Postcards From Oblivion

It’s been mighty tumbleweedy around here this week. Some of it may be due to mild-to-moderate laziness. Plus, how interesting would it be to read about my household organization and greenification* efforts? Not very, but it’s exciting for me, because I’ve been trying to get organized for, oh, my whole life.

I’ve also been taking some writing classes. Some leave me feeling all, Yay! Writing! Publishing! I’ll take on the world!

Some leave me feeling all, “I am a hopeless, delusional nit. Every single person in this class can construct a sentence better than I can. Hell, I’m pretty sure Schmoopy can. I should just go fill out my application at the DMV** and call it a day. I can take unflattering pictures of people. Why not get paid for it, right?

The writing class that leaves me feeling unworthy of putting pen to paper is an ongoing adventure in failure sentence construction. Each week I attend class only to reach a low that’s lower than the low I thought could go no lower.

See what I mean?

Who knew that crafting beautiful sentences could be so complicated. Thanks for showing us how simple minded the rest of us are, Faulkner.

Perhaps I should only speak in short statements and fragments to tell you what else I’ve been doing:

Must. Pull. Every. Weed.

Letting Schmoopy out.

Ooh. New Title 9 catalog.

*Sigh* Can’t afford Title 9 (one more reason to go for that DMV gig).

Shopping, of course (pictures soon)

Listening to this song 80 billion times:

Fighting off the birds in my awning

Watching the baby Red-Tailed Hawks on this bird cam

Counting the bazillions of butterflies flitting about (are there a ton where you are, too?)

Letting Schmoopy in

My biggest project this spring has been to

 Photo stolen from courtesy of the amazing Allie at Hyperbole and a Half

What have you been up to?

*I’mma submit this one to M-W online pronto.

**My apologies if this is your occupation. I’m sure it’s a fabulous job.

Mama Kat’s first writing prompt this week is about eating whatever you want for a day. I love food, so I pondered my post over a P B & J.  This was her prompt:

My version is slightly different.

I’m going to pretend I’m not allergic to mushrooms, not lactose intolerant, and don’t have The GERD keeping me from all things chocolate, fried, citrusy, garlicky and onionified (this might very well be a real word. So don’t even bother asking M-W online.).

Following is my day of absolute gluttony good eats:

I’d start my day at the local drive-thru of Micky Dees and get myself an Eggamuffin (and a  good morning to you, my beloved American Cheese) with a double order of hash browns and a large OJ.

If my stomach emptied in the time that most normal tummys do (and calories be damned), by around 10:00 I’d be ready for a raspberry jelly donut. I wouldn’t care if it had powder or white frosting on top. I would wash this delightful treat down with a giant, cold glass of milk.

Lunch would involve a big ol’ burger cooked on a greazy grill with mushrooms, bacon, and cheese tucked not-so-neatly inside the greazy toasted bun. Some kind of fabulously seasoned fries on the side. A vat of Dr. Pepper with a straw, if you please. If someone else happened to be eating garlic parmesan wings at my table, I might be tempted to try a few of those as well.

Oh my gosh, pie.

There would be pie. Fruit pie. Oh! I can do better.

I’m now getting ahead of myself. Maybe I’d have a gooey chocolate chip cookie to tide me over until my mid-afternoon snack of

NACHO CHEESE (oh my gosh, why did I not put loaded nachos in here somewhere?) DORITOS AND CHOCOLATE MALTED MILKSHAKE.

Okay, on to dinner. Who’s hungry here?

I’d like eggplant parm smothered in mozzerella cheese with a side of pasta. A saucy pasta mountain with a Parmesan cheese cap. And garlic bread. With mozzerella on top, all golden and bubbly. And a big glass of chocolate milk. The kind you buy already chocolatey, because it’s so much creamier than the kind you make yourself.

Okay, either that or double decker tacos. It’s a close race.

For dessert? Let there be key lime pie. Better still–a sampler plate of cheesecake.

Oh my gosh–maybe an ice cream sundae with FUDGE, nuts aplenty and real whipped cream.

Somebody go call Wilfred Brimley and get me on that mailing list for the diabeetus meds now. I think I might need it after a day like that.

Whew! Pass the bicarb. What would you eat?

One of Mama Kat’s writing prompts this week was about dog thoughts. I’ve always wondered what was going on in Schmoopy’s mind. This dog has been pouting since the day we brought her home, but has never had good reason to do so. I’ve often joked about hiring a pet psychic.

While her sister’s gaze was always keen and focused, Sophie’s was always a bit more dazed and confuzzled looking. Like she knew she should be looking at us or a specific object, but she wasn’t sure why (Unless, of course, there’s food involved. Her focus sharpens considerably for that). So I present the following:

Seven Things Schmoopy Thought About Today

"I wonder what a dog has to do to get a pork chop around here."

"Sigh... that was a far cry from pork chops. Again."

"What say you make it up to me with a little tummy rub?"

"Outside now, please? I have smells to smell and things to tinkle upon!"

"Seriously, Annie Leibovitz. Put down the camera and let me out. Sheesh! My legs ache!"

"Hmm. I wonder how my nails would look in Purple Passion?"

"Zzzzzz. Mmmm. Chicken with sweet potatoes...."

We spent a few days of our spring break in the nation’s capitol to fill our brains with all things historical while treating our feet to their own little version of hell. Mine were fine, actually, but it seems the rest of the family were not well shod, since they all complained of foot pain. Mister Man’s predicament was slighty more dramatic, as he was certain that at any moment his feet might disengage from his body.

That would have put a damper on the trip. Not only would there have been more blood than one typically cares to see, but one of us would have had to sling him over a shoulder for the duration of the walk BACK to the Metro stop, which, holy bunions, was at least 80 miles. I’m sure of it. Then there’d be the whole issue of where to safely stow the disembodied feet on that journey. Pockets? Backpack? I have no idea.

I think it’s safe to say we were all glad that nasty little nightmare never reared its ugly head.

There were also gale-force winds to contend with both days we were there, but overall, it was a fab visit. Oh, and almost everything was under construction it seemed. Including the dry and dusty reflecting pool:

They should hire Venetian Gondola drivers (paddlers?) for this thing when it's full again. You could spend that last 1/3 of a mile gliding instead of hauling the bloody stumps that remain where your feet used to be.

The kids loved this popular attraction, but we didn’t get to go in:

One of the most exciting aspects of the trip to D.C. was that I got to meet a blog buddy. The lovely Zannah from Inane Chatter hung out with the Wombats for probably far longer than she wanted to a couple hours after she was done with work, and we all greatly enjoyed her company. She was a wonderful tour guide and restaurant selector! I even have pictures to prove it:

Zannah and me in front of a cool lighted doohickey in the Air & Space Museum. Clearly I belong in the "space" portion of the museum by the expression on my face. Derr.

No idea what this building is, but it makes a purty backdrop. I look like Squinty McGinty in this shot. Nice.

In the Air & Space Museum, Mister Man found answers to very important questions like this:

We picked up a little bauble for me:

What do you think--too formal for sightseeing?

At any rate, we had a great time, and there are plenty of things that remain to be discovered on our next adventure in Washington, D.C. The Girly’s only regret was that we didn’t get to swim in the hotel pool due to time constraints. I think we could have just gone a few miles from home, booked a hotel with full cable and a pool, looked at D.C. online, and saved a whole lot of money!

Don’t forget! You have until 12 noon tomorrow (March 30, 2012) to leave a comment here to be in the drawing for a $50 gift card to Uncommon Goods. Go do it now! I’ll wait.

Welcome back.

I enjoyed Mama Kat’s family conversation so much that I decided to do the very same prompt this week.

I also  borrowed her explanation about the different types of sentences that will be included. Is it plagiarism if I point out which text is hers? Maybe I should make that part crystal clear:

A lesson:

 The players

Interrogative:  The Girly (question)

Declarative:  Mister Man (statement)

Imperative: Me (command)

Exclamatory: Mr. Wombat (strong feelings!)

Following is a typical conversation you might hear at our house at bedtime:

Mister Man: No, it’s too late. I get to stay up and read for half an hour, though. Mom, I really want to read the next Harry Potter book. I don’t see why I have to wait to read this one when I got to read the first four.

Me: Brush your teeth, please.

Mr. Wombat: Gah! The toilet tank is leaking from both bolts now!

The Girly: How come heee gets to read and I don’t?

Mister Man: Because I’m older. Mom, all my friends have The Order of the Phoenix, and none of them thought it was scary. I didn’t think any of the first four books were creepy at all. I didn’t even think the movies were all that creepy.

Me: Please brush your teeth. We need to buy a new toilet.

Mr. Wombat: I can rebuild this one!

The Girly: Can I just read one page?

Mister Man: If I don’t read this next Harry Potter book soon, mom, I’m going to totally forget everything that’s happened so far in the series. Seriously. The school library doesn’t have it, so we need to find it at the public library or something. I really want to read it, mom.

Me: You’ve been driving around with a color sample for a new toilet for months–please just buy a new toilet. Brush your teeth, please.

Mr. Wombat: Fine! I’ll buy a new toilet! Your mother just asked you to brush your teeth about 50 times! Brush your teeth!

The Girly:  Can I still use my toothbrush if it just fell in the sink?

Mister Man: I am really into this Warriors book, though. I didn’t like the epilogue at all. That’s the part I didn’t like when I tried to read it before. It’s just all of the cats talking, and it goes on and on. It’s really boring. I do still want to read the next Harry Potter book, though.

Me: Your toothbrush is fine, please use it.  Mister Man, please go have your dad help you do finishing touches on your teeth.

Mr. Wombat: Oh, no one listens to me anyway!

The Girly: How about one paragraph? Can I read one paragraph?

Mister Man: Oh my gosh, mom–I’m not a baby. I’m nine years old. I don’t need my parents to help me brush my teeth. I’ll bet none of my friends have their parents help them brush their teeth.

Me: I’ll bet your friends have fillings, too–go ask your dad to help you.

Mr. Wombat: Ugh! I don’t know what this dog ate today, but she has the gas again!

The Girly: Can I just read one word?

Mister Man: Dad said no one listens to him, so he went to walk the dog.

Me: Alrighty, you can all get ready by yourselves–I’m going to go brush MY teeth.

Mr. Wombat: I’m going to walk the dog!

 * * *

I’d say Mister Ma–uh, Mr. Declarative wins the race with this one. By a long shot.

Today I went to slip on my sneakers in a hurry without untying them first. The first one slid on with minimal effort, but the second one put up a fight. “How tight did I have these things tied?” I wondered. “Geez! What the heck’s the pro–”

Ah. I see.

One was mine, the other was The Girly’s.

And I’m in charge of two young lives. Who else is scared, here?

In other news, I have been very productive today finally set down the iTouch and walked away from the Draw Something marathon I’d been on to listen to pronunciations on the Pronunciation Manual channel on Youtube. A commenter on Finslippy mentioned it yesterday, so I zipped over there to see what it was all about. My current faves:

Brett Favre

Schadenfreude

Croissant

Chipotle

Nguyen (my apologies for including this one if that’s your name, but I’ve NEVER known how to pronounce it, and this is how I feel when I attempt to do so)

Happy St. Patty’s Day t’ the lot of ya! If you’re not Irish, pretend you are and make a drunken spectacle of yerself have a fun weekend!