posed some very interesting questions for me. I'll do my best to make up some good answers!

1. What is the thing you miss most about being a DINK (dual-income, no kids) family?
I'd have to say I miss not having to think as much. Thoughts bounce around in my head all day, like: Who's picking up/dropping off Junior today? Do we have appropriate makings for dinner? Can I make it home by 6:30pm-ish somehow (our somewhat official dinner-time, driven by Junior's hunger pangs...in DINK times we would eat dinner around 9:00pm a LOT). Will Junior be in a good enough mood to go out for dinner?

A little bit of our freedom is gone, but it's really not missed much. Junior has brought many more experiences to our lives that we never would have had as DINKs. Definitely a good trade-off!



2. What is the most extreme sport that you'd be willing to try?

Hmmm...I have to confess that there's not much that I wouldn't try, unless it was vetoed by Mr. Goofy (and often is). I have always wanted to sky-dive (vetoed!), hang-glide (vetoed!), bungee-jump (not vetoed, but where would I do that in KC?), and someday...someday... I will own a motorcycle...or at least a Vespa if Mr. Goofy freaks too much about a real bike. Somewhere along the way I got the gene that makes you love going fast. This is evidenced by the number of speeding tickets I've managed to rack up over the years. Ah, there's another one! Drive a race car! VROOM!!


3. What has Goofy Jr. done to earn mom's tears (of joy, frustration or otherwise)?

Wow...good question! I'm not a big cryer, but I do sometimes tear up when something touches me in a good way. There are times when I get home from a horrible day at work and Junior comes to greet me with a "MOMMY!MOMMY!MOMMY!" cheer, followed by a big hug and kiss, and that is just the best feeling EVER!


4. Is your screen name at all Disney related? If not, what's the background?

Not Disney-related, although I am a pretty big fan of the Disney Goofy character, so maybe it was subliminal. The name stems from my unavoidable knack for thinking, saying or doing goofy things. When I do such things, I usually mutter "Idiot Girl!" to myself. But that name was already taken. Goofy Girl was the second choice. Mystery solved!



5. White, dark or milk chocolate? And what does this say about you?

Definitely dark chocolate. Preferably Christopher Elbow's chocolates. What this says about me is that I'm officially a Chocolate Snob. I eat chocolate pretty much every day, so I've gotten picky. Hershey bars are not my cup of tea. The baseline starts at Ghirardelli and goes up from there, although Russell Stover's will do in a pinch. White chocolate is technically not really chocolate at all, so I don't have anything to do with that stuff.

Carrot Monster?!

I think the entire free world has heard about this by now, but here it is again:

They are taking Cookie Monster's cookies away.
(story here)

Yep, you heard me right. In this insane age of Political Correctness (insert audible groan here), Cookie Monster's insatiable love of cookies is just not considered acceptable anymore.

There are too many obese, inactive kids. So who takes the blame? Not XBOX. Not MTV. Not trans-fats. Cookie Monster. That lovable, googly-eyed hunk of furry blue shag carpet has been deemed a threat. What a crock!

Let's think a moment about this for a minute. When we see Cookie Monster eating up piles of cookies, do we REALLY think that it's all he's going to eat for the day? And is CM REALLY such a role model that kids will try to emulate him? (I personally think he's probably a better role model than Britney, but I digress...)

I think Cookie Monster teaches a good lession: that, once in a while, we need to get crazy and give in to our primal urges, even if it's just to eat a bunch of cookies. Is this such a bad lesson? I think not. I think it teaches kids that you can't be perfect all the time. You have to let loose and live a little.

Sidenote: There's an idea for a great book here: "Zen and the Art of Cookie-Eating"? "How to Win Friends and Eat Cookies"? If you write it and get it published, you can just buy me some cookies as a thanks for the idea.

Goofy Girl Gets an Extension

No, not a hair extension, a tax extension. And it was a little too easy to do.

There was no begging, pleading, nor withdrawl of blood from turnips involved. There's a handy toll-free number (1-888-796-1074, if you're curious) that you call.

You punch in the basics, using your keypad, prompted by the friendly computerized voice:
-SSN
-Expected tax liability for 2004
-Tax 2004 payments made

...and bingo! You've got a 4-month extension from Uncle Sam.
Chords from the George Michael song "Freedom" echo in the background...

The hardest part of the whole deal was determining "Expected tax liability". Uh...how do I punch in "no fucking idea?" I mean, that's kinda the point of getting the extension, isn't it? If I KNEW how much my taxes were going to be, wouldn't I be DONE? So I punched in "zero" and moved on. Friendly Uncle Sam can penalize me later if I guessed wrong.

Now I need to fight the Procrastination Demons that seem to surround me and get the damn thing done.

Goofy Girl Gets Poked

You thought this post was about WHAT?!?! Get yer mind outta the gutter! Goofy Girl does have her limits.

The Poking: I had sclerotherapy done on my legs. Basically, they shoot salt-sugar water into your leg veins that are all spidery and nasty looking. This causes those veins to collapse and go away. And your legs look brand-new again. How do these things get invented?

Shoot salt-sugar water into my legs with tiny sharp needles? This sounded so bizarre, I thought, "I gotta try this!". Let's just say I won't be getting any tattoos anytime soon. I'm done with needles for a while.

Overall, it was okay though. Once I learned that digging your fingernails into the meaty part of your hand while being poked eased the pain, and I was able to relax and take my choke hold off the technician.

Why did I do this? That's something I've been asking myself since I made the appointment. I suppose in the interests of beauty, although that's not really it entirely. I suppose I don't want my legs to give away my age. I LOVE to wear shorts, as soon as the snow melts, but over the years all the extended standing, extended sitting and other torture my legs have gone through is starting to show. Since I never have a tan to speak of, there's no way to hide those cute little spider veins that come with age...and heredity (Thanks Mom!).

So when my Pampered Chef lady (and so much more!) told me about her experience with scelerotherapy (which means "Poke Me With Tiny Needles" in Latin), I said, "sign me up!".

I'll have to endure the tiny mosquito-bite bumps and strange bruising that I'm seeing now, then instant results...in only 6 weeks. I'm optimistically skeptical, if there is such a thing. Stay tuned for the Leg Update at 10:00.

Goofy Goes the the Gym...NOT!

It's been several weeks since I've visited the gym. Between having the Virus From Hell and also the Workload That Would Not Die, I just plain haven't had time. Never mind that my gym is about 5 minutes away from my office...quite literally across the street. I could probably walk if I had to. Like if I had a flat tire or something.

So today was the day! The return to the gym. They would meet me with banners and balloons and welcome me with a hearty "Hello. We missed you, Goofy!". Well, not quite. But the reception gal actually did make eye contact after swiping my membership card. It's the little things in life...

I went into the locker room and unzipped my bag. Shoes. Check! Pants. Check!Sports Bra. Check! Tank Top. Check! Socks? Uh... Socks?? SOCKS?!?!?!? No socks. Dammit!

I wore black dress socks today. I really did want to work out, but not bad enough to be seen wearing black socks with tennis shoes. If my workout pants were long, and covered my ankles, I might have done it. (They don't call me GOOFY Girl for nothin', ya know.) But, alas, I had brought capris. I don't want to be called DORKY Girl. I have my limits.

I searched and searched my tiny gym bag, hoping that socks would somehow materialize in a linty corner of the bag. No luck. No socks. No workout.

I had to pretend to be on the phone as I walked out of the gym, five minutes after I got there, just in case the gal decided to make eye contact again. And if you're curious...she didn't.

Goofy Girl is Scared

This is my horror-scope for today:

Your family members have a big surprise in store for you -- a very big surprise. Does that mean you should worry about what's coming or head for the hills? Certainly not. With an eclipse taking place in the heavens above you, there's really nothing to do but hold on tight and ride the ride -- which may actually be rather fun. Oh, and when this all goes down, pretend to be surprised.

Hmmm....what will it be? For some reason I'm scared. Change is good, right? RIGHT?! I don't want to "ride the ride"...I want to head for the hills. I don't need any more change in my life right now. Gulp.

And yes, I read my horoscope daily and for the record, I'm a Capricorn (the nasty old goat).

What a Girl Wants

Well, if you're a Goofy Girl, that is...

1) Darth Tater: All the fun of Mr. Potato Head in the form of your favorite Star Wars villian. What could be better?



2) Swingline Red Stapler: If you don't know why, go rent the movie "Office Space" this weekend. You'll thank me later.



3) Krispy Kreme Glazed Raspberry-Filled Donuts: A dozen would hit the spot!

Proud Mama Goofy

So proud I am! So proud! Goofy Junior went to the library with me this evening and picked out his own books to check out. For the first time! He's come with me before and gone into the little playroom by the kids' section, but this time he was actually interested in the BOOKS instead of the TOYS. So proud am I! So proud. Did I mention "proud"?

I grew up at the library. I LOVED going to the library. McDonald's was a close second, but the library was KING. And once I got there, I was there for a while. I had to be dragged away. Still do actually. Ask Mr. Goofy...he won't even go with me anymore. He says I "take too long". He pops in and out of the library like it's QuickTrip. And I just don't know how he does that.

The library is a wonderful place of adventure and discovery. Shelves and shelves of books that can transport you to another place or allow you to discover new knowledge. And new books are added all the time! It's a never-ending nirvana!

...so are you getting my subtle point that I like the library? Good.

So this makes me all the more proud that my son shares my love of books. On the way home, he had to have ALL of them with him in his carseat, and he looked at each one. Well, then he promptly fell asleep. But still...

He loves his new books and we read each one tonight before bedtime. After he declared, "My books!" and settled in for the night, I realized that I might be in for a little challenge when the time comes to RETURN the checked out books. I'll cross that bridge in about 3 weeks...proudly.

Goofy Taxes - Day One (Afternoon)

Okay, so I've got all my tax bits 'n pieces spread out all over the office now. And I realize that I don't have a 1040 packet. Of course I don't - I haven't done my own taxes in two years...the IRS figures I don't need a packet. What an environmentally-friendly policy...except that this year I DO need a packet.

Do I venture out to the nearest library and get one? Do I go online and print off the forms? Or...

I ponder advice from some friends that worked at H&R Block. They both suggested using Block's online tax program. I have resisted using this, or Turbo Tax, or any of the other 'automated' methods, because I don't like the Q&A interface. I'm used to starting at the 1040 form, then taking tangents off into each supporting form, then coming back. The Q&A interface makes me wonder what decisions the program is making for me behind-the-scenes. Can I change my answer, if I don't like the outcome? If I do it manually (paper 'n pencil), I know the answer is always "yes".

However, I decide to venture forth into the 20th century. Change is good. Right? RIGHT?!?!?

I spend 30 minutes trying to figure out if I am a 'returning client' (since I did my taxes at a Block office last year) or if I am a 'new client'. If I am 'returning', I am supposed to have a username and password. I don't. I find a cryptic note in my 2003 tax packet with a password, but no username. I try, in vain, to make this work. I guess frantically at what email address I may have given a whole year ago. I give up and click 'new user'.

This turns out to be okay, since I can tell the program who I am and have it import my info from last year. This is cool! Who wants to enter all their address, employment, etc. information. Yuk. I speed through these screens.

Just when I start to wonder if I should 'Save' (I've been a Microsoft user too long to go for more than 15 minutes without saving my work)...my Next button quits working. I'm on the Dependent screen and I clicked 'Yes'. Then 'Next'. No 'next' screen comes up...still the Dependent screen. Okay, I can't believe that Goofy Junior is here either, but c'mon. He's here to stay and I want a tax deduction for him, dammit. I "Save & Close" then sign back in. I'm back at the first screen. SHIT!

Maybe I need to think about an extension. They give you 3 months to procrastinate for free, ya know. Groan.

EPILOGUE:
After prompting me to import my info again, it asks me whether I want to continue where I left off. Ah! No data lost. It lets me past the Dependent screen this time. Okay, time for that nap now...

Goofy Taxes - Day One

1. Go into office to start taxes.


2. Decide to check email first.


3. Balance checkbook, because it's there in the office.


4. Check email again (just in case something new has arrived)


5. Check horoscope. "With your energy levels higher than they've been all week, even boring tasks will be oddly rewarding." Ya right.


6. Clean desk to assure that I have lots of space for tax stuff.


7. Achoo! Dust desk (Yikes! Lots of dust.)


8. Thirsty...go downstairs to get iced tea.


9. Return to office twenty minutes later.


10. Crack open good ole J.K. Lasser's 2005 Tax Guide.


11. Need a snack...return downstairs for strawberry shortcake (leftover from dinner).


12. Start reading Lasser Tax Guide.


13. Need tape flags to mark key sections...where are they?


14. Look in work backpack for tape flags.


15. Decide backpack needs cleaning out. Clean backpack.


16. Never find tape flags.


17. Go downstairs to put laundry in dryer.


18. Husband calls. "Whatcha doin'?" "Very busy working", I easily lie.


19. Back upstairs. Pen has disappeared. Where is it?


20. Decide music is required. Back downstairs to turn stereo on.


21. Back upstairs. Take some notes about forms I don't have that I need to get.


22. Decide that this whole process is so ridiculous that I have to blog about it.

And that brings me here.

I've got 13 more days, right? Maybe a nap will help...

A Taxing Situation

Yes, this post is about taxes. Yes, it's a lame pun. But you love it. You do. Don't you?

I have not looked at the Goofy household's taxes yet. Yes, I'm fully aware that it's April 1st. 14 days left.

About two months ago, I mustered up the energy to put all the tax-related documents in one big pile on my home office desk. I think there is a thin layer of dust on that pile now, 'cause I haven't touched it since.

I used to LOVE to do taxes. The more complicated, the better. Selling stock? Cool. Short-term or long-term? Self-employed. Neato. Let's find some good deductions for the Schedule C. There was one year where I had Schedules A through D, along with my 1040. I was so proud to have figured them all out as I added extra postage to mail the "book" that the Goofy tax return.

This changed a few years ago when a good friend got a job at H&R Block, doing taxes. She was allowed to do some tax returns for free, to keep her skills up (and I assume get her friends hooked on the Block system). She did this for two years, then this past fall, she quit.

Arg! I have to remember how to do taxes again. Now I am cursing the home-based business, the two partnerships, the stock sales, the 1099 issues. I refuse to have someone do them for me. I know how to do them myself, and it seems ridiculous to me to PAY someone to do something it...especially since my return at Block would have cost about $500, was I paying.

So wish me luck as I venture forth to into familiar, yet scary territory. Hopefully I will emerge with little or no mortal wounds.

My Turn to Ask the Questions

Mojavi has graciously (stupidly?) volunteered as my first interviewee (victim?). Remember...you asked for it!

Here are the questions (they will self-destruct in 10 seconds...):

1. If you could have one super-human power, what would it be and why? How would you use your power? Would you use it for good or evil, or both? (yes, it's a 3-part question...get over it!)


2. What's the scariest situation you've ever been in?


3. Have you ever read a book or watched a television show that changed your life?


4. What do you do better than anyone else you know?


5. If you could be an animal for one day, what animal would you be? What would you do? (assume you would do no harm to anyone...unless you wanted to)

A Goofy Interview

Recently, I had an odd compulsion to participate in Average Jane's Interview Game (rules posted at the bottom of this post).

She posed the following questions to me (my goofy answers are in italics).

1. What are your five all-time favorite books?

Wow! That's a tough question. I read about a book a week, and promptly forget most of them. I'll read into "all-time favorite" as meaning "I would read again". Since I very rarely re-read a book, that's a pretty good measure. Here goes:
"The DaVinci Code" by Dan Brown (I loved the reality mixed with the fiction and the puzzles sprinkled throughout the book. You also can't beat a book that comes with its own interactive web-based "game" - www.davincicode.com)
"Jurassic Park" by Michael Crichton (If you've seen the movie, it's not the same as the book. Many more people die in the book and it's a bit darker than the movie.)
"The Last Day" by Glenn Kleier (An intriguing book that questions a lot of popular religious beliefs...like attending church. I love a controversy!)
"Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand (I have to have one "classic", right? Just who is John Galt?)
"The Dark Tower" series by Stephen King (It really is one story...it just takes seven 800-page books to tell it.)

2. If you could plan a trip anywhere in the world, where would you like to go?

Definitely New Zealand. I like the outdoors and New Zealand has what I'm told is the most beautiful environment ever. And (bonus!) no snakes or other annoying poisonous creatures. Really! If you've seen any of the "Lord of the Rings" movies, that's New Zealand. I would sea kayak, bungee jump, climb on a glacier and mountain bike. Of course, I'd have to go to the gym more than once a month in preparation.

3. What has surprised you most about being a parent?

Two things: 1)the amount of free time that I used to have, and squandered and 2)how much fun it would be! Really!

4. What is your most vivid memory from childhood?

Having something stolen from me for the first time! I was maybe 5 or 6 at the time and went to the park with some friends. I had some sunscreen that was in a bottle shaped like a banana (there's a Goofy image for ya!) and I set it down to play on a piece of playground equipment probably now banned from existence. I came back and it was gone! I was traumatized for days afterwards. This one event is probably responsible for shaping my control-freakish nature. Sigh.
5. Just how goofy are you?

Goofy enough to almost run over myself with my own car. I came home one night, parked my car (a 5-speed Acura Integra that I no longer have), jumped out and went to get the mail. As I walked down my somewhat steep driveway, I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye. It was my car, gradually creeping backwards down the driveway...and gathering speed. It slammed into the neighbor-across-the-street's truck that was parked in the street in front of his house, bounced halfway back up the driveway and headed back down towards his truck again. After I picked my teeth up off the sidewalk, I ran over, jumped in and hit the brakes before it hit a second time.

Two things of note: 1)if I had stopped to bend over and pick up the free paper laying on our driveway behind the car, I wouldn't be writing this right now; and 2)try explaining this to your insurance agent. I think I heard snickering!

The Official Interview Game Rules

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."


2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.


3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.


4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.


5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Hilarity at the Expense of my Toddler

Scene: Dinner-time at the Goofys. Mom, Dad and son are at the dining room table eating dinner. Probably hot dogs.

Son(waving eating utensil in the air): Fuck...Fuck...FUCK!

Mom: (giggle)

Dad: Yes son, that's your FORK.

Mom: (giggle...giggle)

Fade to black.

Junior's First Arcade Experience

The family and I went out for pizza last night. We ordered our pizza and got a table. Then Toddler Boredom kicked in. If you don't head off TB quickly, it will proceed to Toddler Whining, then Toddler Tantrum, then full-blown Demon-has-Taken-Over-My-Toddler-Please-Help-Me-dom. What to do? What to do?

I spotted a arcade game in the corner of the pizza place. It was one of those virtual experience ones, a Snowmobile Ride. I steered Junior over to it and we sat down on the seat. He was instantly mezmerized by the graphics on the screen, then grabbed the steering mechanism and laughed. Ah...Toddler Boredom at bay. But...

...it wasn't lasting long. The graphics weren't moving enough to keep him interested. He was eyeing the kids playing pool. Pool balls were flying off the table. I definitely didn't want him over there. I frantically dug for quarters... SCORE! Two linty quarters in the bottom of the purse.

"Watch this", I said proudly. I deposited the quarters into the machine. We selected a snowmobile and a racing course and we were off!

The machine produced a cold wind that blew in our face. Junior and I were racing down the start of the course and doing pretty well. He giggled and declared "Watch Einstein!".

What?!?!? WHAT!?!?! Damn you, Julie Aigner-Clark and your Baby Einstein videos! You've ruined my son's first arcade experience. He thinks it's interactive Baby Einstein. For crying out loud!

I promptly crashed into the side of the mountain. Game Over.

The Fine Art of Procrastination

I'm a Procrastinator. I admit it. The first step towards recovery is admission.

However...

Lately I've procrastinated on a few things, that have subsequently FIXED THEMSELVES or (better still) GONE AWAY. Ah! What a feeling that is! I didn't waste any of my precious time working on that damn task...and it resolved itself without me. How productive! How efficient! No harm. No foul.

However...

This sends the message to my very impressionable brain that "Procrastination Works", which is probably not a good message for the Serial Procrastinator to get. So, I struggle daily with prioritization.

Do I NEED to pay those bills today? Unfortunately, yes. Most bills don't resolve themselves. Dammit.

Do I NEED to go to the gym? Nah, I walked from the kitchen up the stairs to bed last night. That should be enough exercise for the week. I'll go again next week.

However...

There's also a good feeling to picking up a stale-as-month-old-bread project and finishing it up. Just cranking it out and getting it done.

So, there's a fine balance in the Doing and the Procrastinating. If I ever figure out the formula between the two, I'll share it with you.

...as soon as I get around to it.

why? why?!

why do some people type their emails in all lower case? why?! is it that hard to reach over and tap the caps-lock key? it's just right there by your left pinky. just a short inch or so reach. is this too much too ask? are you just too busy to take the time? do you think it makes you 'trendy' or 'artsy'? i think it just makes you look dumb, like you don't know any better. would you send a letter to your mom in all lower case, not bothering to take the time to capitalize any words? i think not. she'd think you were on drugs.

there's also another mutant strain of these folks that capitalize Proper Names only. as in: "how's it going Joe? i met Bob for lunch today and he's looking a bit chubby." oh i see how you are. all about the name dropping. regular words aren't important enough, but the names are.

or, worse still, theres folks that dont even bother with apostrophes. the poor, abused apostrophe. hes added in the wrong place many times, but you folks (and you know who you are), you just ignore him. forget him. poor guy. what did he ever do to you?

i really fear for the future of our society, if all our writing looks like this.

Meet Coco, Best in Show

Looks like the Caddyshack gopher snuck into the dog show...and won!

Coco:

Gopher:

Zoo readies for panda mating season

I just had to chuckle when I saw this news title on CNN.com.

Dim the lights. Crank up the Barry White tunes. Time for some panda lovin'.

Is it just me...

or is Jason Bateman just as hot (if not hotter) than he was fifteen years ago? It's a more fun, rumpled sort of hot, but he's definitely still hot.

Then:

Now:

Help me, Bill Gates!

Someone desperately needs to invent the following:

1. A device that, at the push of a button, instantly empties all the trash cans throughout your house into a common container in the garage. Bingo! Ready for trash day.

2. A device that does the same thing with dirty dishes piled in the sink. This device would also trigger the wash cycle. And while you're at it, put them away too, k?

3. A device that sucks all the dirt and pet hair from your carpets, at the push of a button. Note: one might need to evacuate the house of small children and pets, lest they get sucked up. Unless the kids/pets are dirty, them leave them in there.

Who would I talk to about this? Bill Gates controls the world, how about him? Bill, show me some love. Quit with the Windows shit for a while and invent something we REALLY NEED.

Carrot Cake Inflation

I like bakeries. A lot. They give me a nice, comfortable, warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like sitting by the fireplace on a cold winter night with a cup of cocoa and your dog.

I love finding out about a new bakery and going to do some "product testing". However, I'm a Bakery Snob, and it's darn hard to find a good bakery. There's a lot of over-priced, dried-out-pastry-slingers out there. And don't get me started on the grocery store bakeries.

I stopped by a place today to check it out. The place is relatively new, yet I've heard of it from no less than three various sources. I stopped by over lunch.

The place was fantastic-looking! Their retail space was well-decorated and inviting and their case was brimming with wonderful, perfect-looking baked goods. I tried a Snickerdoodle and a Filled Carrot Cake Cupcake. I was diappointed by the Snickerdoodle. I'm used to a good "cream of tartar" finish from my Snickerdoodle and that seemed to be missing. Plus it just wasn't quite sweet enough.

However, the Filled Carrot Cupcake was delicious! The "filling" was the obligatory cream cheese icing, since it was a carrot cake cupcake, and it was moist and delicious. I got thinking about an upcoming card night at my place and thought that a carrot cake might make a good dessert for us to munch on between rounds.

I checked the price card. Thirty-two dollars for a 9" carrot cake! Yikes! What's this country coming to?

Is it that hard to make a carrot cake? No! I've made carrot cake before and it's darn easy. One of the easier cakes to make, in fact. Much easier than an apple pie with all that damn fruit coring and slicing you have to do. With a carrot cake, you just buy the pre-shredded carrots from the produce section. You add sugar, flour, oil, eggs, stir and bake. Yes, folks, it's pretty much that simple! And the icing is basically cream cheese and powdered sugar. Nothing to get all flustered about. Easy, easy, easy.

So easy that I just might make one for card night. Then ponder how to spend the $32 that I saved.

Whatcha Fixin'?

I was pondering our wonderful English (really American) language the other day, as I do from time to time. I was saying something like, "What are you fixing me for dinner tonight, honey?" and I stopped short.

Hmmm...I thought. "Fix" is such a funny verb.

Usually we use it when something is broken: "Honey, the crapper's broken, can you fix it?"

But the exception is for food-related preparation: "Hey, fix me a sandwich, dammit!" or "Whatcha fixing for the tailgate party, Bubba?"

It's not really used for any other sort of preparation, unless you include our southern friends: "We was fixin' to go to the circus, but then them elephants got loose and stampeded Grampa."

Where is really gets fun is when your food is broken. "Damn, that hot dog I fixed for lunch fell and broke in two...I'm trying to fix it now."

Damn, our language is funny.

Why I Hate Vacations

Because you have to come back. Always. Otherwise it wouldn't be a vacation, it would be a move.

And when you come, all those fun things are waiting for you... Laundry. Mail. Bills. Work. Email at work. Email at home. Voicemails from clueless people.

It was nice being away from this stuff. We were 10,000 feet above sea level, in a snow-covered hut. Talk about "away from it all". There was definitely no Internet hookup there.

But vacations end and you have to come back to the real world. So here I am.

Bad Day

This day really bites the big one. It started with an 8:00am dentist appointment. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, love my dentist (he's cute too!), but 8am is just too early to open your mouth to the world.

Let me back up. Because we are leaving for vacation tomorrow, I didn't get my requisite 6 hours of sleep. I got more like 4. While picking up my razor this morning to mow down the forest of leg hair, I somehow cut a large chunk out of my finger. I proceeded to bleed during my shower, bled while putting on makeup and doing hair, and bled down the stairs to breakfast. The only Band-Aid I could find was Sponge-Bob. How professional!

I also have been starting to feel a little tickle in my nose and throat, like sickness is knocking at the door. This would be about par for me, since we are traveling to Colorado for an adventure trip that will require me to be in peak condition for the next 5 days. I stopped on my way to work at Osco to stock up on Sudafed....several varieties. The pharmacist gave me a "are you a meth dealer?" look. Fuck you, man.

So I get to work and Sponge-Bob is leaking. Yes, folks...I'm still bleeding. I go in my drawer, retrieve my purse, yank the zipper and...it comes off in my hand. Now I have a zipped-up purse with no zipper to open it. After retrieving my purse from the wall against which I threw it, I forcefully ripped open the zipper and wondered if I had time to buy another purse before our trip. Nope.

On to work...I have about 20 minutes before a meeting, so I decide to start something that needs to be completed before I leave today (which is hopefully early, since our trip packing and prep is far from complete). I retrieve a file, manipulate it, load it to another system and start running some SQL against it. The results look strange! I realize (after 19 minutes) that I have been sent the wrong file. Now it's time for the meeting. It's 10:00am and I've done nothing productive yet. Maybe I should have just stayed home.

Fast forward to 2:00pm. I have gotten the correct file and things are looking up. I hear my boss's voice... "Hey, Goofy" (of course, that's not really the name he called me...I don't think). I turn around in time to see a camera pointed in my face. Click! Wonderful. He has taken a picture of me to send to our other office. They will see a picture of me, looking quite pale and sickly, with a Sponge-Bob Band-aid on my "fuck you" finger, and a screenshot of this blog post in the background.

Great. Just great.

What's Your Sig?

I have this fascination/obsession with people's email signatures ("sigs"). You know, the little ditty that appears automatically (if you set it up to) at the bottom of all the emails you send.

You can tell a lot about a person by what their sig looks like.

You have the no-nonsense folks:
Thanks,
Ben Dover

You have the practical folks:
Joe Bloe
Senior Blowhard
Blowing Division
123 Blowhardest Building
(555) 555-1212

And you have the "my email is way more important than yours" folks:
This e-mail and any files transmitted with it are confidential and are intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed. If you are NOT the intended recipient and you read this email, your head will spontaneous explode into flames and your computer will be immediately erased. Don't even consider forwarding, printing or copying this email or your family and beloved pets will get it too.

Finally, you have the philosophical and/or motivational types. Yes, I must admit that I, Goofy Girl, fall into this category. My standard sig for the past year or two has been this:
What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?

This quote has urged me to do some things that I otherwise would not have tried, so I feel it has served me well. I get responses to it from time to time, so I know folks read it. But it was getting a little stale.

Recently, I changed it to this:
A wise man will make more opportunities than he finds.

This spoke to me since I am definitely looking for opportunities, mainly ones that will make me piles and piles of money. Haven't found any yet, though...

Then a friend suggested this (which I love and am currently using):

If a pretty poster and a cute saying are all it takes to motivate you, you probably have a very easy job. The kind robots will be doing soon.

It has the extra bonus of being funny, which I am known to be at times. I fear I may offend someone and have to take it down at some point, but for the moment, it's working for me.

What's your sig?

Strange Dreams

I had a dream last night that Anthony Kiedis, from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, wanted me. Badly.

Now I don't find Mr. Kiedis particulary attractive. Nor do I have many dreams of this...ahem...nature. I did recently attempt to read a biography on his life, although it wasn't quite interesting enough for me to finish.

Unfortunately for me (more unfortunately for him), in this dream I realized that I was married, loved my hubbie, etc. Darn that reality seeping into dreamland!

I spent most of the dream avoiding this guy. What a waste of a good dream!

Ode to Patchouli Dog

Patchouli dog, patchouli dog, why do you smell?
Cause my owner sprayed me well.
With this stuff she bought at the store.
Oh God, I hope there is no more.

It smells like flowers and oils and such.
Oh, how I fear she paid too much.
Because if she tries to spray it twice
I know that I will not be nice.

I will run and jump and leap
and into the muddy yard will creep
To roll around in the bog
So I can smell like a real dog.

NOTE: This is a poem dedicated to my poor dogs, who endured the wrath of me buying ZUM Mist Doggie Spritzer (Lavender-lemon with patchouli) and trying it out on them. Sorry girls!

I am Woman. Hear Me Whine.

I just got an email from a gal-pal bragging about her new purse. Normally this would not affect me, however, it got me thinking...

I need a new purse. And I need new pants. I need a new wardrobe. Period. Preferably one from the 2000's, rather than the 90's.

I wear the same five things every week. And one pair of shoes. Two if I'm feeling inspired. And they're not even shoes, they are boots. I'm screwed when spring hits. My pants "puddle" around my ankles, because I'm too pain-averse to wear super-high-heels. They also puddle around my butt, because I've lost 10 pounds since buying the pants back in '97.

I saw the "What Not To Wear" girls on Oprah last night and realized that I am a Couture Loser (note the capital letters). Pity me.

Side Note to My Whining: If you haven't read "What Not to Wear", run out now and get it from your local library. It will change the way you dress, and give you a chuckle in the meantime.

My Hilarious Husband

Our family has been sending little "what are you up to" emails around lately. I've been reading them diligently and "hmm"ing in all the right places, before deleting them. I got one today from a random cousin with pictures of her baby attached. I opened one up and just had to comment.

I hit "forward" and sent an email to darling hubbie saying (and I'm quoting now):

I'm sorry, but that's a scary-ugly baby! Yikes!

His reply?

Did you mean to reply to the ENTIRE group?

Ha, ha, what a funny jokester. No, I didn't reply to the entire group (nor did I mean to), but he really scared the shit outta me. Can imagine the family wrath that would have descended? Yowza!

Flowers or Candy?

Since Valentine's Day is approaching like a freight train, thoughts turn to gifts. The stereotypical gift when the receipient is female is flowers or candy (or both, I suppose for the overachieving significant other). Without getting into a big discussion about how fleeting and impractical both of these choices are, let's weight the differences.

Flowers: Die. (well, they do, people!)
Candy: Goes stale. Eventually. Unless you're me and inhale the entire box (regardless of size) within a week.
Point goes to Candy.

Flowers: Smell good.
Candy: Smells better. Actually makes your mouth water. You just can't beat that.
Point goes to Candy.

Flowers: Calorie-free.
Candy: Well...um...unless you get the sugar-free kind (DON'T!), it has calories. More than anyone needs.
Point goes to Flowers.

Flowers: Look pretty on your desk or kitchen table.
Candy: Let's face it. The giant, heart-shaped, bright red box is just plain gaudy. And kind of embarrassing to display anywhere.
Point goes to Flowers.

Flowers: Goofy Girl does not like flowers, unless they are in the ground.
Candy: Goofy Girl loves candy.
Point goes to Candy.

Ding-ding-ding. Candy wins!

What?!? It was a fair match. ;-)

Need a Laugh? I Do.

I need a laugh today. I am home sick. Despite grand efforts to avoid it, I have caught a cold.

A friend sent me this link and it made me laugh (usually an easy thing to do, but not today).

So here's my blog entry for the day. Take it or leave it. I'll be back to my goofy-self soon, I promise.

The LowComDom Online Dictionary

Mind Your Banana!

As I was giving my almost-2-year-old son his morning banana this morning, he noticed something different about it. It had one of those banana stickers on it. You know, the ones Chiquita invented and now everyone copies.

I took the sticker off the banana and put it on the back of his hand. This is where all toddler stickers go, for future reference. He was very intrigued by this new sticker and as his attention went to the sticker hand, the banana-holding hand drooped, putting the banana at a perilous 90-degree angle with the floor.

"Don't drop your banana while you're looking at your sticker!", I cautioned.

Then I stopped and chuckled at how funny that sounded. Then I stopped again and realized that this was pretty good advice, not just for the literal banana and sticker.

If I was Tony Robbins, I would write a book about it, likening the banana to one's dreams and goals in life, and the sticker to the everyday shit that we all have to get through. If we dwell too much on the shit (the sticker), our banana drops on the floor.

Pretty deep thoughts for 7:30am, I think.

Well, you know how it ends. The banana dropped. 10-second rule applies. Toddler picks up banana and continues eating. If only life were that simple...

The "Big Game"

I've been on a search for the truth about something that's been bothering me for a while now...

Why (oh why) can't advertisers use the words "SUPER BOWL" to describe the championship matchup of the two best teams, one from AFC, one from NFC, that occurs on a Sunday in February each year? They talk around it, like it's a 4-letter word. (my count shows 10 letters, including the space)

They can say "Olympics", "Oscars", "Grammies", and "Oprah" without fear of reprisal. Why not "Super Bowl"? Is it because it's trademarked? Surely the term "Olympics" is trademarked, copyrighted, and backed by many, many attorneys. I know "Oprah" is.

So here's what I found... I can't find a reason! Anywhere! Well, okay, I only looked for the past 15 minutes on the Internet. But still!

I will find out for you, dear blog reader. You deserve to know the reason.

The truth is out there.

I am Sick...No I'm Not!

I'm coming down with a cold...or flu...or something that is making my sinuses feel like someone has stuffed cotton balls in them to the bursting point. Instead of saying, "I'm sick" and living with it, this time I'm fighting back!

I'm taking Airborne every 3 hours, as instructed (this stuff actually tastes good and is herbal); Echinacea 3 times a day; Zicam mouth spray whenever I can stand it (it leaves a rusty-nail taste in your mouth for about 3 hours...about the length of time until you are supposed to use it again). I'm also using Afrin nasal spray. I know, I know, it's habit-forming, blah, blah, blah and I will probably get a rebound effect days from now, but I gotta breathe, right?

I'm using a humidifier in my bedroom at night. This is a catch-22, as it is as loud as an airplane and keeps me from sleeping (one of the items required for getting well).

I am motivated to NOT be sick for a week, as with every other cold I ever get.

Stay tuned.

Why I Hate Auto-Flushing Toilets

1. You get used to them. I have them at work and have learned that when you've done your business, you get up and leave. The problem is that I find myself leaving stalls in other public places without flushing. People give you a funny look and you have to mutter, "I'm used to the auto-flushing ones.". Then they give you a look back like you are Paris Hilton saying, "I'm too good to flush my own toilet, you peon. You must do it for me. Can you wipe my ass too, while you're at it?".

2. Just when you learn to love them, they turn on you. You walk in one day, sit down, and they flush. Ew! Your posterior gets sprayed with water and God-knows-what. Now, I'm not a germaphobe. I've wiped my ass with a leaf while camping, when nothing else was available. And I'm a full proponent of the 10-second rule, when my corner brownie hits the floor. But the premature flush makes me go "EW!".

Ah, what problems technology forces upon us...

Yourday

What would you do with an extra day in the week?

This would be a day when you wouldn't have to work...an additional weekend day. Let's say it would be sandwiched between Saturday and Sunday, so you could do the normal going-out stuff on Saturday and the normal relax-watch football and/or church and/or get ready for the work week stuff on Sunday. This would be an additional day to do whatever you wanted to!

I'd call it Yourday, since all the other good names are taken.

What would you do on Yourday???

A Guy After My Own Heart...er...Stomach

This dude has designed a brownie pan where ALL THE BROWNIES HAVE EDGES! The best brownie is, of course, the corner brownie...nice and chewy, crispy corners. Second is the "side of the pan" brownie - it's along the edge of the pan, but just not the corner one.

See the prototype here: http://int1.fp.sandpiper.net/msnvisa/20041005/3880_2.jpg

I found this on the Ideas Happen site, which is very cool if you have some time to peruse:
http://www.ideashappen.msn.com/

Brownie lovers everywhere, rejoice! Atkins dieters everywhere, be very, very afraid!

Need a Brain Break(tm)?

Need a break? Get your nose outta that Excel you're sweating over and refresh your brain!

Take the Whad'ya Know Quiz:

http://notmuch.com/Quiz/how-to-play.html

You just might learn something, dammit!

(tm) courtesy of Cagey McRancid (not her real name)

Great Ideas!

I am hereby officially impressed. Goofy Girl readers have really come through with some good ideas!

Cagey suggested a Tivo. Not a bad idea. It would save me some time setting the VCR and also time spent screaming and jumping up and down when it records the wrong show. I could use that time saved to experience something fun. I have to admit, I expected this answer from Cagey, as she is a Tivo evangelist.

Golightly suggests a day at the spa. Not a bad idea either. I could probably get a whole new body for $1000 at the spa. Hmmm... I might use my regular money to do this. Is that cheating?

I really, really like Maggie's idea...take a trip...solo. No kids, no hubbie. Looks like she's got a kid about the same age as mine. You start to consider running away. Just kidding. Or am I? I've always thought about doing a solo trip, but it's a bit intimidating. No one to share the driving with, no one to help clean up camp, no one to whine to when you're cold or tired. That said, what an experience it would be! It's something I've never done before. Plus it has the extra-added bonus of allowing me some Life Pondering Time. Something I haven't had much of since Junior came along.

Keep those ideas coming. I might have to save up more money to take advantage of them all!

Goofy Girl Needs Your Advice!

I have $1000 to spend! One thousand buckaroos. One "K".

Since Christmas, birthday and anniversary fall within the same month for me (as well as year-end work bonus), I have accumulated one thousand lovely Georges to spend.

What's my damn problem?, you might ask. Well, quite frankly, I don't know how to spend it.

Please don't say clothes! (see previous posts on clothes-shopping stress). And I already belong to a gym that I seldom attend, so none of that. I don't want nor need an iPod. Loving husband's company GAVE them to all the employees as a year-end bonus. Bastards! I also don't need anything that will take up much room in my house, as I am smothering in all the toys, games and clothes that my son got for Christmas. MMMM....MMMM.... That's the sound of me smothering.

And...I like EXPERIENCES. Not STUFF. Something new to do...or see...or experience would be ideal.

Any great ideas out there? Please chime in! If I use your idea, you will be forever shrined in honor on the Goofy Girl blog (or at least I'll mention it in a post).