Things A Daughter should Learn

Some time ago, I asked my friends of Facebook what ten things your father taught you.  The response was impressive.  On further thought, it was clear that both the question, and most of the responses were gender biased.  Who’s to say which parent will teach their kid how to change the oil in the car, or the subtle tricks of baking.  The important thing is how to equip our little girl to succeed.

So here’s the list as I got it. My comments are in [brackets].  Please excuse the duplicates.

• How to separate nice guys from pricks.
• How to negotiate for a raise, or when buying a car.
• Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey
• How to say NO and mean it.
• Floss every night.
• Learn how to write well.
• How to throw a ball, and how to throw a punch.
• How to make grilled cheese in the toaster, how to make scrambled eggs and how to read. how to drive stick shift, to change a tire on my bike.
• My dad used to say never throw the first punch. But if someone hits you, hit back. I think he meant use your fists. I have related his advice more to everyday things. No fists.
• Ride a Bike. Finances. Saving. Standing Up for yourself. How to drive. Mow the Lawn. BBQ. Humility. Patience. Family First. Tie your shoes. Health. How to swim. How to get along with others.
• How to do a basic tune up on the car; oil change, tire change, spark plugs... It's helpful to know the basics even when that's not what you're dealing with, knowing what a spark plug is & where it goes will get you far w/a mechanic who's trying to take you.
• ‎1. Financial responsibility: balancing your checkbook, paying your credit cards on time, etc. 2. There are no gender roles: Growing up, seeing my dad in the kitchen or sewing dresses for me and my sister really shaped my view on the world at large.
• How to hit the breaking ball. (Go ahead, laugh but, it's a free college education) [I don’t know how to hit a breaking ball… or throw one.]
• Always have money with you.Always be alert in your surroundings.
  You are never alone, your parents are always there for you no matter what the situation.
• Use your own mind, don't walk into this house & blame anything on anyone else. Followed by : Be independent and pay your own way, that way you are never indebted to anyone else or reliant upon them & that gives you freedom.
• Choose something you LOVE to do as a profession because you will be spending most of your adult life working at it, & if you don't love it you will be miserable. Also remember that most adults change professions 3 times in their lifetimes.
• Only use credit cards for emergencies. If you can't afford to pay cash for it, you can't afford it. And know your percentage rates. Pay cash as much as possible and barter down the price in exchange for paying in cash.
• Waste not, want not. ( he was a depression baby).
• Always carry your trash out, the planet doesn't clean itself up after you.
• Always carry enough $$ to make a phone call & get a cab home.
• Always carry your own roll of toilet paper. And DON'T CHASE THE BOYS -- LET THE BOYS CHASE YOU.
• How to break an attacker's nose, change a tire, look people dead in the face and smile, be kind but firm, throw a football, not get walked on by people bigger than you, love to read, write and discuss intelligently, to love and understand modern art and poetry and film.
• Double every 11 and never surrender. [Blackjack reference?]
• Shoot a gun, how to drive almost any vehicle (important in the teenage years cause you never know what may happen), how to balance a check book, but the biggest lesson I learned from my dad and it has proven successful in life for ALL purposes... If your early your on time, if your on time your late and dont ever show up late!!! this rule helped me catch boyfriends cheating, get promoted faster in most jobs and always got the best parking spots!
• Charge a car battery. Start a fire (in the fireplace, preferably).
• Whittle a shiv. [!]
• Say what you mean. Keep your word.
• Your best investment is in yourself (that and buying a house).
• Carry jumper cables and know how to use them.
• How to talk books, film and politics. How to tell a joke.
• How to drive a manual transmission, throw a ball and not 'look like a girl.'
• And for the love of God - stay off the pole!
• Pee standing up. [I’ll let the girls handle that one.]
• Don't put metal in the microwave.
• Don't marry anyone who doesn't treat you as well as your daddy does.
• How to deliver an effective swift kick to the balls (only in an emergency, of course - you define emergency).
• Jedi mind tricks. [Out of my skillset.]
• Landmark your way back to the truck so you don't get lost in the great outdoors (amazing how much this helped me while traveling in other countries).  If you do get lost stay in one place because until the rescuers find you because if you keep moving & they're moving they won't find you...and keep moving so you don't freeze to death. don't every play w. a rattlesnake, either leave it alone or kill it because it will strike the next person who comes along without warning. get back on that horse and ride if you fall off because if you don't get back on & ride again immediately you won't ever ride again due to fear.
  

Kicking the Tires

Clearly, this is my first blog post in many years.  Im not sure how I want to proceed with this.  If you are reading this, I have given you the URL, and you are welcome to  suvscribe and comment.  Strike that.  Encouraged to comment.  Is required too much? 

Last Night: Epilog

Subtitle: Feline Puberty

When we left the “Cat and Foot” saga, I ran for the couch and left Mrs. eSquared on her own with the cat. Yes, I admit it was cowardly, but running away is a perfectly viable defensive maneuver. It has worked well in the past.

So… back to the problem. The cat has taught himself a new trick; oddly enough, this trick has a name: Feline Masturbation. Yes, this has been confirmed by several dubious internet sources. Here’s one:

Masturbation is a difficult problem to deal with in cats. It is a normal behavior and it is probably pleasurable. This combination makes it hard to discourage. It is not really unusual for neutered cats to learn to masturbate and it may be possible for them to produce some fluid.

In a few cats, this can become (or possibly starts out as) an obsessive/compulsive disorder. If this is a really persistent problem rather than an occasional one, it would be a good idea to ask your vet if there is a behaviorist in your area who you can work with to help resolve the problem. In this case medications for obsessive/compulsive disorders may be helpful. As far as I know, these are the only cats in which medication is likely to help.

Mike Richards, DVM
http://www.vetinfo.com/cmale.html#Masturbation

The brat is about 3 years old now. I don’t know how old that is in cat years, but he sure acts like a teenager. Like any normal teenager, he’s experimenting. I can imagine what’s going on in his little kitty head…

“Sleep… sleep… where’s that lady with the crunchies… sleep… “
“Poop… sleep… hey! You're not the lady with the crunchies! Sleep…”
“Sleep… what’s this… humm… mmm… oooh… that’s nice… That was fun… let’s do that again…”

(sigh) I miss those days... Good times.

Last Night...

Earplugs in tight; I am sleeping soundly. Until…

Poke. Poke. Poke on my hip.

I turn to Mrs. eSquared.

Mrs. E2: “Blah wahwah blah wah blah waah.”

Me: THWUK (I pull out one of my earplugs) “Whah?”

Mrs. E2: “There’s something wrong with the cat.”

I look at the cat… he looks back at me. I give him a couple of scritches, jam the plug back in my head and lay down. I mumble, “He’s fine.”

Drifting… drifting…

Poke. Poke. Poke… this time harder.

Mrs. E2: “Blah wahwah blah BLAH!”

Me: THWUK (I pull out one of my earplugs) “Whah?”

Mrs. E2: “He’s humping my LEG!”

Me: That’s ridiculous… he’s fixed… He has no idea… I trail off and look at the cat… he looks back at me as if to say, “Whaaaaat… I’m a cat.”

I have absolutely nothing to say to this, so I shove the plug back in my ear and try to go back to sleep.

Drifting… drifting…

POKE! POKE! POKE! I’m sure I’ll have a bruise.

I sit straight up fighting the urge to yell and THWUK, I pull out one of my earplugs.

Sure enough… the cat is humping my wife’s foot. I kind of felt sorry for him.

Both Mrs. eSquared and the cat look at me like I’m supposed to do something. I imagine…

Mrs. E2: “Make him stop… I’m trying to sleep!”

Cat: “Would you make her shut up and stop moving her foot… I’m busy!”

Without a word, I took my pillow and went and slept on the couch.

Last Night: Preface

There are two reasons I wear earplugs to bed. First, Mrs. eSquared likes to go to sleep with lullaby movie. The Terminator, for instance, or most any movie with a dramatic soundtrack, lots of screaming and copious gunfire and explosions.

Me… not so much. So, I use earplugs. This is the “official” story.

The “unofficial” story: Because of her pregnancy, hormones, acid-reflux and many other horrors only known to mothers, Mrs. eSquared sleeps on her back, propped by many pillows to elevate her upper body.

This position has turned her once dainty and cute “sleeping-sounds” into inhuman, lumberjack snoring that defies simile or explanation. It doesn’t sound like a jackhammer, though it feels like one – behind the eyes. It’s not quite a ripsaw… (actually, I don’t know what a ripsaw sounds like, or if there is such a thing… it just sounds good) but you get my point.

This is the second reason I wear earplugs at night. Because it helps me sleep, I’m sure everyone who knows me, or comes in contact with me during the day – any day, is appreciative.

Stay tuned

Our Latest Look...

This one we took in February 07. Both Mrs. eSquared and the Radiologist gushed cute sayings and then said she looks like me. I think she looks like W.C. Fields.

Either way... I don't think it's a complement... for either of us.

Our First Peek...

We had our first look at Baby Pink in November 2006 at Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland.

Ten Years Later…

I was gutting my way through Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane’s abysmal 2005 remake of The Producers. I loved Gene Wilder and Zero Icanneverrememberhislastname in the 1968 original, when Mrs. eSquared walked up to me with her lips pursed, and her eyebrows knitted together. She thrust a white plastic stick at me and stared.

After a moment I recognized the stick as a home pregnancy test; the first home pregnancy test we’ve needed in our relationship. I looked cautiously from the symbols on the test to her eyes… back and forth. She was waiting for my response… that was clear. There was just one problem. I couldn’t read the test thingy. Horizontal lines… vertical lines… pluses… minuses… I knew it said something important and from the look on Mrs. eSquared’s face, really important. I just had no idea what it was.

Finally, I deduced that if the test was negative, and everything was normal, we wouldn’t be having this… silent, coded conversation. So I guessed.

We’re having a baby? I said…

Indeed we are. I can’t wait to meet her.

The Beginning

Around Valentine’s Day, Avi posted this meme on his blog. I thought it was a fun one, and timely, so I bookmarked it and filed it off in the “remember for later” pile.

I think it is most appropriate for the re-dedication of this blog to fatherhood, specifically, my fatherhood. I still get a little clinchy when I use that level of directness. So… without further adieu… the Beginning.

Where/how did you meet?
Mrs. eSquared and I met when we both worked at a hotel in Bothell. We became fast friends, and stayed so for eighteen months. Then, I just knew… knew I wanted more; knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

How long have you known each other?
We met in April of 1992. Fifteen years… wow.

How long after you met did you start dating?
Like I mentioned above, we were friends about a year and a half.

How long did you date before you were engaged?
Again, about fourteen months, give or take.

How long was your engagement?
I surprised her on Memorial Day, in Richards Park in Eugene Oregon. We were married in December. So we were engaged for seven months.

How long have you been married?
As of last December, we’ve been married eleven years.

What is your anniversary?
December 16th 1995

How many people came to your wedding reception?
Around 150, I think. It’s still a blur. Even now, eleven years later, we meet people (I think for the first time) and Mrs. E2 says “No… they were at our wedding… they gave us the (whatever).”

What kind of cake did you serve?
The cake… our one glitch. A long story, but we had an old family friend make it… supposedly a master pastry chef, from Austria or something like that. To be delicate, it sucked top to bottom, raspberry filling to marzipan icing. Sucked.

Where was your wedding?
We were married in the Chapel on the Northwest College (now Northwest University).

What did you serve for your meal?
We had an early afternoon wedding… we served salads and sandwich platters. Neither of which we had time to eat. We went through Taco Bell on our way to the Bed and Breakfast.

How many people were there in your bridal party?
Three-a-piece

Are you still friends with them all?
Yup. Though some are in different states, and we don’t talk that much.

Did you or your spouse cry during the ceremony?
Yes, both of us.

Most special moment of your wedding day?
The whole day was the best of my life (so far). If I had to pick… it would be seeing how beautiful Mrs. eSquared was and looking into her eyes.

Any funny moments?
Yeah… when we were holding hands at the alter, I was holding hers ridiculously high… chest high. I don’t know why.

Any big disasters?
Other than the cake…. None.

Where did you go on your honeymoon?
Cabo san Lucas

How long were you gone?
6 days

If you were to do your wedding over, what would you change?
The cake.

What side of the bed do you sleep on?
Generally… I sleep on the right. But recently, with the pregnancy, we trade occasionally.

What size is your bed?
Queen

Greatest strength as a couple?
Humor and communication…

Greatest challenge as a couple?
Communication.

What is your song?
We don’t really have one. Mrs. eSquared might disagree with me… but I can’t think of one. We have movies.

What did you dance your first dance to?
The Oompa song (danced with Mrs. eSquared’s second grade class. It was a hoot.

What kind of flowers did you have at your wedding?
One of my fondest memories about our wedding. My favorite flower has always been the stargazer lily. Because it’s my favorite, Mrs. eSquared chose it as the focus of our wedding flora.

Are your wedding bands engraved? What do they say?
My ring is engraved with the ever-romantic: 14K FG

My beautiful wife

T. S. Elliot

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Eavesdropping…

Anytime more then six months ago…

Mrs. eSquared: [coming through the door with lots of bags from the mall] “Hi babe…”

Me: [although initially panicked, I realize Mrs. E2 only borrows clothes from the shops. She’ll return them all within three weeks, and check-out another bunch] “Hey pal. Whatchagotthere?

Mrs. E2: “Oh… a little of this, and a little of that.”

Me: [turning back to the Xbox game I currently SUCK at] “Ah, that’s cool. DIE YOU S.O.B.”

About 15 minutes pass…

Mrs. E2 [modeling her latest black turtle-neck, or black slacks] “Well… what do you think?

Me: [pausing the hopelessness that is the game I’m playing] “Oh… nice.”

Mrs. E2: [her face falling into a frown] “You hate it.”

Me: [in my high and defensive Mrs. E2 has learned not to trust] “No… they’re fine… really.”

We spend the next ten minutes convincing her that she shouldn’t take the slacks back… which she takes back anyway in a couple of weeks.

Now… let’s turn the tables a bit.

Anytime more then six months ago…

Me: [coming through the door with a bag from the mall] “Hi babe…”

Mrs. eSquared: [panicked] “Hey pal. Whatchagotthere?

Me: “Oh… a little of this, and a little of that.”

Mrs. eSquared: [turning back to the book she is currently studying] “Hummm.”


Me: [taking a moment to inhale the sweet smell of new electronic equipment as I open the box - tittering with excitement] “Well… what do you think?

Mrs. eSquared: [applying the memorized equations and algorithms she learned to calculate an item’s cost by the size and color of the box ] “Oh… nice.”

Me: [my face falling into a frown] “You hate it.”

Mrs. eSquared: [transparent in her apathy] “No… they’re fine… really.”

She spends the next ten minutes convincing me that I should take the thing back.


… and the tables come full circle.

Anytime in the last six months…

Mrs. eSquared: [coming through the door with lots of bags from the mall] “Hi babe…”

Me: [although initially panicked, I realize Mrs. E2 only borrows clothes from the shops. She’ll return them all within three weeks, and check-out another bunch] “Hey pal. Whatchagotthere?

Mrs. E2: “Oh… a little of this, and a little of that.”

Me: [turning back to the Xbox game I currently SUCK at] “Ah, that’s cool. DIE YOU S.O.B.”

About 15 minutes pass…

Mrs. E2 [parading the baby clothes she just got] “Well… what do you think?

Me: [pausing the hopelessness that is the game I’m playing, and growing dizzy looking at all the little suits, oneziez, shorts, pants, shirts and hats (yes, hats) arranged on the table] “Oh… that one has a cute carrot on it… nice.”

Mrs. E2: [her face falling into a frown] “You hate them.”

Me: [in my high and defensive Mrs. E2 has learned not to trust] “No… they’re fine… really.”

We spend the next ten minutes convincing her that we will never need to wash baby clothes. We’ll simply use them once, and throw them out. We’ve run out of room to store them… now, we’ve filled garbage sacks (clean ones) with all the clothes our egglet has.

Names & Labels… Labels & Names…

Baby Pink arrived the other day. No, not in that way… she is still snug inside Mrs. eSquared. What I mean is, anyone who looks can see her. Even some distance away, it’s evident that she has arrived, kicking, nudging, elbowing and bumping.

Mrs. E2 was determined to hide Baby Pink at her place of employment until the New Year. Fortunately, she has the last couple of weeks of 2006 off. Once Mrs. E2 was done working for the year, *WHAP* she got big.

She went back to work this week with an obvious change from the last time her colleagues saw her. Why do people (women especially) get all excited when they see a pregnant woman? Is pregnancy a special initiation into a club that men and women that haven’t experienced childbirth just aren’t invited to?

You know you’ve seen it… some lady losing it when she sees a pregnant woman: someone in the line at the bank, coffee place or supermarket; a complete stranger.

First, the questions:

Secret Club Member: (screeching as she hunkers down and runs over with her hand out to touch the belly) “Oooohhhaaaaahhhheeeeeehh… Look what you’ve been up to!”

Unwitting Pregnant Woman: “Wha!”

SCM: (sporting wide eyes and a crazed smile) “When aaaaaaaare yoooooou duuuuue?”

UPW: (a bit dazed, and taken aback with a strange woman touching her belly) “April,” she squeaks.

SCM: (rubbing UPW’s belly in circles and lowering her voice for the illusion of confidence) “Do you know what it is yet?”

UPW: (resisting the urge to say “human,” or “none or your business.”) “We’re having a girl,” as she narrows her eyes.

SCM: (feeling the excitement of another potential club member) “Ahhh… what’s her name?

UPW: (concealing the urge to break her hand off at the wrist) “Well… we like Jada.”

SCM: (her smile cascades into a frown and she knits here eyebrows together) “Humpfgh. That’s an interesting name.”

(Long, silent pause)

SCM: (puffing out a breath) “I once knew a crack-whore named Jada. What other names have you thought of?”

There are many amazing things about such interchanges, primarily, the complete lack of interest in the woman herself. If the ‘conversation’ is allowed to continue, the Secret Club Member glazes over and regales the Unwitting Pregnant Woman with tales of how wonderful pregnancy is, or how awful her 46 hours of labor were.

WTF?!?

Time to Pay the Piper…

As many of you know, the University of Washington recently declared me dangerously over-educated; I have the diploma to prove it.

Since then, I have been living in the wonderful and mostly imaginary land of, “Grace Period.” During my stay, I would receive notices telling me I must leave Grace Period, but unfortunately, Grace Period is such a beautiful and alluring place, I would simply acknowledge these notices and continue about my day in GP.

In Grace Period, the sun is warm, but not too hot and the air is clean and fresh. Food tastes better; sleep is deeper and more restful. Love is sweeter in Grace Period, and there is much freedom to do what you want to do, when you want to do it. In Grace Period, it truly is a wonderful life.

I’ve been deported.

Much to my chagrin and dismay, the cold, hard truth of the “Real World” has extradited me kicking and screaming. Now… I have to pay for the late-nights, the papers, the bad books, the excruciating classes, the mind-numbing comments from other students and the group presentations. I have to pay for watching my loved ones have fun while I sat at home on weekends reading the incomprehensible written by dead, French philosophers.

I will pay for this: three-hundred dollars at a time… for the rest of my life.

Conversations with Biology…

As you might imagine, Mrs. eSquared has been doing a fair amount of fretting about our upcoming bundle of joy. Though all of her worries are my worries… there have been a few that have been slightly more difficult to take on than others. When we first learned we were pregnant, Mrs. E2 started obsessing about childcare more than a year and a half before we needed it.

I realized this anxiety is probably biologically driven. Certainly, it’s in the best interest of the species for expectant mothers to be anxious about their young. Until now I’ve been unaware of the degree that new mothers are compelled to explore in their hormone-crazed delusion.

Mrs. E2: “I saw pregnant woman at work today.”
E2: “Yeah… “
Mrs. E2: “She’s about half-along as we are.”
E2: “Mmmm…”
Mrs. E2: “She’s twice as big…”
E2: [thinking to myself] oh no…
Mrs. E2: “Maybe we’re having a pigmy baby.”
E2: “What?!?”

There are more… I just can’t remember them right now.

Birdshit, Window & Concrete Cleaner...

Yesterday, I just got my hair cut, and I was on my way to the gas station when, *WHAP!* the biggest pile of birdshit I've ever seen hits my windshield. After I composed myself, and stopped screaming like a little girl, I was rather impressed. I remarked out loud, "Must've been a big bird."
So... as I'm filling the car with gas, I remember to buy some window washing fluid. The melting snow, sand and other dirt have made a mess of the car and the windows. I also decide to get the car washed rather than scrape the birdshit off with my ice scraper.

They did a really crappy job on the car... Yeah, the birdshit is gone, but now I have a partially clean car with big dirt streaks and spots. Oh well.. a battle for another day.

I came home and parked in the garage, and later... Mrs. eSquared and I come home from dinner and there is a huge puddle (more like a pond) if iridescent fluid under my car. I think it's antifreeze.

So... this morning, I pull the car out and get ready to crawl under to see what fresh evil my car has for me. I put my finger in the pond, which over night has sprouted rivers and tributaries.

"Humm... doesnt feel like antifreeze."
"Humm... doesnt smell like antifreeze."
"Humm... doesnt taste like antifreeze." It's window washing stuff (breath of relief, followed by a lot of spitting).

Breathing easier, I sprinkled kitty litter on the pond and rivers to absorb the liquid so I can just sweep it out.

At this point, reference this post from July: Passively Crowing the Garage… & Mother Stuff

I come out later to clean up the kittylitter and find this:

A gallon of concrete & asphault cleaner. Lovely. Old Crow has left for the day.

Hours later...

5:30 on a Stormy Sunday Morning

This is my favorite time of the day. Everyone is asleep, and the house is quiet. I’ve cleaned the kitchen and I’m waiting for the first drops of caffeine to issue from Mr. Coffee. Last nights pizza has dehydrated me, so I’m on my third glass of water. I’m sitting at the kitchen table surveying all the baby crap the family has purchased in the last 72 hours; my vision blurs… As I sit entranced in a thousand-yard stare, the teddy bear speaks using Denis Leary’s voice…

Teddy Bear: “Hey.”
eSquared: “Huh, who said that?”
TB: “Me silly, the bear… I’m not coming any closer.”
E2: “Aaahhh… A TALKING BEAR!”
TB: “Calm down, this is your imagination. You know, you’ll have to reach to touch me sooner or later… I’m not coming any closer.”
E2: “What are you talking about? I don’t want you any closer… I need coffee.”
TB: “I’m soft, and cute…. I also play a little tune.”
E2: “So…”
TB: “Go ahead, touch me.”
E2: “Is this really happening? Why do you want me to touch you so badly?”
TB: “I’m figurative… symbolic. I don’t need you to touch me, you need to reach out and embrace me.”
E2: “Why?”
TB: “I’m your life now, that’s why. Stuffed animals, little pink clothes, teletubbies, puke on your shoulder…
E2: “STOP.” “You’re freakin me out.”
TB: “Too bad. Get used to it…this is your life. You don’t have to hug me now, but you will eventually.”
E2: [heavy sigh] “Yeah, I know. How about when we get home? I’ll spend a little time with you. I think it’ll be a little weird here at grandma’s house.
TB: Whatever.

A Crafty Crow

The clothes washer and dryer happen to be in our part of the house. As a student, and then as a post-student (read unemployed) I was home frequently and didn’t have a set schedule. We have had an agreement with OC that she won’t enter our living space without our permission. Well… this is an agreement only in the fact she acknowledges it, and then completely ignores it when we’re not home.

In the first year we lived there, we thought it was a nuisance, but something we would overlook. In the second year, I would confront her regularly (in the spirit of direct communication) and she would nod eagerly, apologize and then completely disregard everything I said. The third year I have threatened. I have printed articles off the tenants’ rights website, and even threatened to charge her $100 for each violation.

Up until I got this job, she would ask me weekly what my schedule was and if she could ‘run a load of rugs.” She was visible elated when I told her I got a job and would be gone all day. Not because I got a job, not because she’s happy for me and my family… because I’ll be out of the house.

Immediately, things started to change… chairs would be moved, rugs would be moved. Even the garbage would be emptied. Just to mess with her, I would move things back. I’d leave little traps for her. I’d prey on her OCD and leave stuff I knew she couldn’t resist. Once, OC left a message on our phone asking us not to put clothes on the backs of her chairs because it wears varnish off. Can you believe that?!?

It’s like she thinks we don’t notice. I think that’s what pisses me off the most. So on Wednesday, I couldn’t bear it any more… I called her and asked if she had some time, I went up there and mustered all the tact and diplomacy I could. Once again, she nodded and agreed with me.

Here’s the weird part of the conversation. She asked me if Mrs. eSquared was pregnant. We specifically hid all the books, pamphlets and baby paraphernalia to keep it from her. The old crow snooped her boney ass through our house and found our stuff!

She also told me that Magpie was moving. She is looking for someone to replace her (as if she can be replaced) but only someone who will be gone all day because she wants the house all to herself. Maybe she can find someone to pay her for not living there.

The Same ol Stuff

It's Thanksgiving week... again!

This is the time of year that I always can’t believe is here. I never catch myself saying, "WOW! Groundhog Day again!" Even birthdays don’t seem to phase me. This concept was beyond me as a kid. Why would someone not care about their birthday? People give you stuff... I get anything I want for dinner (which was usually macaroni & cheese) and all the sugar a hyper kid can eat, or the parents can tolerate.
Only the holidays freak me out. Then I write the wrong date on everything for three months… and I’m good. Until another Halloween.

Commercialism: Macaroni and Cheese or Macaroni & Cheese.

Mrs. E2 and I are packing the cat in the car and heading south for the weekend for some time with the Fam. Wylie is generally good with the trip… he gets good drugs. In ways, I envy him.

Here’s a question for you. Take a moment and post an answer, one word will do.
If you could be an artist of some sort, (writer, musician, painter, etc.) and you knew you would be successful (whatever that means to you) what type of artist would you be?

Extra credit question: What would that scenario look like?

I’ll post my answer tomorrow, or the next day.

Six-Word Story Sunday

A while ago – I don’t remember exactly how long, I stumbled across a blogger that discussed six-word stories. One of the stories he mentioned has stayed with me. It has finally worn me down with its persistent nagging about wanting other little stories to play with, and to be set free from the confines between my ears.

As I write this I am struck by the ominous irony that Hemmingway’s six-word story has… for me… at this time. It’s all clear now. Hemmingway asserted that this was his best work. I don’t know if it is or not… all I know is: I can’t get it out of my mind.

I started this post with the intention of coming up with a few of my own… to keep this one company (as I mentioned a few lines ago). Now… I don’t want to detract from this moment. I will do many more six-word-story Sundays… just not today.

“For sale: baby shoes, never used.”

It may be late...

... but it's news to me

• School bus driver fired for obscene gesture to Bush wants job back

Go Seattle!

• Plastic trash vortex menaces Pacific sealife: study

Talk among yourselves