Political Rant

How many more days until the election?  I can't wait until it's over because I'm sick of the stupid commercials on TV and I'm REALLY sick of hearing about the issues that seem to be particular to this election, like teacher quality, and who is middle income and will they be taxed more under Obama if he gets his way (which, btw, he never in a million years will), and the devastating effects of "Obamacare" and how awful it is to put a limit on how much insurance agencies can totally screw you over.  Yeah, that's what I'm sick of.  I don't usually spout my political opinions on this blog because, you know, opinions are like assholes:  nobody wants to see yours and sometimes they leak scary things.

Let's take these issues one at a time.  First of all, the people who make more than $250,000 dollars a year whining that they ARE middle income and it's NOT FAIR that they might get the Bush tax cuts rolled back and have to pay a little more.  Wah...WAHHHHH!  (sorry)  Middle income would seem to mean the people who make the average income in the country.  So we can safely assume that the lower third of income earners are low income, the middle third is middle income and the upper third is upper income.  Simple enough, right?  But Marketplace Money on NPR devoted an entire show to the question, "Are people who make $250,000 wealthy?"  They spent an hour on this question and never gave a definitive answer.  People who make that much money a year are in the top two percent of earners in the U.S.  They are upper income.  There's no debating it.  They are probably really smart and clever and industrious, but they didn't get to be that successful by themselves.  They benefited from living in a society where everyone contributes and you don't get to stop contributing just because you make that much money.  Taxes in this country are regressive and the Obama administration is trying to make it more fair. 

 This is what happens in a bad economy when a middle-income person gets paid in cash for a job well done.  He immediately tells his coworker, "Get the camera and my big hat while I fan out these hundreds."

A few weeks ago I heard a story on This American Life.  The show's theme was crybabies and one of the stories was about people who work on Wallstreet whining about how they are making record profits and bonuses after the bailout and how they don't owe anything to the government (i.e. the rest of us) because they are smart and they don't think just because they are smart they should be taxed or regulated more.  Seriously, it was infuriating. 

The next thing, and probably the thing that bothers me the most is the constant discussions about teacher quality and how our educational system is "broken" and what can we do to get these deadwood teachers out because if they have tenure you can never get rid of them!  The general consensus seems to be that the teacher's union is protecting bad teachers like the Catholic Church protects child molesters.  It is all so much bullshit.  First of all, education costs a lot of money.  Parents insist that their children learn things that they will use in the world, like technology skills.  If you want your kids to be able to use a computer and software, then you have to pay to put computers in the schools.  Enough computers, and up-to-date computers, and software and that shit costs a lot.  Stop crying about it!  You are also going to have to pay enough teachers so that your precious little angel isn't in a class with 33 other kids.  You think teaching a class of 34 third graders is easy?  On your kid's next birthday party, invite them all over to your house and try to get them to all listen to the directions for pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and see how easy it is.  

Second of all, in states that have a strong teacher's union, students are doing much better on standardized tests.  The states with no teachers's union are the lowest education states in the country.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Teachers need a voice and some protection against administrators that are more motivated by politics than educating students, and parents who will do crazy things to a teacher who won't let Little-Johnny-Shithead do whatever the hell he wants.

Thirdly, once a teacher gets tenure it doesn't mean that the teacher can sit back and make students wash his car and rub his feet all day and he'll never get fired.  All tenure means is that in order to fire that teacher, the administration has to follow a set of procedures that includes documentation and observation.  If your administrator is too lazy to do that with a teacher you think is bad, you need to get rid of the administrator first.  And good luck with that!  Before a teacher gets tenure he/she can be fired for no reason at all.  All tenure means is that there has to be a reason and evidence to back up the reason to fire the teacher. 

My final rant is about the health care issue.  Do you really want to live in a country that turns people who are sick away from hospitals because they don't have enough money to pay for care?  Really?  Do you really want to live in a country where having a baby in a hospital can bankrupt a family?  Doesn't it make you a little queasy to go to the grocery store and see homemade posters for fundraisers for people with cancer that can't afford the treatment they need that always seems to be considered "experimental" by their incredibly profitable health insurance company?  Wouldn't it be nice if you had cancer to just go to the hospital and get treatment and not have to worry about making your whole family homeless because of it?  Every other modern industrialized country in the world gives their citizens health care.  We should too. 

Okay, that's it.  I'm sorry if anything I said made you mad.  If it did, yell at me in the comments.  I welcome it.  I love a good debate.  (and I love brownies)

My Parlour

A person likes to think they have some style.  It's time for Mitch and me to face some facts and realize we have no sense of style when it comes to furnishing our home.  Mainly it's because we have never actually bought furniture, but have inherited almost every piece we have in our house.  The only things we've actually bought were the crappy, ugly stools I have next to our island that I got from Shopko ten years ago, and the two bachelor-pad leather recliners Mitch found on Craig's List that are actually very comfortable, but kind of ugly and they tend to make a person's nether-regions get a bit sweaty.  (I don't think they are leather so much as they are vinyl.)

Recently I inherited some of my grandmother's furniture.  How could I say no to a free sofa that is way nicer and more "quality" than anything I'd ever shell money out for?  The couch I had in my living room was one I got from my parents when they moved and I loved it, but it was getting worn and ratty.  I took my grandma's nice couch, even though I wasn't crazy about the floral, slightly shiny, super fancy upholstery, and I also took a love seat that she had in her house for ever and ever that I always liked.  Here's the couch:

Fancy!

It's very comfortable but I was really really starting to hate the floral pattern. It made me look at the rest of my furniture with new eyes and I discovered that we don't have a comfortable living room so much as a fancy old-lady parlour.  Here, I'll show you:

"Me and the pelvis are going to prom!"

This is a chair Mitch has always liked that was at Johnson's cabin for years and years.  It used to have a kind of funky dark red bumpy upholstery, but it was ripped up so he had it re-upholstered.  This is the material he painstakingly chose (complete with gold tassles!).  It looks a little weird in the picture because the gold leaves are shiny and they made a funny reflection when I took a picture.  We decided that if furniture got dressed to go out, this chair would be going to the prom. Next we have this gold chair that is from Mitch's parents that I took because I love it. 

 I don't know what I like the most about it, the gold color, the velvety upholstery, or the little brass do dads on the arms.  I'm not kidding.  I really like this chair.  Except for the way it collects dirt on the arms.  I could do without that. 

Next we have another velvety chair that I got from my Grandma Zetta when she moved.  I like it because it's velvety.  

I really like velvet.  

And last here is the little loveseat I got from my grandma.  Nobody likes this but me, but I really like it.  When I said I wanted to take it, my aunt said, "...Really?  Oh, okay.  I suppose you could get a slipcover or something.... You really want that?" and Beth said, "I suppose you could get some cute pillows for it at Pier One.... Or something."

I like it.  I think the upholstery is made of wool and I like the little pillows that go with it. 

Before we got my grandma's fancy couch, the velvety fanciness of the room was kind of muted by the crappy plaid couch, but now with the fancy couch it looks like all my furniture is dressed to go to a wedding, so I ordered a slipcover for the couch.  Here it is:

Much better!  Here it is accessorized:

Now instead of looking like an old lady dressed up for church, it looks like a lesbian professor at her favorite coffee shop. The best part about the slipcover is that it's velvety.  Now the biggest piece of furniture in the living room is casual again, so the rest of the furniture can relax and not feel so stupid.

Shutterbug

My niece Jonnie is a freshman at St. Scholastica here in Duluth.  She is a very talented artist and photographer.  She took some pictures of the kids when they went on a boat ride on Lake Superior last week. 

 

 

Thanks, Jonnie!

Travelin'!

I'm taking a trip at the end of the month to Washington D.C. to visit my sister, so right now I am planning out the minute details of the trip.  I am going to stay in a hotel the night before my flight because that way I don't have to get up early and I can leave my car at the hotel.  Also I can go to the Mall of America if I want.  I don't really want to but I feel like I should because it's there and I used to like it and it's about the most dare-devilish thing I will do for several years, (The Mall of America is supposedly a major terrorist target. wooooooo!  Terrorists!) until I save up for my trip up Mount Everest. Just kidding!  I'm not going to Mount Everest.  First of all, I hear it's really cold there, second of all, the trip to the top is almost totally uphill and I am not a fan of going uphill, and finally, although I don't like showering, I need one almost every day and I shudder to think what would happen if I went for two months without a shower.  One time I tried to see how long I could go without washing my pants and it was a long time, but nowhere near two months.  (actually, pretty close, and pretty gross.  Think "ring around the waistband."  Sorry, Mom). 

Anyway, I'm liking the idea of staying in a hotel room all by myself for a night, but then Mitch reminded me what happened the last time I stayed in a hotel in Minneapolis by myself.  It was 14 years ago and I was there for ... actually I don't remember exactly why.  Something work related?  Yes, it was because I had a new suit and a school district car that I drove ALL OVER the cities and got a lot of shit about the mileage when I got back.  So I was at this hotel and for some reason was feeling kind of paranoid about being a young, single woman alone in the big city.  I heard some noises in the hallway and got kind of freaked out thinking somebody was probably going to try to break into my room and steal my new Gap tweed suit and fake pearls and then have their way with me.  I got the obligatory pepper spray canister out of my purse.  I was afraid it was too old to work so I decided to give it a try, just to make sure I knew how to use it.  I brought it in the bathroom and pointed it into the tub and sprayed.  It worked!  A wave of misty pepper spray shot out and circulated through the tub right back into my stupid face. 

That shit really works.  I coughed and hacked and tears were streaming from my eyes for so long that I couldn't even enjoy watching free cable TV.  And then the perp didn't even have the common decency to attempt an assault.  What a waste of preparation. 

I'm not worried about being assaulted on this trip because I'm no longer a pseudo-hot twentysomething.  I'm forty which means I'm practically invisible which a lot of women don't like but I LOVE.  I can remember when my older friends would hit middle age and complain about being overlooked all the time and feeling invisible, and I was so jealous.  Who doesn't want the power of invisibility?  Crazy people, that's who.  So since I am practically invisible because I'm a chubby, white, 40 year old woman, I am not bringing any weapons along with me which is good because I don't think they let people take just anything on a plane these days. 

Several years ago Mitch and the kids and I took a trip to California together. Airport security confiscated Sam's ratcheting screwdriver.  Don't ask me why he was traveling with a ratcheting screwdiver.  He was seven.  He packed his own carry-on.  He was devastated by the loss of that screwdriver and it's made an impression on all of us.

(Mom, Dad, Grandma, stop reading here or you will regret it.)
 
That was the same trip Mitch thought he would be HILARIOUS by packing an obnoxiously large dildo in my carry-on hoping I would be searched.  (Mom, Dad, Grandma:  I warned you, now stop reading.) Like I wouldn't notice the 18 inches and five extra pounds of flesh-colored rubber. (It even had balls.  Rubber balls!) I repacked it in his checked baggage before we went to the airport.  The man actually spent time and money and endured the embarrassment of shopping for and purchasing that monstrosity (who uses those?  They can't all be a joke.  Yuck.) just for a lame-o practical joke that didn't even work.  When we got to my sister's house it was even grosser because it was all full of lint from the clothes. We put it in her kayak.  We told her it was hidden somewhere and good luck finding it.  She didn't find it until she was moving and just happened to come across it before the movers did, and then in a panic told the movers, "Don't worry about the kayak!  I'll pack the kayak!"  She said she double wrapped the offending linty phallus in black garbage bags and threw it in a dumpster after dark one night.  I bet Mitch wishes he had that sweet dildo money back.  FYI to all husbands everywhere:  You will get more [fill in desired wish here] with flowers than you ever will with joke penises.

Hi there! I'm still alive!

Last week was my grandma's funeral and I want to thank all of you for your kind words of support.  It's been a rough time and I thought that I'd feel better after she died because at least then she wouldn't be suffering anymore, but I don't feel better.  I feel bad and then I feel bad for feeling bad because what's the point?  She was old.  She was sick.  Everyone dies.  But I still feel bad.  And then I feel bad for feeling bad.  See what I've got going here? 

The family got together last week to clean out Grandma's house and get it ready for sale.  It's a really nice house.  Wanna move to Hibbing?  I can set you up with a sweet deal.  Just kidding.  Nobody wants to move to Hibbing.  Did you know that the entire town was moved in 1919?  It was because iron ore was discovered underneath it.  My grandparents owned and ran Erickson Lumber and it's still there and is still run by my uncle.  My grandpa had an architect working there back in the day and he had their house designed and built by Erickson Lumber.  There are lots of clever little built-in drawers and closets all over the place.  Everything is recessed into the walls.  Even the lights and kleenex holders.  There is TONS of storage in that house.  People kept saying what good "bones" the house has and that bothers me because, gross. Houses don't have bones. And if they did, I'd say that is not a good asset.  Make the owners get rid of those disgusting bones! Yuck!  Why do you want to buy the house of a serial killer anyway? Sick!  Who's your realtor?  (Sorry, I've been watching a lot of Dexter lately and body-disposal is one real of the down-sides of serial killing.)   

My grandpa was a pretty savvy businessman and talented builder, and my grandma was organized and neat and practical which is why we were all so flabbergasted when we found this:

It's an ancient hammer with a claw broken off.  It was hanging neatly in my grandpa's downstairs workshop.  The man owned a hardware store, and he kept this hammer which I'm sure is WAY older than me.  Weird.

Ativan fails to put the "fun" in funeral

A few weeks ago I went to the doctor because I had this weird sporadic rash that was driving me crazy.  One day my hands would itch so much that I'd scratch them raw.  The next day my hands were fine but my neck itched etc, etc.  I took allergy medicine thinking that would fix it but it didn't so I went to my doctor.  She said that it is probably caused by anxiety so she gave me some Ativan to keep on hand for stressful situations.  I didn't even need to take one and the rash went away.  Magic!  Not really, I'm just that susceptible to suggestion.  (Weak mind.) 

Anyway, my grandma's funeral was yesterday and I was asked to say a few words.  I was honored to do so, but I didn't know if I could do it, but then I thought, hey wait a minute!  Of course I can!  I have Ativan!  So I took one about a half hour before the service.  FYI - that's NOT NEARLY long enough for it to have any kind of calming effect (unless, of course, my doctor gave me a placebo which is entirely possible).

I was a mess.  So was my sister.  As people were coming in for the visitation we were both blubbering like idiots.  We couldn't stop.  I looked around and found the little kitchenette off the sanctuary where they keep the supplies for communion.  I told Beth to come with me and we'd break into the communion wine and have a few belts to calm our nerves.  Beth said, "I wish I could but I can't, remember?  I'm pregnant."  Oh yeah, shit.  Damn baby is cramping my style already.  Then she said, "But I am in the second trimester.  I bet the baby would be okay."  I said, "Hey, we're in church!  We could always pray:  'Please God, don't let Beth's baby have fetal alcohol syndrome for chugging communion wine. We need it for our nerves.'  That should cover all the bases!"  So I looked in all the cupboards and the mini-fridge and all they had was Lorna Doones and GRAPE JUICE!  Crap.  Stupid aging congregation!  It looked like it was going be a sober blubberfest.  It was.  And when you are up at the pulpit crying and trying to tell funny stories about your Grandma, it just makes everyone cry.  Total blubberfest.  It was like that scene in Stand By Me but with me as Lardass, and crying instead of throwing up. 

Nobody else I know better die or I will end up in a mental institution.

Goodbye, Grandma

Mildred Erickson

October 31, 1917 - October 11, 2010

I love you and I will miss you a lot.  A girl couldn't have asked for a better grandma than you.   I'm glad the suffering is over.  Rest in peace.

Things Mitch won't do for me:

1.  Expel my dog's anal glands.

That's all I can think of right now.  I saw my poor dog dragging her ass on the grass yesterday and I asked Google why dogs do that.  They do it because their anal glands are blocked up and also because it makes children laugh and laugh. 

I took a look, which was gross and unpleasant for me and for the dog, and sure enough, she's swollen back there.  She needs some help.  I thought about doing it myself but it sounds disgusting so I told Mitch he had to do it.  He laughed like I wasn't serious.  I'm still working on him to do it.  In the meantime I have been researching how to do this so I can tell him when he finally gives in.  I read about it and it sounds really gross, but it can't be any worse than popping a big zit, right?

So I looked it up on Youtube (this is a link to the video I watched.  Don't watch it.  You will throw up and DIE.) so I could watch a video of it.  Oh my god, you guys, it is so much grosser than you could ever imagine! So. Much. Grosser.  I was just sitting here while it loaded between commercials on SNL.  Mitch is sleeping on the couch and when I played it and got to when the magic happens with a cat I was so amazingly grossed out that all I could do was say, "OH HO HO HO HO!  OH MY GOD!  OH DEAR GOD!  NO!  NO!"  I was too grossed out to even push the pause button and I couldn't take my eyes off the horror that is animal-anal-gland-expulsion. Mitch woke up for a few seconds and said, "What's going on?"  I didn't tell him what I was watching because I was kind of thinking of learning to do this myself for my poor dog, but now there is no way I can do it, and I'm too cheap to pay someone to squeeze my dogs anus, so it is all up to Mitch, and he doesn't need to know the horror of it before he does it. 

Nobel stiffed me again (that's what she said)

Hi Everyone!  Thanks so much for the questions you sent me for my FAQ page.  It's up but it's still a work in progress so keep sending me questions.  My goal is to have the world record for the longest, most obnoxious FAQ page.  (hey, I've got to make my mark somehow)

Well, I woke up this morning kind of depressed because another year has gone by and I didn't win a Nobel Prize.  Again.  (Thanks for nothing, Nobel Prize committee!)  But then my sister called me with my itinerary for my trip to Washington D.C. at the end of the month!*  Yay!  A trip!  This is her gift to me for my big fortieth birthday and it's WAY better than what I got her for her birthday. (just kidding, Amy, you'll love it**) I'm going to spend a ridiculous amount of time at the Smithsonian (because of the movie Night at the Museum) (just kidding) (not really).  And I'm going to look at all the good stuff Washington has to offer (Ikea), but the best part is that I'm going to the Jon Stewart rally.  

 

I've never been to anything like this before but it looks like fun.  I'm not that crazy about crowds, or standing for long periods of time, or peeing in port-a-potties, but I'm going to jump out of my comfort zone and do something interesting!  Because not only is it a rally, it is a dual rally:

If I'm overcome by my dislike (paralyzing fear) of huge crowds of people, or my loathing of public toilets, I can just jump over to the fear rally and celebrate my charming idiosyncrasies instead of trying to overcome them.

The best part is that my Aunt Other Sarah and Uncle T-bone and Amy will be there too.  It's going to be so fun!

To you travelers out there:  What should I do with my car at the Minneapolis Airport?  Or should I take a shuttle bus from Duluth?  I'm leaning toward driving myself at this point.  Any tips?

* Btw, Mitch, I'm going to be gone for five days at the end of the month.
**(no, she won't)

FAQ

I saw on Brutalism's blog (look in my blogroll) that she has a page on her blog dedicated to Frequently Asked Questions.  I have not clicked on this page on Brutalism's blog because nobody looks past the first page on a blog, am I right?  (UPDATE:  Now I have looked at her FAQ page.  She's funny.) Usually people are reading this on some sort of reader so they aren't even on your blog and can't see how beautiful your background is and how lovely your sidebar looks.  All they want is text text text, and it better be good, dammit.  In case you are reading this on an internet reader and can't see my blog (lazy), I want you to know that I have several fancy pages on my blog.  One is cartoons, another one is about stuff I read and there's a few more, but I'm on the post page right now, not on the blog, so not even I know what the other pages are.  I am going to make a FAQ page too just because it looks like fun.  But first I need someone to ask me some questions.  Nobody ever asks me questions.  I'll get you started:

Q:  Sarah, is it true you were in the Miss International Falls (Miss IF) Pageant in 1990 and that your talent was gleeking?

A:  Thanks for your question, faithful reader.  No, I was not ever in the Miss International Falls pageant although I've attended many.  I am a prolific gleeker, however, (just ask Jon Olson) and if I ever do enter a pageant, that will be my talent. 

Q:  Sarah, what is your favorite/least favorite food?

A:  Thanks for that question.  My favorite food is any kind of calorie-dense carbohydrate.  Pita chips come to mind.  And pie crust.  I guess I like fat a lot too.  My least favorite "food" is rubarb.  Barf.

Q:  Hi Sarah, can you explain string theory to me?

A:  Fuck no!

See?  It's easy!  Did you notice that one of those questions was based on a lie?  I was never in a pageant.  Nobody who has ever seen my wardrobe would think I was in a pageant, but I'm trying to get you used to reading lies on this blog because I'm planning on increasing my lying.  (It's called "fiction," people).  All of my answers were absolutely true, as will be all the answers I give to the questions you ask me.  If you have a mean question to ask me and you don't want me to know who it is that's asking (i.e. "who in the hell do you think you are?"), ask away!  Just comment anonymously. 

And because Mitch says I'm "phoning it in" when I don't have a picture on my post, here's a picture:

Okay, I'll be waiting.....

Thanks for contributing to my nightmares, Jane!

My internet friend, Jane, sent me some pictures the other day (thanks, Jane!)  She said she thought of me when she saw them.  They are amazing pictures in more ways than one.  First of all, kudos to the photographer for not freaking out like I did when I tried taking a picture of bears devouring my birdfeeder.

This person seemed much calmer although clearly their bear is deadly dangerous (like all bears are, just ask the Grizzly Man.  Oh, sorry, you can't.  His precious bear-friends killed him and ate him.)  The pictures are also amazing because of the way the photographer has captured the total disregard bears have for anything you might like. 

Here's the first picture: 

Okay, these people are dedicated to their birds.  They have strung up a line across the trees.  Just like you are supposed to do with your food when you are camping to keep the bears away.  You did everything right, people, but that doesn't stop a bear.  Hey, he can climb trees!  Problem #1 solved.  Then I assume he tried to rip the cord down with his freakish bear strength, but he had no luck.  He's looking right at the photographer!  OMG, it makes me freak out a little just to look at a picture of a bear looking at a camera.

LOOK AT THIS ASSHOLE! As you can tell, the people aren't the only ones dedicated to this bird feeder.  What is this rope made out of?  It must be a cable of some sort because bears are about 2000 pounds of hate and rage and destruction.  He's hanging on with his creepy hands and his teeth.  Again, great job to the photographer who didn't drop the camera and lay on the floor in the fetal position and cry, because if he can cross that rope to the birdfeeder, I bet he wouldn't have any problem climbing all the way to your bedroom window to eat your sweet, sweet face when you think you are safe and sound and snug as a bug.  

Now the big jerk has managed to somehow hoist his back end up so he's holding the cable with his front hands as well as his back hands, which frees up his bloodthirsty jaws for destruction.  You can tell from this picture that he's pretty high off the ground.  And there's no net.  He's pretty confident he won't fall.  (I wish he would fall.)

Now his back legs are swinging free, his mouth is free and he's doing an ACTUAL PULL-UP (when's the last time you did a pull-up? [a real one]) so he can get to the birdfeeder. 

If he is willing to go through all that just for some dry old birdseed, imagine what he would do to eat your children.

Corrections

Alright, alright.  Yesterday I wrote a post that seems to have upset some people (Dad) because of the lies and omissions.  In my defense, I categorized it under "lies."  I have gone through it line by line and written in red if what I said is a lie or the truth.  And the story about Dick Cheney was gross.  I admit it.  But if you're going to make up lies about someone like Dick Cheney they better be doozies.

And oh yeah, Bronko Nagurski is from the Falls.  And so is the stunt double for Tom Selleck in Magnum.  And some hockey players.  And Jesus. (false)

History Lesson

I went out to lunch today with Mitch and his brother (true) and we got to talking (true) about my home town, International Falls, and who is from there that is famous (true).  OMG, there are a lot of people from there that went on to do amazing things!(kind of true, "a lot" might be stretching it.)  There must be something super special in the water that causes a lot of people to go on to fame and fortune, but for a lot more people it causes brain tumors. (probably true)  Seriously, there are a scary amount of people in that town with brain tumors. (absolutely true) Could it be pollution? (probably) (IT'S NOT POLLUTION, OUR ONLY BI-PRODUCT IS STEAM!(doubtful) ~ Boise Cascade Inc.)  Thank you very much, Boise, but this is MY blog post (true) so keep your nose out of it (yeah! Preach, girlfriend!).  I just said it may be pollution of some sort, I didn't accuse anyone of anything.  (true) Geez.  Touchy!

Anyway, when we were talking about the famous people from International Falls of course the first people that come to mind are Rocky and Bullwinkle. (False.  They aren't people and we didn't talk about them.)  Sure, they say they are from Frostbite Falls (true), but everyone knows that is just a nickname for International Falls. (true) It's true, go look it up on Wikipedia.

Here is a list of people I KNOW OF who are from my hometown who went on to become famous, and my brushes with them:

1.  Tammy Faye Baker - I went out with her relative, Jake Lavalley, for one summer. (true)

 Tammy Faye Baker, nee Lavalley (true)

2.  Tennessee Williams (False.  He's from Mississippi.  Didn't you ever take an English class?  I can't believe you believed that!)- Did you know he died by choking on the cap of a bottle of pills (true)?  He did. (true) And when I was in high school I worked at a pharmacy (true), but way after he died (I'm pretty sure). Did you also know he wrote Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (true) during a heat wave (maybe) while he was staying in a houseboat on Rainy Lake (False) with his beloved pet cat, Maggie (How the hell would I know if he had a cat and if it was named Maggie and it was beloved?)?  He did. (no, he didn't.) But it was originally titled Cat in a Hot Tin Room. (False) His editors made him change it. (maybe) Probably for the best. (false) He had a brother named West Virginia Williams (now that's just stupid.  False) but W.V. didn't amount to much.  I think he won a hotdog eating contest during Ice Box Days once (False.  West Virginia Williams, brother of Tennesse Williams DID NOT win a hot dog eating contest at Ice Box Days). (but who hasn't, am I right? (true))

  TN Williams

3.  We're not exactly proud of this so it's not widely known (true), but Dick Cheney was originally from International Falls (False).  One time about 15 years ago he was up there fishing (maybe) or something and he (accidentally?)  pooped his pants while walking to the bathroom in Menards (Could be true.  But as far as I know it's false).  When he took his pants down to finish the job the turd was a dry pancake because of his tight pants and it flopped out onto the floor in front of the toilet and nobody who worked there wanted to clean up Dick Cheney's dry pancake turd (True.  Would you want to clean up Dick Cheney's poo?).  I think someone may have actually quit over it (False).  I would have (true).  I count this as a brush with fame because I've been to the bathroom in Menards (true) as well, although, my trip wasn't nearly as eventful (false.  Don't Ask.).

 Vice President (true) , and pooper of dry turds (probably) that don't make it into the toilet but instead end up on the floor of public bathrooms (maybe false.  maybe true).

4.  E.W. Backus:  He was a timber baron (true) and built the dam on the border between Fort Frances, Ontario, and International Falls (not personally, but true). One time, in eighth grade I played in a band concert in the Backus Auditorium (true) and Eric Rasmussen, who was in the choir (true), threw a paper airplane randomly in the air (true) and it flew all over the place (true) but eventually crash landed in my crotch (unfortunately true), which, judging by the uproarious laughter, was wildly amusing to the audience (true) and the rest of the band, but was horrifying for me (true) because I sat in the very front row and everyone saw it. (true)

Backus Auditorium.  I was seated towards the middle, right in the front.  (true)

Seems like yesterday. (false.  Seems like this morning)

5.  Ernest Oberholtzer - Author (true), conservationist (true).  He kept E.W. Backus from damming up and clear cutting the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (true).  He also built some cute cabins (true) that are still used as an artist's colony on an island on Rainy Lake (true) that I've been to (true)  (See?  That whole thing was true!).

 Ernest Oberholtzer, maker of tiny cabins (and other things, true)

6. Mike Yurosek - "inventor" of the baby carrot (true).  I think calling him the inventor of the baby carrot is a stretch (true) because carrots have been around for a long time (true) but nobody ever accused ole' Mike of not knowing how to market himself (maybe)!  He says he invented them and made billions of dollars (False.  I didn't know anything about him until I googled "inventor of baby carrot").  I don't think I believe that (true, because I made it up) because he also claims he's from California (true) which makes me ask this, Mike; Why, with the long growing season of California, would anyone need to pick their carrots when they are so small? It makes no sense! (true) It seems like something more likely to be discovered (not invented) in a state like Minnesota. (obviously) 

Not finger stumps (false) (no, true).  Baby carrots. (true)

That's it for the (9% true) history lesson.  You're welcome!

Frenemy, not nemesis. There's a difference.

I'm listening to This American Life on NPR and it's all about the mysterious phenomenon of frenemies.  It got me thinking about my own frenemies.  Frenemies are different from nemesises (nemesi?).  There are no illusions about having a friendship with a nemesis.  You just don't like each other, but you have to interact for some reason so you act civil with not-so-subtle undertones of utter bitchiness.   A frenemy is someone you might kind of like, but the relationship is not healthy for some reason or another.

Two of my frenemies came to mind when I heard this story on the radio.  The first was in high school.  We were both on the swim team.  She was a better swimmer, a better student; better at just about everything, but she had an urge to compete with me constantly and bask in her superiority, which in retrospect was pretty lame. It's like making a to-do list of things you've already done and then crossing them off.   I didn't really care.  I wasn't that competitive.  One time on the bus we had a contest to see who could stuff more cheeseballs in their mouth.   (Unbeknownst to her, that is one competition I can't lose.) I got thirty-three balls in my mouth and nobody else could even come close.  Not even my frenemy, even though she was motivated to maintain her utter dominance over me.   She was pretty upset at losing the cheeseball-stuffing contest and was a little huffy for the rest of the day, saying snide things about what a big mouth I have, blah de blah.

Fast forward to our ten-year class reunion.  I was newly married, it was late, she was drunk.  She was shamelessly and obviously hitting on Mitch.  He was afraid of her.  She was too drunk to notice.  She had him cornered against a pool table and was rubbing her obnoxious boobs all over him.  He crossed his arms in front of him and sort of stuck them out to create a space bubble for himself and was showing the first signs of panic.  I stood next to him and watched the whole thing and was highly entertained.  Who's the loser now? Bitch. 

The other frenemy I had when I got my first real teaching job.  I was pregnant, she was pregnant, and we were both English teachers.  Yay!  A friend!  We hung out a few times and it didn't take me long to figure out that she was weird.  She was constantly trying to convert me to her strange brand of Christianity, or get me into scrapbooking, or whatever.  I felt more like a project than a friend.  When I had my baby (Sam) I was sicker than a dog from the anesthesia they used in the O.R.  I was puking all day.  She and her weird husband came by the hospital and sat in two chairs at the end of my bed and stared at me for about an hour and a half while I puked over and over in a kidney dish. Fun for everyone!

Over the years our frenemyship continued, but got weirder and kind of scary.  Mitch thinks she was in love with me but hated herself for loving another woman (god hates gays) so would punish herself (and me) by doing nasty, passive aggressive things to me.

One time when she popped in I was cooking dinner which included some sort of meat and I got a lecture from her for a long time about how SHE isn't eating meat anymore because it's so unhealthy and she doesn't want to eat anything with a face, and don't I know how awful turkey farms are?  A few months later she got new leather furniture.  I'm pretty sure the cows who contributed the yards and yards of skin for her couch had faces. 

One time she had me cornered on my porch (I learned not to invite her inside because more than once she came in and walked all over my house with dog shit on her shoes.  Not kidding.  I don't think it was an accident either.  Yes, I actually think she purposely stepped in piles of dog shit when she knew she was coming to my house.)  So anyway, she was talking to me about her Volvo which was making a funny noise.  Just then, Mitch happened to get home from work.  She said, "Mitch, maybe you could help me, my Volvo is making a funny noise," and Mitch actually said:

"Sorry, I don't want to talk about your vulva."

And then he walked in the house.  My frenemy turned a thousand shades of red and I pretended I didn't hear what he said, and she was too mortified to repeat it.  Thanks, Mitch! (Actually, it was good because she was so flustered she left right after that.)  Luckily we moved and that pretty much ended my sick relationship with her.  She sends a mass Christmas letter every year, and last year there was some allusions to an "almost" affair she might have had and how she's learned to appreciate her family.  OMG, TMI! 

I don't have any frenemies now.  I have a nemesis, but not a frenemy.  Any takers? (just kidding)
Do you have any frenemies?

***Best comment ever:   "BTW...I think it is VERY important to always use the entire term "cheeseballs" when discussing how many of them you can fit into your mouth."

H.B. to me!

Hello!  Guess what day it is!  My birthday!  Happy birthday to me!  I went for a little walk this morning because it was so beautiful outside.  I took some pictures:

First of all, I looked in my garden.  We've had a few nights of frost, so almost everything is dead and I couldn't hold off any longer on picking my pumpkins.  Impressed?  This spring when I was feeling very Martha Stewart-y I thought it would be a good idea to plant my own pumpkins for the kids for Halloween.  I pampered those stupid pumpkin vines all summer and this is all I got.  They are going to be a BITCH to carve, I can just tell.

Next I headed down the hill to the way-back yard.  Pretty huh?

Aside from the whole potential-early-death-by-bear-attack, we are very lucky to live here.

Now I'm in the woods. Beautiful!  Part of me is a little afraid of running into the bears, but the mature part of me says, "Grow up!  They are more afraid of you than you are of them!"

Then I looked down on the path and happened to notice bear tracks.  Can you see the claw marks?  At this point I'm getting a little freaked out.  But the dog was with me, and bears are afraid of dogs, right?  All is fine.  Move along.

Beautiful!  I love nature!

Right about here I was thinking how great it was to be alive, and how happy I am.  Then I looked over at my dog as she stopped short and pricked her ears up and listened intently to something ahead of us.  Then she turned around and BOLTED in the opposite direction.  Panic time!  I didn't know I could run that fast.  I caught up to the little jerk on the deck. 

It looks like she's yawning, but she's actually laughing at her hilarious joke, and saying, 

"You should have seen your face!"  

New glasses and flattened boobs

The forty-year body overhaul is almost complete.  Today I got a mammogram (squashy!) and my new glasses came in.  (see above)  I went a little bolder than I normally do because of the whole uncanny-resemblance-to-a-transvestite-Sarah-Palin business.  I'd rather look like Morty Seinfeld than Sarah Palin, which I do now.  Whew! 

*******************************

I'm on LOL today!

Good morning!  I'm featured over at Laugh Out Loud today.  (It's a re-run, but you like re-runs.)    It's the story of my old boyfriend, Jake.  After I wrote that in June he somehow saw it because he googled his own name and then he friended me on Facebook and told me he thought it was funny.  Then a few days later he dumped me on Facebook.  When will I learn? 

No bears last night (that I heard) so I'm well-rested and fresh as a daisy for my second to last day of being in my thirties.  I told my aunt that I was feeling bad about turning 40 and needing bifocals and you know what that sweet, supportive woman said?  "BFD."  Truer letters have never been spoken.  (She's way older.)

Have a great day everyone!  And go over to the LOL page today and check me and all the other funny ladies out.

I KNEW IT!

You remember that post I wrote about how a bear is terrorizing me?  My dad read that and told me that I was over-reacting and I probably have raccoons.  I didn't think raccoons could break a tree branch to get at a bird feeder, but he had me doubting the identity of my terrorist.  Well, last night I got PROOF!  It isn't A bear, it is TWO bears!!! 

I heard something bang against the grill on the deck  in the middle of the night, so I jumped up and turned on the deck lights to see what was out there.  Nothing.  Then I heard something on the front deck so I opened the front door and goddammit, it was TWO BEARS!  A big one and a little one!  I almost pooped my jammies!  Luckily I had taken the top to bottom screen out of that door yesterday and put the glass in or else all that would have been separating me from TWO BEARS would have been a thin screen.  Unfortunately all that was separating me from two bears was a nice piece of thick glass that I purposely don't secure very well in the door because it's kind of hard to do, and it's kind of hard to get out again in the spring, so I just do it "good enough."  One decent pawing would have sent the glass crashing in on me. 

They didn't seem to see me through the glass because of the light glaring on them and they were too busy demolishing my last and favorite bird feeder.  I ran around like a fool for a few minutes not sure what to do, and then I found my camera.  Here's my picture:

I know, it's an awful picture because I was totally freaking out and the door was all steamed up by the time I got myself together enough to find the camera.  I tried to take another one after I wiped off the door, but the stupid batteries ran out and I was too scared to keep the door open any longer.  I let my brave, wonderful dog out for about a minute and she chased them off.

GOOD DOG!

WTF

Mitch and I went to a wedding tonight.  I decided to get all dressed up.  I actually took more than ten minutes to get dressed. I dusted off the old make-up case, and I wore clothes that need to be ironed, and do you know what happened?  I looked exactly like a transvestite dressed as Sarah Palin.  And what's worse, I felt like a transvestite dressed as Sarah Palin.  What the fuck is happening to me?

Don't be fooled. It's not Magnum.

It's TV premier week.  I was kind of excited because ABC is bringing back Magnum P.I. (but they are calling it Blue Bloods.  Stupid name.)

Magnum and one of his million police-kids.  Can you see a New Kid on the Block???

I gotta say, this isn't what I thought.  Sure, Magnum is in it, but that is where the similarities end.  Magnum is old, but still kind of hot.  The setting is New York City, which, in case you didn't know, is nothing like Hawaii.  In this remake of Magnum,  Magnum has a shitload of kids, including Donnie Walberg, who is kind of a mean cop.  I just can't get past the fact that he was a New Kid On The Block.

Dorks.

Another one of Magnum's kids is played by Bridget Moynahan.  She's okay, but it's disturbing to watch someone who looks exactly like me. 

OMG!  Twins!  Freaky!

I'm not really following what is going on but as far as I can tell there is a little girl missing, Donnie waterboarded someone in a toilet, there is a super-secret all police secret society called the Blue Templars (gag).  I don't even care anymore because Magnum's millions of New York law-enforcement kids are no replacement for Rick, TC and especially Higgins.  Magnum is not the same without Higgins.

Oh Higgy Baby, I miss you. 

It's my birth week

I got up early this morning because I was pretty sure I had a sub job teaching fourth graders.  About ten minutes before I was supposed to leave, I just happened to go on the computer to make sure I had everything right, and discovered my job for those particular fourth graders isn't for two weeks.  "Oh great," I said to myself, "what a perfect waste of an early morning shower!"  So after I dropped Kira off at school, and endured her laughing and mocking me, ("Look who's all dressed up for work!  Look who's wearing her fancy shoes!  Ohhhhh too bad, no job for you today.") I decided to get some things done that I've been meaning to do.

The first thing I did was go to the DMV to get my license renewed.  See, the early-morning shower wasn't a total waste!  I was expecting to be there for an hour or so but it was actually pretty fast.  It only took about 10 minutes!  I think I may have actually taken a cute picture too.  Oh who am I kidding.  It probably looks like this:

Close enough!  Then, since I was close, I went to Lens Crafters to see if I could get in for an eye exam.  I could.  My prescription changed, of course, so I have to get new glasses.  At the very end of the exam the doctor looked at my paperwork and said, "Okay, let's try one more thing, and then he put a card with tiny writing really close to the super specs and said, "Tell me if this is better," and he had me look at the card, "Or this," and he did one click and I saw crystal clear perfection.  Nice work, Doctor!  Then he said, "You're ready for bifocals!"  I said,

"WHAT???????!!!!!!!"  

Then he said, "My daughter is about your age, you know, forty, and she ne-"  "Excuse me," I interrupted, "I'm not forty until next Wednesday.  Let's not push me into the grave too soon."  So he let the bifocal issue drop, "Until next time," he said.  Then he put dilating drops in my eyes and sent me into the store to look at frames.  While I was going blind from the drops, I picked out some frames that at the time I really liked.  I don't remember what they looked like now.  Things were blurry.  Probably not the best time to pick out something that's hundreds of dollars that I'll be wearing on my face every single day.  They'll be ready in a week!  I went back for the rest of my exam and then they sent me home with some cute sunglasses. 

My eyes are still dilated.  I joined a book club and tonight is my first meeting.  I can't read and I look like I'm high.  Get ready to be impressed, ladies!  Here's my pupils:

You know what was uncomfortable?  Having a flash go off two inches in front of my dilated pupils. 

Next week:  Mammogram!