Back to Our Regular Programming

Now that I no longer feel like disemboweling anyone who so much as looks in my direction, what better time to blog?

Le me introduce the newest Rescue Hero: LilSis. She flew into Houston last Thursday and snatched our grandfather from the jaws of the hurricane. Then she, my dad’s new wife, and my grandpa joined the ranks of the evacuees crawling out of Houston. If I remember correctly, they made it to Arlington in about 16 hours. Pretty soon she’ll have her own action figure who cleans, rears a passel o’ kids, and make daring rescues, and maybe wears sexy lingerie under her fire-retardant jump suit. Go, LilSis!

Our American neighbor loaned Darling Daughter some books she had checked out from the library on base. It’s weird as hell to see books stamped “Property of the US Army” in my house, and even weirder that they’re collections of Far Side comics.

It’s Not Easy Being Green

I didn’t know the color for „pissed at the whole world for little reason,“ so green will have to do. And I’m wearing a green shirt. Will the coincidences never end?

L.H. got back from Sweden at 11 pm on Monday, and at 9 am on Tuesday, one of his former grad school colleagues [to be ever-more known as “The Sponge”] called from the train station that she had made it to Germany and could we please pick her up? WTF. There had been some mention *way* back at the start of the summer about her stopping in to visit while on a year-long exchange to Berlin, but I seriously don’t remember a request to *crash with us for 4 days* upon arriving in this country, and neither does L.H. She hasn’t really been underfoot—she biked into town Tuesday and had a meeting at a town just north of here Wednesday—but she and L.H. were not, you know, friends or anything back in grad school, which he graduated *2 years ago.* I get the impression that she is planning to mooch her way across central Germany until she can get into her student housing in Berlin. She’s leaving here tomorrow, so I guess I can keep my head from imploding until then.

Wednesday, it was like frickin’ Grand Central Station around here. Right after D.D. and I got home from school, the neighbor locked herself out, so we invited her to hang with us until her BF got home. She had been walking her 2 gay-named Yorkies, so she tied their leashes to the stair rail to keep them out of the way. They were well-behaved and quiet; no prob. Until Missy Cat tried to come downstairs, spotted them, and began hissing her threat to disembowel them. I herded her back upstairs and locked her and Eliza in the bedroom. Back to peace and quiet. Except for me and D.D. fighting about her homework. They’ve been getting a lot more this year, which is kind of to be expected, so she hasn’t always had enough time to finish it at after-school care. Anyhow, as soon as she finished her math, the doorbell rang. It was D.D.’s friend. I let them watch a movie while I cooked dinner and chatted with the neighbor, who’s American. Then the BF came, and he’s very nice, but a bit loud and boisterous. And L.H. came home in the midst of all this, so he was talking to the BF, I was talking to the neighbor, and there was a movie in the background. If The Sponge had walked in right then, I might have lost it. Right now, I feel like, “Where is my beloved rock for hiding under?”

I had to put another estrogen patch on this week, so I have a sneaking suspicion that part of my lingering foul mood proceeds from that. I have had very few thoughts this week that don’t contain some form of the word “fuck,” so that might give you a clue how pissy I am. [As a side note: While the neighbor was here, I hurt my foot and whispered, “Fuck!” She seemed taken aback, and actually said—laughingly—“You said the F-word?” Dude, I just ripped half the skin off my toe on a *metal bolt* sticking up from the floor; you’re lucky I only whispered it. I don’t know if she thought Texans don’t curse, or women, or—hell, I have no idea what assumption she was going on, but really. Damn.]

I will now try to sedate myself with posting and more coffee, although I don’t actually expect either to help. On the plus side, I am now mentally prepared to put words to paper for my term paper, having finished my prep work yesterday, so maybe that and losing The Sponge will make me more pleasant next week.

A Tisket, A Tasket, A Pile of Random Crap-et

Here’s something you never expect to hear from your sister-in-law:
“You’re digging your Christmas grave!”

***

I didn’t mean to imply in my last post that I don’t like cartoons. Au contraire. To wit, The Simpsons, Spongebob Squarepants, Dave the Barbarian, and Fillmore! are some of my favorite tv viewing. And I signed up to be the president of the fan club when I saw the commerical for The Dragon Slayers; any show that's about dragons and with a theme song by The Cure is all right with me. Even if it comes from France. Gasp!

***

I don’t know what exactly this IUD is doing to my body, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I have had the physical coordination of a gifted 4-month-old lately. The last time I was this clumsy, I was very pregnant. [It would take micro-surgery and/or a miracle for that to be the cause this time.] All I know is that I’m sick of spilling, dropping, bumping, and breaking everything. The way I’ve snapped off the tips of several of my fingernails by banging them into wooden furniture and ripped my cuticle so it bled (while wrestling bags of cat litter into the back of the car), I’m surprised I didn’t chop off a finger making stew.

***

Thanks to the power of low-budget tv programming, I have come to realize that Quincy was a really preachy show. Emergency rooms should always have surgeons at the ready. Child molesters/killers should be locked up and the key thrown away. Well, DUH.

***

We’ve almost reached the end of geranium season. I haven’t dead-headed them in days, and I miss it. The stems are satisfyingly crispy when I break them off, like snapping green beans. And I’m so anal, I find searching for dead blooms among the mass of flowers to be quite satisfying and even relaxing. One day I will have a yard, and I will plant geraniums and make compost, and my life will be complete.

***

When we were in Paris, I saw what some might term “high fashion,” but that I felt to be “mummy chic.” In a shop window, someone draped a mannequin in strips of cast-off linen mummy wrappings. At the time, I chalked it up to that wacky sense of Parisian fashion. But in Salzburg a couple of weeks later, I spotted a woman wearing a very similar shirt, but more toilet paper-y looking. She had paired it with pants that tied at the ankles, so I figure she might have had a lobotomy? Who can say.

***

We were watching tv, and a commercial came on for some phone service. That reminded Darling Daughter that she needed God’s phone number so she could call him and tell him what she wanted for xmas. My SIL pointed out that you never see God and Santa in the same place, and that they both know when you’ve been naughty and when you’ve been nice, so it would be easy to confuse them.

Who Needs Reality TV When There Are Commercials?

Most of my television-watching these days consists of cartoons interspersed with 5-minute CNN bits whenever D.D. goes to the bathroom. The only bright spot in my endlessly animated days are the commercials.

My favorite, which has since gone off the air, was for a men’s deodorant or aftershave (I can’t remember which brand). It’s supposed to be a product for manly men, so it shows the first guy punching through the medicine cabinet mirror to get out his aftershave. He jumps out the window onto the top of a bus, where some other men are already sitting, reading the paper. A cop turns a donut and skids up to the window of a coffee shop, where the girl has his coffee waiting for him. At the office, guys are flipping their cars into their parking spaces or dropping from a helicopter through the skylight into a meeting. A delivery guy, who is *on fire* jumps his motorcycle through the front window of the building, and the security guy shows no reaction other than to point to a sign that shows “no helmets.” If I were a guy, I would definitely have bought their product.

D.D.’s favorite, which is a classic in its own right, is for Kinder Chocofresh. This is a chocolaty, creamy, cool dessert that should be a food group all on its own. In the commercial, a mom and her two kids (one of each) ask the grocery store guy where they can find them. He pulls them off the fridge shelf and starts emoting about how wonderful they are while opening the package and wafting them in front of the children as he cracks them open to show the delicious middle. When he pops one in his mouth, the little girl—who looks about 5 years old and has a cutsey lisp—cracks: “Give me one or I’ll knock over your cooler shelf!” That is a self-confident child.

And I just now came across this ad for Carlton Draught (via Making Light), and I almost peed my pants. A meta-ad set to Carmina Burana has to be the highest form of advertising. EVAH.

Here's the promotional photo for a new show: "When Teddy Bears ATTACK" 

The Wonderful, Funderful Thing about D.D.

My daughter is what some people might call a “character.” She’s not necessarily a ham; as a matter of fact, she doesn’t usually care to have attention called to herself. But every day I discover something new and interesting (and often, entertaining) about her.

When we were driving to Paris with the grandparents, Gwamma the RN wanted to take a look at a sore that D.D. had on her wrist. From the back seat, I heard, “You’re pressing on my weak spot!” In retaliation, she pressed—hard—on Gwamma’s “weak spot”: her voice box. That’ll learn her!

But D.D. got back into Gwamma’s good graces by giving her a water-bottle full of kisses when we returned home. She has since bestowed such a bottle on her dad. Where’s mine?!

When we went to Versailles, she was a bit bored, as you could imagine an 8-year-old to be. She insisted on keeping her empty drink bottle from lunch, and since we were going to tour the gardens next, we figured, “Why not?” So we got a jug-band accompaniment through the gardens of Versailles.

I found a note in my Palm, but I’m not sure where we were when she cheerfully inquired, “Who wants to dress up like a tree?” Farther down in the note, she informed us that her itchy ears were caused by chicken bones and Caesar salad in her ears. O-kay.

She has the power to be unintentionally cruel, but also kind. I was sitting on the bed, changing into my jammies, when she commented, “Those panties make your butt look bigger than it really is.” So charming!

But she can also break my heart a little. Last night, she wrapped her Molly doll in a blanket, deposited her at the foot of my chair, and ran behind the couch to hide. I looked down at Molly, who had a post-it note stuck on her blanket: “Please love her.” Crack—there went my heart. She explained that she wanted me to treat Molly well, not like the Dursleys treat Harry Potter.

Life—Live It! *

Monday was a whirlwind of activity for all of us. L.H. was out the door by 5:25 to take the bus to the train station, where he caught the first shuttle to the regional airport ... and still didn’t make his flight. So he ended up taking an alternate route; at least he made it to Sweden, if not his final destination in Sweden, on the same day he left home.

D.D.’s first day of school went without a hitch. I’ve managed to get her to school on time every day this week (if just barely yesterday), and although she had homework already on the first day, she hasn’t complained about it too much. Except about her times tables, which I force her to practice.

Her first ballet class since July also went better than she had expected. They have a recital in 4 weeks, and D.D. remembered their dance well enough that she was able to hiss directions at the girl in front of her, who, unfortunately, was just as clueless before the summer vacation. D.D. claims she wants to drop ballet, but I told her that she’d have to wait until xmas break at the earliest. When I asked her what kind of class she would like to take instead—L.H. and I agree that she needs a couple of extracurricular activities—she answered, “Play with my friends?” Wrong!

I made a list of about a hundred million errands to do on Monday, so once I got D.D. safely tucked away at school, I headed to town. By 1, I had done everything possible on my list, and I was ready to lie down and never get up again. Since Monday, I have contented myself with piddling, time-wasting chores around the house, but I really need to work on my paper that’s due October 1. Eek!

Of course, in the midst of all this busy-work, I had an idea for another story, and a flash of insight on a work-in-progress. Not the best timing, eh? But it seems that the more mental power I am devoting to life and stuff, the more the creative juices get flowing. (Actually, I hate that phrase—I always have a mental image of a thawing turkey dripping blood. Ick!) One day I’ll get it together and complete some of these stories floating around in my head, but not today.


* Thanks, Louie Anderson, for the best philosophy of life ever.

My Worst Fear as a Writer

from CNN International online:

Failure, escape and 'The Outsiders': Francis Ford Coppola remembers a labor of love

...
He's taken a year's break from "Megalopolis," a script about New York in the future that he's labored on for more than two decades.

" 'Megalopolis' is like being in love with a beautiful woman who doesn't want you," he said. "So you don't get to meet anyone else and you don't get her."

Trip the Second: Rothenburg

So I lied (well, forgot). Before the trek to Paris, we made a day-trip to Rothenburg ob der Tauber, which is basically an intact medieval town. We strolled about, gawping at the half-timbered houses and window-shopping. After St. Jacob’s Church, we hit the Christmas store. Oh. My. God. I love xmas, but I was smothering in it by the time we fought our way out of there. I can only stand so much flocking and cinnamon incense before descending into madness.

So then we split up. The chicks went to the Doll and Toy Museum, where they had a rockin’ Barbie display, and the guys went to the Medieval Crime Museum. Make of that what you will. We ended the trip with a walk along the top of the defensive wall surrounding the old town. I had to hold D.D.’s hand at first, because she’s “afraid of heights” (it comes and goes). She was telling me all the things she’s afraid of: “heights, snakes with big teeth (she put her fingers to her mouth like fangs, a la Holy Grail), giant snakes that can squeeze you like a boa constructor [sic], ok—all snakes.” My mom doesn’t like snakes, either, so you’re in good company kid.

We stayed home on Monday to do some laundry, and when I popped out to pick up some groceries, D.D. and LMIL got busy tie-dying a couple of t-shirts and 2 pairs of socks (D.D.’s idea). We hid what was left of the dye, in case she got any other ideas. So now she has enough to wear that she’ll only have to pick a non-batik outfit once a week.

A Joke Composed by Darling Daughter

What do you call a Ballerina who fell down?

She piroueted [sic] out fine!

pirouette=turn

Get it?

Farewell to Summer

Summer is over, and what a busy summer it was. In the 6 weeks D.D. was out of school, we visited with 2 sets of relatives and made 6 trips encompassing 12 towns. We’ve been to the pool a handful of times, including the time of composition, and I am now sporting a wicked farmer tan consisting of a white stripe across my wrist from my watch and brown stripes across my feet from my Mary Janes. Eat your heart out!

We heard on the radio that September 1 was meteorologically the first day of fall. We’re getting a last gasp of “high summer” weather—sunny and warm—but I can tell that the light is already different. In Texas, the light is basically the same all year round. It lasts a little longer and is more intense in summer, but the sun rises and sets in the same part of the sky. In another couple of weeks here in Germany, the sun will be rising noticeably later and farther south. It’s not as extreme as in Sweden (thank the 7 dwarfs!), but it is still disconcerting to a Texas girl.

I just heard from a friend at the pool that there are thunder storms in the forecast, then it is supposed to get cooler. D.D. had already been predicting cool weather: school’s starting, therefore it must cool down. Rats. The plus side is that I didn’t have to buy much in the way of summer clothes for D.D. this year because she still fit most of them from last year, although the shorts were bordering on indecently short, even though they fit in the waist. Since she’s only been out of jeans for about a week, she still has something to wear to school next week. Soon we’ll be into the season of layering for crisp fall mornings and warm fall afternoons. Step Dad was the first to notice that some of the trees were already changing color. Oh well, I like fall, I just would have liked a little more summer this year. Sigh.

Today’s Guest Blogger: Darling Daughter

Well, I’m back from a boring Trip to PARIS. I think I would like to draw a Mustache [sic] and Beard on the Mona lisa (and devil horns!).

[Typed verbatim from her written notes. As you may have noticed, she has a very German way of looking at capitalization.]

Heads up on comments change

Within an hour of my last post, I had 2 spam comments, and rather than let them get a toe-hold, I've set my comments so that you have to enter a word that appears on the screen (like when you start almost any online account these days) when you comment. I hope that doesn't put any of you off commenting, but I hope it keeps the comment section spam-free. Let me know if anyone has problems with it.

-Nee

Trip the First

So, the last 3 weeks or so... For those just tuning in, my Lovely Mother-In-Law and her husband (Step Dad), were the first to break the time/money/distance-barrier and come to visit us here in Germany. We had them for 12 fun-filled, travel-packed days, so we (and they!) were exhausted by the time we put them on the plane a week ago Tuesday.

When they arrived, Darling Daughter must have thought xmas had come early, because in addition to the “supplies” we had requested (like grape jelly and mac-n-cheese) and some books we had ordered to be sent to them, they also brought some fantastic gifts for her (and some for us), like a new dress and even more books. Since their arrival on Aug. 18, D.D. has read 7 new books for a total of 1,040 pages. That doesn’t include the books she already had that she reread at bedtime during that period. We’ve got a reader on our hands! Anyhoo, the books helped keep her occupied during all our boring travelling.

Our first extended-family excursion was a cruise up the Rhine on the castle tour. Step Dad especially loved it; I don’t think he really knew what to expect from Germany, but it seems he was more than pleasantly surprised. D.D. retreated beneath her umbrella to ward off the sun while she read her book, not even emerging when the Spanish contingent of the World Youth Day goers began dancing and singing. We were treated to the sight of teens in low-rise jeans dancing flamenco and the macarena, ostensibly for God. Having grown up Southern Baptist, I was somewhat scandalized. Ok, I’m lying—our church was of the hypocritical variety, and I do not recall dancing ever being mentioned, much less condemned, there. Mostly we were annoyed because they were obviously not appreciating the castles like we were trying to. Fortunately, they got off before we did.

We visited the town of Braubach and its castle, the Marksburg. It was the in-laws' first castle! Then we took a regional train down to Rüdesheim, a short ferry ride away from our car. We probably could have skipped the Drosselgasse, but at least LMIL and S.D. were able to eat their first German fast food there—pork steak and onions on a roll, if I remember correctly. Much better then McFood!

It was late when we got home, then we spent the next day recouperating.

Next installment: Trip the Second (Paris)

Boo-Hoo for Me

I’m not getting much sympathy from L.H., so I’ll cry on the virtual shoulder of my online friends and family instead. After I got out of the shower this morning, I noticed a rash on the insides of my forearms. In the meanwhile, it has moved across my chest, torso, neck, face, and now feet. I haven’t dropped my pants to check my legs. L.H.’s unhelpful response when I showed him: heat rash. Could be, if it weren’t 75F in our shady house. Anyhow, this rash is just the latest in a string of minor illnesses over the last week-and-a-half.

First, I think I had a kidney infection. We got back from France with the extended family on Friday, and I developed back pain and pee-urgency on Saturday. (And I started my period. Insult to injury, eh?) Fortunately, my Lovely MIL is an RN, and she always travels with UTI meds after having developed one on vacation several years ago. So she hooked me up with some sulfa drugs. Mmmm... I still had intermittent back pain over the following week, but Alleve came to my rescue.

Then there was the pill-swallowing incident. Even at 32, I still gag on large pills. [I think LilSis does, too, so maybe it’s a family thing.] Anyhow,
Large Pill + Nee = Barf > 2 Days of Nausea.

Also, mucho travelling means mucho constipation, so I’ve been dealing with the end results of that (no pun intended), including diarrhea. I’m about ready to trade in this body for a more reliable one.

[Added the next day:] The morning we were leaving for southern Germany, I woke up with no back pain, but with a crick in my neck. I couldn't move my head to the right, so I missed all the scenery on that side of the car.

Needless to say, once must of the above had passed, Lovely Husband had a bout of vomiting while in southern Germany, and Darling Daughter had one in the car on the way home. I’m hoping we will all be well again by next week, because on Monday D.D. starts third grade and L.H. flies to Sweden for a week. That means I get to be a single parent again, if only for a week, but at least my classes haven’t started yet. Otherwise I’d probably need another vacation when L.H. got back.

Non-Blogging Raised to an Art Form

It has been much harder getting back into the swing of blogging than I would have thought. On the one hand, I haven’t done much more than jot down enigmatic notes (“duck”--?) for the last 3 weeks or so, so cobbling them together into a witty, coherent post is proving to be a challenge. On the other hand, so much has happened that it is overwhelming trying to 1) remember everything, and 2) explain it. Darling Daughter just got two new videos today, so I’m hoping to scribble away the evening as she vegges out.

Of course, my pathetic attempt to explain away my absence pales to the eloquence of Fafnir (see “The News” and “missing time”).

Aack! 14 days since my last post!

Blog Protective Services will be coming after me for neglecting this thing, and there are still more days of non-blogging to come. Tomorrow we're leaving to visit L.H.'s grandfather's girlfriend (it's a long story) in southern Germany/Austria, and we won't be back until Sunday. I have tons I could say (but have not yet) about the last 2 weeks, but I promise to busily scribble while L.H. drives this weekend.

Carry on.

Cleaning House

After 5 days of cleaning my home (1), we took a day off and went to the pool and out to dinner. Except for the fact that my freckles have decided to form one giant freckle across my nose and cheeks, the whole outing was a success.

(1) And not just because the in-laws are winging their way across the Atlantic even as I type. I was mostly in student mode during the spring and early summer, when I would normally give Spring Cleaning a go, so I had saved up all the teeny, gritty jobs for "when I'm done with school." It caught up with me with a vengeance, but you won't find cleaner windows, sliding-glass-door runners, or grout anywhere.

And in the spirit of cleaning house, I'm trimming some of the dead wood here. For instance, the horrible post from July 27 is already gone, but I fully intend to put the photo (of the orange lion statue) back up with new commentary that's a little more erudite than "What the f***?"

As I mentioned above, though, the in-laws will be here for 2 weeks, so I'll be having so much fun I probably won't have time to post much. We'll be in Paris for another whirlwind, 4-day excursion starting next week, so there will be much to see and discuss when I get back. See you then!

The Seinfeldian Post

D.D. and I actually had a very good shopping experience yesterday. L.H. had to stay home and work (so sad! and on his birthday!). I had a fairly thorough list, a working pen, and my slug for the cart—I have managed to leave one or more of these items at home in the recent past—plus we’d had a snack before we left, so we were all set. D.D. didn’t have the gimmes and was a good helper. It was great.

Halfway through the store, I wanted to lie down and die. Not due to the usual store-induced stress, though. The in-store music was one of my favorite Depeche Mode songs, one I’ve been listening to repeatedly while I work in the kitchen. My youth was suddenly ripped from me for the listening pleasure of persons trying to decide between lemon-scented or plain toilet bowl cleaner. Noooo!

L.H. just turned 32, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when the Mini-Mal plays *anything* by Yngwie Malmsteen, his favorite rock musician, the epitome of an 80s hair-rocker (although, to give him his musical props, he is supposed to be something of a guitar virtuoso). So L.H. will be able to hold on to the illusion of being too young and hip for grocery store music. Grrr...

I’m withholding judgment on this stupid estrogen patch thing until after I take it off tonight. If the spotting stops, it’ll be the best thing since sliced bread. If not, I could have saved myself the five bucks and just put a piece of tape on my stomach, because that’s what it felt like at first. It’s an odd sensation—try it sometime.

LMIL commented that little kids can be satisfied with the smallest things, and I thought, “Yeah, but not mine,” because D.D. was in full Barbie-wanting mode at the time. But once again she’s proved me wrong. She got a cheap, 4-inch, stuffed dog from a package of wet wipes, and you’d think it was her newborn the way she cares for it. It has a special fortified bed made of pillows to protect it from the cats (and light, and noise) while it sleeps, and she’s been keeping it on a strict eating and napping schedule. She even gave it her own middle name. I can only imagine the level of care a rubber band or a twist tie might receive.

Does this picture make you want to visit Berlin? Maybe someone should have asked that question before launching an ad campaign using this picture.