Death Came Organically

No, this is not my collection of ABC gum and yard clippings.

It is, rather, a snack-bag-o'-death. (Though the contents are not intended to be snacked upon.)


(I wonder what they're talking about in there.)

What, you may ask, is the meaning of this? Well...

...a couple of weeks ago, Jeff prepared a garden plot in the backyard. He dug up a 15' x 3' section of lawn against the wall:


He then puppy-proofed it by pounding some U-posts into the ground and rolling out some heavy duty chicken wire.

I planted some vegetable plants and...voila! What do we have? That's right!


...a five star buffet for slugs!

*Boo! Hiss!*

Look at what the wee beasties did to my bell pepper plant:


(Those holes aren't supposed to be there, in case you were wondering.)

They swiss-cheesed my basil. Grrrr...

Though it's hard to tell in this picture, the most victimized annual is my cucumber plant:


Poor baby. One leaf is nothing but veins.

How do slugs DO that? I mean, I'm sure there aren't any teeth in those slimy mouths of theirs. In fact, do they even have mouths? Hmmm... *carefully examines for anything remotely like an oral cavity*

Nope, and yet their destructive capabilities are on par with our electric hedge clippers.

As strange as it sounds, I've always had a weird sense of respect for gastropod mollusks. I mean they're basically the pariahs of the garden due to their lack of defined shape, their ooey-gooey coating and their lethargic meanderings. The coolest thing about them are those little dealy-bobs on their heads (heads?) that curiously extend and retract. Yet, in spite of their hideously grotesque existence, they carry on with life, never stopping to complain, resolutely searching for sustenance to make their survival certain. That's all true of snails and slugs. However, slugs not only share the above disadvantages with snails, but they have the additional deprivation of being homeless. There's something admirable about that, right? Right?

*crickets*

Anyway, my tendency to esteem such creatures ends abruptly when it comes to them eating things from my garden or my family enjoying its harvest.

So, I called the local nursery to ask for advice. "Linda" immediately told me about some powder they sell that I can sprinkle on my precious veggie-bearers.

"Actually," I responded, "I was hoping to keep my garden organic. Do you have any other suggestions?"

"Oh." Her voice fell flat. I could just imagine her eyes rolling. "Well, we usually tell organic gardeners to plant three times as many plants as they think they'll need since pests will destroy about 2/3s of what they grow."

Hmmm, not good news.

Now let me explain something: I'm not super committed to the whole organic thing. I've been eating non-organic stuff for decades and I haven't noticed dire consequences from doing so. However, I like the idea of not putting chemicals on my plants or in my dirt, so I'd like to at least try...

What's a know-nothing gardener to do? Why turn to the internet, of course, where gardening "knowledge" abounds.

I won't bore you with all of the "sure-fire" ways to kill organically (that phrase is rather ironic, isn't it?), but one of them involved cornmeal (which you saw in an above photo alongside the decimated cuke bush).

Last night, I took a flashlight outside to see how well the cornmeal was killing off the marauding scavengers. Well, I didn't see any cornmeal-bloated-carcasses, but I did see plenty of living creepy-crawly burglars inching their way (uh, millimetering their way?) around the garden plot.

I had a ziplock with me, so I started playing "Alien Abduction" by scooping them up with a plastic cup and dropping them into the bag. After a quick zip to secure them inside their plastic coffin, I dropped it into the trashcan.

Although, maybe next time I'll put the ziplock into Tobias's lunch sack. That could be fun. :)

This One'll Put You to Sleep

The following statement is yet more proof that I am no fun at all:

I LOVE to sleep.

I realize that sounds like an incredibly lame thing to say about one's self.

New Person: "Nice to meet you, Aimee. What do you do?"

Me: "Well, I occasionally cut my toenails. Oh, and I LOVE to sleep."

(Good thing I don't have aspirations to go 'speed dating'.)

Yet, I really do love to sleep. Perhaps it's because I often struggle with sleeping. (I've posted about my insomniatic ways before, so I sha'n't bore you all again with them.)

When I awaken from a deep and gloriously satisfying slumber, it's on the same level as when I've just finished a fabulously delicious meal. My sense of well being abuts on resplendence. (I really like it, okay?)

Sometimes when I'm lying in bed and I suddenly realize that my thoughts are becoming increasingly weird, I recognize that I'm on the verge of a dream. Mmmm...I happily smile and slip into a blessed lack of consciousness.

Recently, my sleep has become even more enjoyable. You see, someone gave me a ridiculously generous gift card to a place that I shall henceforth refer to as CostInc.

(My feelings about CostInc. are numerous enough to have their own post, but that would be rather dull reading--yes, even duller than what you are presently reading--so it will suffice to say that I love some of their products, their return policy and their cash back credit card, but I hate maneuvering those trailer-sized shopping carts in the midst of the over-excited masses who are all waiting for their eighth food sample. Oh, and I don't have a family of 10 to feed so those massive cans of corn and 108 ounce boxes of cereal are about as impractical and unnecessary to me as a 12 seater van would be.)

*ahem*

So, knowing that I had some cash to spend at CostInc., we went down there to see what caught my eye.

Behold...
there it was...
on an eye-level shelf...
in it's cardboard boxed glory...

...a memory foam mattress pad.

I've been looking for a mattress pad for our guest bed for a very long time, but they're so expensive.

Let me explain something about our guest bed: It used to be our bed, but several years ago, I grew tired of having to carefully arrange my various limbs upon the mattress to avoid the 'sprung-springs' with which the bed was riddled. Inspired, I said, "Hey Jeff, how about we get a new bed and move this one into the other room for our occasional guest(s)?"

Though he was shocked that I was actually suggesting we spend money on something, Jeff found the idea agreeable and we soon possessed a brand new mattress.

The guest bed has been used a number of times, but that is much to my chagrin since I can easily recall how uncomfortably one spends a night upon it. I don't want our guests to involuntarily grab their backs and groan every time they remember sleeping at our house. Thus, I've wanted to get a memory foam pad for years. But the expense kept it a dream and not a reality.

Then, there we were at CostInc. with money we had to spend and...

suddenly...
there it was...
the cure for all (or at least one) of my hospitality woes...
and it was only $138...
and it was three inches thick!

I heaved the cumbersome box off that shelf and lumbered over to where Jeff was waiting in line. (Did I mention how LONG the lines are at that place?)

Okay, here comes the part where you all realize how truly selfish and ridiculous I am: On the way home, as I pondered the absolute fabulocity of my latest purchase, I began to think. It occurred to me that the guest bed is only used a few times a year and that a mattress pad of that quality and luxuriance should be thoroughly appreciated on a more regular basis.

Therefore, when we got home, I unrolled the thing of beauty...

...across the top of my bed.

And there it has stayed for about two weeks now.

Regrets?

Nope.

Shame?

Maybe a little, but then I just lie down and it all drifts away on a velvety cloud of cushy malleableness.

Is it okay to describe a mattress as 'yummy'? I say, 'Yes!'

I'm telling you, if you've got $138 to upgrade your sleeping quarters, just drive down to you-know-where and buy one of these magnificently doughy rectangles. It's SO WORTH having to dig your club card out of your wallet and shoving past all of those food-samplers.

I must warn you that at first, every time Jeff rolled over, he'd gripe about the chemically smell the pad emitted, but the tupperware odor is gone now and the squishy wonderment remains. Also, deep pocket fitted sheets are an absolute must now because the mattress is three full inches higher.

(I've posted no pictures because the thought of a photo of my bed on the internet is slightly disturbing to me for some reason.)

I justify my recent actions by telling myself that when I expect guests, I can simply remove the mattress pad from my bed and put it on the guest bed.

I really think I'll be willing to... :)

Learning and Celebrating

Jeff and I recently celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary.


As you can see, we were very young when we wed. Jeff proposed to me when I was 17 and I turned 19 just three weeks prior to the ceremony.

There are a lot of things that I would do differently about the wedding itself if I was getting married today. I would certainly pluck my eyebrows more thoroughly. I would do my hair and makeup differently. I'd make sure we had more than just a few crystal dishes of deluxe nuts and cake to feed our guests. (We actually ran out of cake. How embarrassing is that?)

However, the one most important aspect of the ceremony (to whom I was wed) I would not alter.

The thing that gave me confidence in marrying a 21 year old Jeff was his level of integrity. As I came to know him more and more, I had many opportunities to witness Jeff doing what he knew to be right, even if it was inconvenient or "unfun". I saw him consistently applying God's principles to his life regardless of his own desires. That assured me that he would be a good life partner.

Of course, being married isn't always easy. You have to learn how to live with another person who is likely as self-centered and frail as you are yourself.

Probably the most vital thing I've learned so far in marriage is that I'm not always right. (Yes, it came as a shock to me, as well.) As arrogant as it sounds, I honestly thought for the first few years of our post-nuptial existence that it was my job to reveal my rightness to Jeff so that he would agree and therefore join Team Right. Well, after a while, I realized that Jeff and I are very different, but that doesn't mean that one of us is right and one is wrong. We can have varying opinions and ways of doing things and that is actually healthy.

Probably the most valuable thing Jeff has learned so far is how to speak to me. For the first few years, he would often speak sarcastically. I felt belittled by his attempts at humor. He was just trying to be amusing and thought that he was succeeding, but after a while, he saw that he was the only one amused and that I was either irritated or hurt by his words. He has vastly improved on this front...thank God.

Although I wouldn't recommend getting married so young to most people, it has worked out very well for us.

We've learned how to not bounce checks together. We've learned how to communicate effectively. We've learned how to respect what the other values even if we don't quite get it. We've created and are raising two other human beings jointly. We've built a vast and influential financial empire together. (Okay, maybe not, but we did pay our car off a little early. :))

Anyway, we are learning and celebrating life together.

In the past month, we have been blessed to celebrate the marriages of other. In March, we watched as Teresa and Armin committed themselves to one another. (I stupidly forgot to take my camera to the ceremony.)

This Summer, we will witness Jennifer and Daniel promise to forsake all others and cleave unto one another:


Recently, we attended one of the most enjoyable weddings to which we've ever been. In the middle of the ceremony, the bride and groom led us all in a worship song, "Not to Us". It was beautiful and exemplified their focus on Christ.


(The groom was to the left, playing a cajon, but I couldn't get him in the shot.)

Both of these delightful people were raised in homes where they learned that if they noticed a need, they ought to try to fill it. Mandy and Christian serve God and others every chance they get.


(They look so young. It's hard to believe they're older than I was when I entered into matrimony.)

Let's lift our plastic glasses of Martinelli's to marriage...a peculiar yet marvelous institution.

*Tink*

Attention Mike M and Tamara J:

I'm not much of a cell phone user.

I mean, I have one, but it's not on very often. If you want to get a hold of me, dialing my cell number isn't likely to help you achieve your goal. You can leave a message, but I probably won't notice it until next Thursday or the following Sunday.

Additionally, my phone is an example of embarrassingly archaic technology. It's not a flip phone. It has no internet capabilities, nor a snazzy text keyboard. It doesn't even have a camera. *gasp*

It is utilitarian.

And that is all.

See?


(I heard your embarrassed, ill-concealed titter just now, but I forgive you.)

A number of times, Tobias has loudly decried it as a sham of coolness. (Oh, well. For decades, I've been anti-cool. I'm the gal who used to cut the Guess labels off of her stylish overalls back in high school, remember?)

Anyway, when I do notice that I have a message, I will listen to it.

Yesterday I had two messages. (I don't think that's ever happened before.)

One was for Mike M. (Full last name withheld to protect his identity.)

Mike, if you are reading this, you owe a lot of people a lot of money and they want it NOW. They are threatening legal action. Apparently, you had my cell phone number before I did...

...and didn't pay your phone bill.

Would you mind calling all these businesses you bilked and informing them about your change of phone number?

(Yeah...didn't think so.)

The second message was for Tamara J. Amazingly, her troubles are even worse than those of Mike M. Whoever was threatening legal action against her in the past is now making good on their threats.

Tamara, apparently you are now a defendant in a court case. (They gave the case number, but I declined to write it down.) The man said you had 48 hours to contact him on your own accord or a warrant would be issued for your arrest. He seemed to know where you work. Too bad he doesn't know your real phone number...

Is It Enough?

The other night I was feeling uneasy about how I'm living my life.

I've been here for 36 years now and although I have a good family life and a right relationship with God (which are the two most important things to me), I haven't really accomplished much else.

I haven't distinguished myself.

I'm just me.

Now this is not some feeble attempt on my part to get the comment section full of nice encouraging sentiments from you, my friends. I'm just being honest that I sometimes wonder if I'm doing everything that I should be doing. Am I being a good steward of all that God has granted me?

For example, am I, as a mom, investing in my kids as I should? Am I helping them develop their God given talents to honor Him? Am I teaching them the value of hard work? (I think I'm doing pretty poorly on that one.) Am I giving them the tools they need to lead a successful life? What risks should I let them take and what things should I protect them from?

Tobias will legally be an adult in less than three years and Delaney isn't far behind. I have so little time left being their full-time mom. Soon they will be responsible for themselves. Have I done what I should to prepare them for that?

Anyway, Jeff and I prayed about this a few nights ago, asking God for wisdom and guidance. In the morning, I sat down for my morning time of prayer and study and was greatly encouraged by the following verses:

"I live my life in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am not one of those who treats the grace of God as meaningless." Galatians 2:20b-21a

This reassured me because I know that while I live this earthly life I can and should trust in Christ because He loves me so perfectly and powerfully. Also, I know that I do greatly value His grace.

While I'm trusting in Him and valuing His grace then I can't help but live the way I ought to. No, my life won't be perfect and yes, I will sin and botch situations, but if I am trusting in Him and valuing His grace then that's pretty much all that He wants from me.

He'll bring things together in His time and through His ways.

Thank God I don't have to be my own god. :)

Behind the Door

So I opened my freezer's door to retrieve a bag of flash frozen chicken tenders and THIS is what greeted me on the other side:


Can you believe I'm posting this?

Here's a close up for the full effect:

Yes, I claim full responsibility for the chaos chillin' in my deep freeze. I'm strangely okay with it.

Feeling better about the state of your own freezer's contents?

That's what I'm here for...

...making other people feel better about themselves since 1974.

(A job well done, no?)

Who?

Well, you'll probably recognize her:


She's my favorite Who of all. (I think the braces are a nice touch.)

No, this is not Delaney's 'new look'. She's in another musical at the local theater.


She plays many parts: a Who, a fish, a military cadet and a circus lion. There's one scene where the comedic 'General' barks right in her ear and she keeps a completely straight face the entire time. She does not get that facial control from me. I'm really proud of her 'cause I don't know how she does it.

The lion costume is her least favorite as you can see by the expression on her face:

Here she is with her 'trainer' performing in the Circus McGherkis:


Here she is with the Cat himself (who, btw, is played by a very talented and amusing teenager):


Delaney is having a great time with everything but the makeup. She declared to me that she hates the stuff and assured me that she has no interest in wearing it off stage anytime soon.

You may be wondering where Tobias is in all of this since he loves the stage as much as his sister. Well, this time around he has taken a behind the scenes job as a spotlight operator. Here he is in the tech booth, wielding his tool:


Believe it or not, I crammed myself into that tiny space and filled in for him twice this weekend while he was at high school winter camp. As lame as it sounds, I was kind of nervous that I'd do a crummy job, but it went perfectly fine. Hooray for new skills! (I'm not sure when that one will come back into play in my life.)

Taxes, Taxes, Taxes

I filled out a check to the government this morning.

I giggled as I wrote in the memo line, "Spend it wisely".

Juvenile?

Perhaps, but it's a lot nicer than some of the other things I could have penned.

A Source of Shame No More

I've shared with you before the hideousness of my thumbnails:


No, the above is not the result of a mental disorder that inspires thumbnail mutilation, nor is it a prop that I picked up at the Witches' Corner at a Halloween shop. It is my actual thumbnail in it's natural state. (You only get to see Lefty 'cause Righty was busy helping to take the picture.)

Well, Lefty (and Righty) had an extreme makeover today, but they're the only two of my phalanges who were spoiled with such treatment. You see, about a year ago I had a manicure, my first and only one in my entire 35 years.

Did I love it? No. In fact, I never wanted to do it again.

I don't know if the guy (yes, guy) who did it was super rough or what, but my fingertips were throbbing later that night when I laid in bed. Also, my nails were so thick that I couldn't use them in the ways I was used to. Worst of all was when I'd try to scratch an itch. It was torture!

Therefore, I said never again.

However, along with the nasty ridges on my nails, I also have cracks that tear down into the nail bed. They snag on things and rip further. No matter how short I keep them, they continue to split. I've tried every product I could find that promised to strengthen and protect nails. Also, I swallow calcium pills religiously, but all to no avail.

So today, weary of my annoying and painful thumbs, I walked into a salon (not the one where the fingertip abuser works) and set myself down in a chair at the station of a lovely Asian woman. I explained that I only wanted acrylics on my thumbs and why. I kept my deformities out of sight in my lap until necessary.

When I finally did produce the offensive members, she looked at them for a long time.

"Oh, they are... they are..."

I could tell that she was running through her mental English Rolodex, looking for a euphemism for "repulsive".

She finally settled on "They are weird." which sort of surprised me, but I just laughed. I can take it. (I mean look at them.)

I guess I was expecting her to not be astonished at their appearance since she looks at different people's nails all day long. I asked her, "Have you ever seen any other nails like mine?"

"Ah...one other time, but...it because of...uh...injury."

Great. I guess this means I'm special.

Anyway, here's Lefty after her date with my new friend Kim:


And yes, Righty looks just as good.

Okay, So Maybe Not...

I had a plan.

You see, living in a world where people are now air brushing their vacation photos (no, I'm NOT making this up!), I am a firm believer in being transparent and genuine.

Thus, I planned on posting a couple of photos of the things that are presently marring my face to affirm my commitment to authenticity.

(There seems to be something inherently unjust about crow's feet and pimples on a face at the same time. If one is old enough to have acquired wrinkles after years of squinting in the sun, they shouldn't have to simultaneously suffer the shame of red pustules dotting their chin. Alas...)

So, I turned the camera on, got it into macro setting to capture every distinctive detail, aimed it at my face and shot several times.

Well...

...after downloading them onto my computer, I've realized that some things shouldn't be photographed, especially in macro setting.

Yeah. You're only getting one photo, but it's for your own good.



Believe me, the close-up pictures of the zits on my chin are better left unviewed. Really.

Just Like Steve's

A couple of years ago, Jeff's friend, Steve, bought a large plasma screen TV. Shortly after the purchase, Jeff went to Steve's house and played split-screen Call of Duty on it. To most of you, this means nothing, but a few of you have just begun to salivate. Well, that's what Jeff started to do as well and he came home that night with a dream.

"I want to get a 50 inch HDTV," he said.

"A 50 inch screen?" I marveled. "That's ginormous! It'd look ridiculous in our living room. Why not 40 inches?"

"Steve's got a 50 inch in a room smaller than ours and it's awesome! It's perfect for playing split-screen."

"People will think we stole a billboard," I said.

"HDTV..." responded Jeff.

"It'll look like an idol propped up on the altar of our entertainment center," I reasoned, piously.

"50 inch screen..." murmured Jeff, growing glassy-eyed.

"We'll have to leave offerings before it on the coffee table or it might become angry with us," I pleaded.

"Just like Steve's..." He was now nearly catatonic.

This tug-of-war between want and unwant went on for nearly two years, though, I must say, it was quite civilized. In almost 17 years of marriage, we've learned the mutual benefits of "respectful disagreement". Additionally, reality was on my side since we didn't have the funds to purchase such a luxury item.

Well, two weeks ago, as I was online, I saw something that allowed the starry-eyed-giggly-me to overpower the practical-logical-me, which is quite unusual since the practical-logical-me usually keeps the starry-eyed-giggly-me hog-tied in the closet.

This magical internet sighting was an ad for a 50 inch plasma screen HDTV at an amazingly low price. The cost, in addition to the facts that it was a trustworthy brand, had over 40 excellent reviews from other customers and the company was offering free shipping, was enough to make the starry-eyed-me begin to giggle.

I knew that Jeff had saved up a big chunk of his personal "fun" money and if I threw in a bit of my own, he could just about fulfill his two year old dream. Thus, I shared the ad with him.

You've already guessed what's next, I'm sure.


Now that's a happy man. :)

Here it is in all of its room-dominating glory:


Yes, it is a happy ending, but there's actually a little twist to the story which the practical-logical-me is determined to find amusing, you see...

...a couple of days ago, Steve himself came over to see our new technicolor behemoth.

"Wow!" he said. "That thing's HUGE!"

"It's the same size as yours," Jeff said.

"No, it's not," said Steve. As his next words exited his mouth and reached my ears, time seemed to slooooooow dooooown:

"Your TV dwarfs mine. My screen's only 40 inches."

Huh???










Oh well...

I love you, Jeffery! Enjoy. :)

Saguaros and a Seventieth

When in Arizona...

...pose with a cactus (just like all the other tourists).

My dad (pictured below with his wife, Donna) recently reached the milestone age of 70:

(Not the best picture, I know, since his eyes are closed. Unfortunately, it's the only one I took of him this weekend. :( )

Most people consider the feat of reaching 70 quite commendable. My dad, however, doesn't. He is a former physics professor and a mathematician, and says that he was more proud of turning 64 because it is a "base 2" number and he's looking forward to turning 71 because it's a prime number. (Nerds find him highly amusing, myself included.)

Anyway, to celebrate him and his seven decades on earth, my sister, Suzanne, planned a weekend birthday extravaganza in which my family partook. It involved a lot of driving, a lot of food and a lot of cacti.

The first thing we did was almost run out of gas in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. That was great fun. There's no thrill quite like the one you feel when your "low fuel" light comes on and you haven't seen a man made structure for the past 70 miles. I'm still running on the adrenaline that my glands pumped out for that occurrence. A dentally challenged gas attendant never looked so beautiful to anyone, I'm sure, as Alvin looked to us as we happily forked over some cash for fuel.

Shortly afterward, we met up with my sister, her husband, Jai, and their twin boys, Jonathan and David:


Per my dad's request, we all went on a tour at the Frank Lloyd Wright museum of architecture. It wasn't as dull as you might think. It was actually quite interesting. Even the kids seemed to enjoy it...sort of.

Afterward, we lunched at a restaurant called, The Feed Bag. Yes, it was as charming as it sounds. :)

Next, we drove the Apache Trail up to the Roosevelt Dam. Arizona has an unusual beauty that is not quite captured in the following pictures:





We stopped in Tortilla Flats for some prickly pear ice cream. When we see a couple of suspended toilet seats, our first instinct is to tell our kids to go stick their faces in them for a photo shoot:


(We're classy like that.)

That night, Suzanne convinced Tobias to try on her new pink Snuggie. Thinking I'd horrify him at the sight of me with my camera in hand, I snuck up and aimed it at him. However, I was the surprised one, though I shouldn't have been. In true Tobias-form, he relished the moment and cheerfully posed his goofily bedecked body:


The next morning, we caught up over breakfast with our friends Smedly, Janet and their lovely quiver-full. An hour wasn't quite long enough, but it was better than nothing.


In Phoenix there are some amazing botanical gardens. Some of those crazy looking plants are quite fun to examine up close...but not too close:


Delaney and the twins found this cactus to be rather huggable:


This King Snake was somewhat cuddly as well:


We lunched on grilled veggies and hummus, though we weren't sure what about half of the veggies actually were. It's been 24 hours and none of us has sickened or dropped dead yet, so apparently they were edible:


(See what I mean?)

Jeff and the kids were determined to climb some rock formations like the one below:


I started feeling vertiginous about half way up. Uncontrollable leaning to the left or right while ascending one of these things is hardly advisable, so I watched (with clenched teeth) while the rest of my precious family reached the clouds. (I was very glad when that was over.)

Before we knew it, it was time to head home from our delightful desert getaway. Happy birthday, Dad. Welcome to the septuagenarian club!

In the car on the way home, Delaney learned how to tie her shoes...


...courtesy of the Colonel himself:


(Just kidding.)

Yet Another...

"Did you really think that was chicken you just ate?"

A Few Things Mildly Amusing

So yesterday, I emerged from our bedroom wearing the new dress I got at Ross for $6.99 (yep, six ninety nine!) and strutted up to Jeff who was sitting at the computer.

"What do you think?" I asked, twirling around while determinedly sucking in my gut.

He looked at me, tilted his head to the side and said, "Hmm...it's...it's...well, I don't think I don't like it."

Excuse me?

You don't think you don't like it?

Praise, indeed. Thanks, Babe.

Anonymous Bowel Troubles

If the above title didn't scare you away, keep reading...

Recently, I was asking this guy I knew as a teen about his job as a human directional. (That's "sign-twirler" for you politically incorrect types.) I remember driving past him once years ago while he was on his corner with his billboard sized arrow.


He said that he only lasted about two weeks at that job because, among other things, there was no toilet available. One day, he had to go numero dos super badly. After returning from taking care of business in the bushes of some unsuspecting homeowner, he found that his sign had been stolen!

Can you imagine explaining that one to your boss?

"Sorry Sir, I came back from pooping under someone's hedge and it was gone!"

Clairvoyant Cookies


Even as a young child, I could see right through the lame cheerfulness of fortune cookies. However, I confess that whenever I'm still savoring the flavor of broccoli beef and a little black tray is placed in front of me, I will retrieve one of the plastic wrapped cookies and crack it open. It's part of the whole Chinese food experience, right?

Our friend Dave recently made this exercise more fun by telling us to add "in the bathroom" to the end of the cookie's message.

My all time favorite result of this was when Delaney read, "You will find gold by the bushel full...in the bathroom."

Wow, that sounds painful.

I'm quite confident that since then she has not found so much as a flake of the shiny stuff, though I hope she hasn't been looking too hard. Ick.

What I'd like to see are more realistic sayings typed out on those little strips of paper. How about:

"You're not fooling anyone."

or

"You would have gotten that promotion if your boss hadn't caught you on Ebay at work."

or

"You've got a piece of bok choy stuck in your teeth."

Now that might do some good in the world.

(Anybody think up a good one? Please share.)