It's a Conundrum

This afternoon, Bubba asked me what a roommate was. We gave him a quick explanation, but it reminded me of something that's been running through my mind recently.

When I went off to college, I planned to share an apartment with my best friend from high school. Everyone warned me "DON'T live with your best friend. It will ruin your friendship."

And sure enough, it didn't go that well. Well, at first it did, but then things kind of went haywire.

And then later, I lived with another friend and everybody warned me: "Don't live with your friends!" And sure enough: good at first, later = haywire.

But tell me, what is the #1 advice people give you when you're looking for a mate? Marry your best friend.

But how is that supposed to work exactly? Marry your best friend. But don't live with them? 'Cause it will ruin your friendship? Gee, that doesn't bode well for marriage now does it?

I guess the only saving grace is that at least we're not fighting over boys.

Possum Tales

We are so country, y'all. What passes for excitement around our house these days is truly astounding.

It all started when I took Toby after dinner. He beelined to the edge of the yard where we discovered a dead possum. I'm pretty sure it hadn't been there when I took him out after work, but I can't say for sure. Anyway, when I went inside I mentioned it to Mr. Daddy because I didn't want the thing stinking up the yard or to be a temptation for Toby or my dad's two dogs. Dogs have a love of the putrid you know. I wanted him to get rid of it 'cause that's like in the man bylaws -- men have to deal with dead stuff. We give birth and breastfeed and they have to get rid of carrion.

By the reaction from the younger set in my house, you would think I had announced that I had found Santa's secret workshop in our backyard. Both children immediately yelled "I want to see it!" which was complicated by the fact that Punkin was in the bathtub. When I told Bubba to get his shoes on, Punkin let out a wail of despair. So, I told her to dry off and put her bathrobe on and I would carry her out to see the dead possum.

We all trouped out to the back of the yard. Yep. There he was. Dead as a doornail. And uuuugly. We stood there staring at it for a second or two. We turned it into a mini science lesson by examining all the beetles and flies who had come to do their job. Then we all tropped back into the house.

It was probably the most exciting thing that's happened all week.

But the possum moon must be in retrograde or something because this is my second encounter with possums this week. On my way in to work on Tuesday, my co-worker called me and asked me if I was at work yet. When I informed her that I was just leaving the deck she said "Look out for the possum on the ramp near the building. It's creeping me out!"

Only, I thought she said "Look out for the coffin on the ramp near the building" and I was all like "what the hell? It's creeping her out? Of course it is! What's a coffin doing next to the building." So my whole way into the building I was looking everywhere for a coffin. The possum could have been right beside me and I wouldn't even have known because I was looking for a creepy ass coffin. The whole coffin/possum mix-up was cleared up when I got into the office, but it was pretty funny. Apparently the possum stared my co-worker down as she entered the building. Frankly, that sounds about as creepy as a coffin.

I hope last night's possum is the last one I'll encounter for a while. I can't handle too much more excitement.

Don't you wish you lived my life?

Quitting the Hard Stuff

I deleted my Twitter account yesterday. I tweeted about my decision, kind of hoping someone might try to talk me out of it, but nobody did.

I did it for a lot of reasons. One, I never, okay rarely, tweet anything. Occasionally I'll retweet something and I respond to a fair amount of people's tweets. I'm an excellent @-er.

The second reason I did it is that I believe that Twitter is killing my productivity in a lot of ways. At work I'm so tempted just to check in, but then I have to catch up from where I left off, or I find an interesting link and down the rabbit hole I go, lost for 10, 15, 20 minutes at a time.

I also credit (blame?) twitter for the original weakening of my blog. Twitter was so addictive, so fun, so easy. I would often distill a blog post into 140 characters (well, not possible really but you know what I mean) and then feel no need to blog. Plus, I was following all my blog friends on Twitter so I could keep up with what they were doing there. My visits to other blogs dropped dramatically at the same time.

And finally, I felt like I was addicted to Twitter. On Tuesday and Wednesday I was constantly checking in, hitting refresh, refresh, refresh. And feeling antsy when there was nothing new to read. All day long.

And I'm not going to lie, this post by Steam Me Up, Kid really hit a nerve with me. I often feel like I'm on the outside of the Twitter window, looking in. While in some ways Twitter made me feel more connected, in others it made me feel more isolated.

I had lunch with a friend yesterday who uses Twitter as part of her job as a Librarian. She seemed kind of horrified by the fact that I had deleted Twitter and I worried that she felt I was judging her for still using it. I'm not judging anyone at all. Twitter is fun, can be used in a variety of different ways, and it has, I believe, changed the world. In some ways for the worse in my opinion, but you can't argue that it has also changed some things for the better.

I was very nervous before I hit the "Are you SURE?" button. I do have a lot of friends on Twitter and I know I'm going to miss your Tweets. You guys are freakin' hilarious. I'm afraid we won't stay in touch the same way we did before.

But I do feel a sense of peace since I deleted my account. And yes, I started jonesing for some Twitter action late yesterday afternoon. I may be back. I'm not ruling it out. But for now, I'm done.

I Don't Have That Kind of Time

So, I've been reading a lot of style blogs lately. I'm trying to find ways to punch up my current wardrobe or mix and match new things because we're on such a tight budget. And the thing I'm noticing on almost all of them is purses. As in more than one. As in people have more than one.

I mean I do have more than one, but I don't switch them out on a daily basis. Hell, half the time I can barely remember to grab my purse as I head out the door, much less have time to transfer all my crap into a new one.

What about you? Do you swap out your purses? I'm curious.

Enjoy the Silence

So....um...

*cough*

I got nothing.

Well, actually I do have something but it requires picture downloads and we've had keyboard issues over the past couple of days.

I'll be back this evening with some photos guaranteed to crack you up.

Anybody Speak Japanese?

Yesterday when I started checking my comments from my blog, I noticed that I had TWO comments in Japanese. And both for the same post. Now one would be odd, but two was really weird. But, I deleted them and went about my merry way.

And then this morning I had another one. On the same post. Is there something about this particular post that just speaks to Japanese people? Or am I attracting some kind of weird spam? Here's today's comment. If you speak Japanese I'd love for you to take a crack at this:

オ○ニーライフのお手伝い、

救援部でHな見せたがり女性からエロ写メ、ムービーをゲットしよう！近所の女の子なら実際に合ってHな事ができちゃうかも！？夏で開放的になっている女の子と遊んじゃおう

This made me think of those things that other bloggers have done about the Google searches that bring people to their site. I've never done this but have always wanted to because I thought they were kind of fun. I used to have a list, but that got lost somewhere along the way. I do remember one though, and honestly I have no idea why this particular search would bring people to my site -- "when I squeeze my head I can hear a hum." Um. Okay. Sounds like a personal problem to me.

Another fave: "how to pronounce Henri Bendel" -- so glad I can be of service to all those people out there who are afraid of making fools of themselves! Like I almost did! (seriously, I get this one A LOT. Like two or three a day.)

"and flights of angels" -- I know where this one came from. I assume people are looking for the correct wording or where this quote comes from. Hamlet, for those of you who don't know.

Yesterday's queries include:

without a pullup -- I hope you're asking for your child. I'd say chances are 50-50.

ants getting into our camper, what to do -- Sell it. That's just about your only option. But, you could try peppermint oil and borax first. Just hope they don't get into your air condition vents in your car because that can be traumatic.

soccer shorts, spanking -- dude. I don't even want to know. Now, move along.

Henri Bendel eyebrows -- I don't know anything about Henri Bendel eyebrows, but I can tell you from experience that Henri Bendel lips are a nightmare!

So, there's a brief look at how I get most of the visitors to my site. Fortunately none of them are too pervy, so that's a relief (though you with with the soccer fetish, you need a new hobby).

What's the weirdest search phrase that's ever brought somebody to your site?

Do I O-Fend?

Now for the mystery I mentioned. But first a little back story.

Mr. Daddy recently discovered Facebook. I have, thus far, avoided Facebook's siren call. For one thing, I don't need any more timesucks. But Mr. Daddy has had a grand old time looking up long lost and not-so-long lost friends.

One of the not-so-long lost was a couple that we were very good friends with when we lived in Savannah, Jimmy and Sarah*. Jimmy was one of Mr. Daddy's regular customers when he managed the Starbucks and they really hit it off. They weren't from Savannah either and were having some of the same problems that we were having meeting people our age.

And as it turns out, their son was born about three months before Bubba was born, so we had a lot in common. We hung out together all the time, taking turns cooking for each other. They were really, really good friends.

When we moved we kept in touch pretty regularly at first and every time we'd go to Savannah we'd stop by to say hi. But, life gets in the way and we didn't get to Savannah very often and we kind of lost touch. But then in May of 2006, they called to say they were going to be in a nearby city, so we met for lunch and it was like no time had passed. It was the same easy camaraderie we've always had.

So, about a week and a half ago, Mr. Daddy sent a note to Sarah on her Facebook page that we were going to be in Savannah soon and last Sunday? (or Monday, not sure -- whenever the Rays played the Red Sox last), Jimmy called.

It was great to talk to him and he was thrilled that we were going to be in town. When Mr. Daddy suggested that we meet somewhere for lunch on Sunday before we headed home, Jimmy insisted that we come to their house, that they would cook for us. It was going to be great. We could hang out and talk, the kids could play. We were really looking forward to it.

So, on Saturday when we got to Savannah, Mr. Daddy called Jimmy's cell. No answer, so he left a message. No biggie. But no return phone call from Jimmy either.

On Sunday we got up and went to our old church and when church let out, we called Jimmy again. See, we didn't even know where they lived because they'd moved since we last saw them. We called both of their cell phones AND their home phone. Nothing. We headed out to Wilmington Island where they live, thinking that they'd call us while we were in route.

Nothing. We called again. All three phones. Nothing.

So, we headed home. It was really weird and totally not like Jimmy and Sarah and Mr. Daddy and I couldn't decide whether to be worried or offended. So, on Monday he sent Jimmy a text message asking if he was okay, if everything was alright, what was up. He immediately got a text back saying "I don't recognize this number. Who is this?" Mr. Daddy texted back and then nothing. No other response.

And still nothing. We've heard nothing from Jimmy or Sarah. Mr. Daddy checked Jimmy's Facebook page and it said he was in Rio de Janeiro on the 23rd (he travels a lot for work and Jimmy and Sarah are both from South America), so perhaps they're still there? Or maybe they got confused and think that we're coming THIS weekend?

We just don't know what happened. And it's a mystery

*not their real names.

In the Weeds

I know a lot of people find that hearing about other people's dreams is boring to the extreme, but I always find them kind of fascinating. I used to be a very vivid dreamer and could often remember my dreams and could usually tie my dream into something that was going on in real life.

Last night I dreamed that I was waiting tables and very quickly I got "in the weeds." For those of you unfamiliar with that term, it means that as a server you are getting very far behind in waiting on your tables and you can't catch up. If, again, you are unfamiliar with this term, I wouldn't wish this condition on my worst enemy. There are few things more frustrating than trying to wait on three or four tables at once and not being able to get caught up. Usually you get in the weeds when too many tables are sat at once, or a customer's request throws off your routine. It can be a harrowing experience, particularly if you get very far behind and your customers start to get pissed off.

In my dream last night I couldn't find the water glasses and I had two tables that were sat at once. One table's food came out before I could even get drinks to their table and they had been seated AFTER the table who's order I hadn't even taken yet. I put in one man's bar order and realized about a half hour later that I had never delivered it to him. I finally woke up, relieved that it wasn't real and prayed that when I went back to sleep that I wouldn't slip right back into the dream.

This morning when I was recounting the dream to Mr. Daddy he reminded me of something he heard Mitch Hedberg say on the XM radio comedy station just yesterday (and if you've never heard of Mitch Hedberg, go check him out on You Tube -- especially the routine about escalators. He's hilarious. He is also, unfortunately, deceased.) Anyway, in this routine Mitch said "You know, I prefer sleeping to dreaming. Dreaming is too much work. One minute I'm sleeping and the next minute I'm building a go-kart with my ex-landlord."

I hear ya, Mitch. I woke up exhausted. Exhausted but thankful that I never have to wait tables again.

What'd He Say?

So, everybody in my house has been felled by a mystery virus -- fever, congestion, headache. So far it hasn't reached anybody's stomach, thank God. (by the way, do you know how hard it is to type with one hand while knocking on every wood surface in the vicinity with the other?)

Mr. Daddy has been home two days with it. Bubba came home from school mid-day yesterday with it. And Punkin was hit right when we got home last evening.

Do you know what's happening this weekend? My birthday. And do you know what I foresee? That either (a) everyone will still be sick on Saturday and we will be unable to attend the birthday dinner my mother has planned for me or (b) everyone else will be well but I will have caught the bug by then and we will STILL be unable to attend my birthday dinner.

So. In order to attempt to ignore the slightly nagging pain in the left quadrant of my head and in an effort to try to outsmart Murphy, we're going to talk about something completely frivolous: Mis-heard lyrics.

On the way to work this morning, I heard one of my favorite mis-heard songs, "Der Kommisar" by After the Fire. I've written about this before, but when he was small, my cousin Michael mis-heard "Don't turn around, uh oh. Der Kommisar's in town, uh oh" as "Don't turn around, uh oh. Hold that sausage down, uh oh." Whenever I hear that song I can't help but sing the revised lyrics. And you'd be surprised how often you can slip "hold that sausage down" into conversation.

My husband's family has several mis-heard favorites and oddly several of them are from Police songs. Well, not police songs, but songs by the band Police. I can't tell you one of them without giving away our last name, but one is from "Every Breath You Take." When Sting sings "How my poor heart aches," Mr. Daddy and his brothers heard "I'm a pool hall ace." Yeah.

One of my most notorious mistakes is from the song "Jump" by Van Halen. When David Lee Roth sings "I've got my back against the record machine, I ain't the worst that you've seen," I heard "I've got my back against the wrecking machine, I eat the words that you've seen." I know. I doesn't make any sense and I knew that. But it was only recently that I heard what he's really saying. Mr. Daddy still likes to give me grief on this one. And I'm like really? You hear "pool hall ace" and you're giving me grief about this?

Have you famously (or infamously) mis-heard any lyrics? Share! I promise I won't make fun of you. Much.

What Do You Think?

So last night Mr. Daddy stopped by a local grocery store to pick up some Sam Adams beer.

As he was walking away from the beer section, a guy standing nearby said, out of the blue, "That's a really good beer. And the roofers like it too."

Huh? The roofers? What in the sam hill?

Mr. Daddy got the vague feeling that the guy was attempting to pick him up.

What do you think? Is "roofers" some kind of code?

Should I Be Worried?

We've had a lot of rain recently and because of that a very small sinkhole has opened up in our back yard.

Bubba is convinced there's a dead person buried there and he wants to dig it up.

"Daddy! Help me dig!" he implored.

"Bubba, I don't want to see a dead person," Mr. Daddy explained.

"Well, just help me dig and then turn your head!"

ooookay.