Raccoon - 5, Parents - 1

i went home to visit the parentals at the end of july. they picked me up in pittsburgh and we headed back to the house. as i carried in my stuff, i noticed a long metal cage sitting on the deck. "what's that for?" i asked. "the raccoon," my mother answered. "we have a raccoon?" "not on purpose." apparently the raccoon had been tearing up the yard and eating the votive candles out of mom's terra cotta luminaries. "candles?" "yes, he very carefully pulls them up out of the holders and i guess he thinks they might be food. he munches around the outside, realizes he can't eat it, and moves on." all this, and he's not so much as tipped over the breakable holders. the yard, however, is looking pretty rough, so my parents decided to trap him and take him up to cooper's rock (a local state park) and let him go up there.

they had tried to catch him the night before i arrived using hamburger as bait, but to no avail. in the morning, the hamburger was gone, and the trap was still set - and almost caught the cat, who is clearly not as clever as the raccoon. according to my uncle (who lent them the trap - why he had a raccoon trap, i'm sure i don't know), the best bait is sardines. um, ok. so that night, dad set the trap. in the morning the cage held... nothing. the sardines were gone, and this time the trap was closed, as if the raccoon wanted to show us that either a) he knew how this trick worked, or b) he was the houdini of the nocturnal world. raccoon 2, parents 0.

they tried again, this time with dad fashioning a cup to hold the sardines, which would be affixed to the cage. theoretically, the raccoon would have to climb into the trap in order to get the food. this time, the cup was intact and unmoved, the trap was opened, and the sardines were gone. raccoon 3, parents 0.

on the fourth attempt - with more rigging and wiring of sardine holders - a raccoon was caught. unfortunately, it wasn't the one they were after. this was a baby raccoon, who was all kinds of scared to be stuck in the cage. he was too young to have learned the finesse of the older raccoon, who was still free. my parents, animal-lovers both even though they were tired of the raccoon shenanigans, tried to calm the poor baby before dad took him up to cooper's rock to find distant relatives. so technically, raccoon 4, parents 0; but since they did catch a raccoon (though it wasn't the raccoon), i'll give them raccoon 4, parents 1.

a few days after i returned to orlando, my mother called to tell me they had tried a new tactic. you guessed it: this time the cup and the sardines made it out of the cage, without the trap ever catching. raccoon 5, parents 1. and the battle continues...

Welcome to the Heart of Gold

i am in ft. lauderdale visting john for the week. i flew because i found a $23 roundtrip flight on spirit (how do they keep running these specials? i'm sure they should be bankrupt by now...) and that's a lot cheaper than the 100 or so dollars i would spend on gas and tolls to drive here. last night, i got off the plane, made my way downstairs, and out to passenger pick-up. there is a small vestibule area there; you pass though one set of automatic sliding doors, walk through a short hallway, and then through another set of doors that lead outside. i decided to forgo the exit that everyone else was using (and therefore jamming up) and move on to the empty one on the left. as i activated the first set of doors and walked through them, chimes sounded - dum da da dum DUM! - and masculine, computerized voice said, "you are beautiful."

i'm sorry, did i take a wrong turn and end up on a stolen state-of-the-art spaceship? did i just pass through sirius cybernetics' latest product? because it's really the only explaination for complementary sliding doors in an airport. if so, where's marvin to cynically complain about them, and what about ford and arthur? and where's my tea? and if it's not the case, is there someone sitting in some booth saying these things and watching for reactions? because i didn't hear any of other passageways making comments as i passed....

The Year That Disappeared

i swear last week it was september, and somehow suddenly it's the middle of july. i know i've had a crazy last 10 months or so, and was kind of out of it a lot, but seriously - where did the year go? i find myself randomly thinking of something, and say to myself, "oh, that was in february. no, wait, that was LAST february!" it's a very odd sensation - like the last 10 months didn't really happen. and while i admit there are some gaps (thank you so much, fibro fog), i do remember stuff that happened this past year. but it's just one big blur for the most part. just... wierd. what an odd feeling.

I Heart Whole Foods; Let Me Count The Ways...

there are lots and lots of reasons why i am extremely happy a whole foods market opened up a mile down the road from me. but really there's one that is far and away the best. thing. ever.

six - yes, count them SIX - frozen food cases of non-dairy ice cream.

what? it was like christmas. i seriously stood there for at least 10 minutes - probably longer - trying to choose. it boggled my mind; at walmart or publix, the best i can hope for is one shelf in the ice cream section to choose from. I HAD SIX WHOLE SECTIONS. and yes, i know it sounds pathetic, but that moment - that one blessed moment when i had a bazillion choices of ice cream that i could actually eat - may qualify as one of my top 5 most blissful moments ever.

o frabjous day! callooh! callay!

Never a Dull Moment

it's summer. i have a LOT of free time on my hands. so it was with this in mind that i decided to go to clearwater on friday, then swing up to new port richie for an afterglow show. of course, my body being tempramental and all, i was not motivated at all to head to clearwater early in the afternoon. i was, however, easily persuaded to go see wall-e, which is a whole 'nuther story involving a cute movie, a broken air conditioner, and a packed house. suffice it to say that i needed to go back to my house and shower before heading out.

at this point, it's 6:00. i call a friend who lives out in that general area who i haven't seen in forever, and procede to talk to him for a half-hour. 6:30. he had to work at 5 the next morning, so no show for him. everyone else was out due to visiting relatives and other plans, and at that moment the sloths decided to attack. (if i haven't explained that yet, i'll do so in another blog.) nearly 7. obviously, i'm not getting to clearwater first. new port richie is about an hour and 45 minutes away from me. i was debating not going at all, but i already bought tickets and - let's be honest here - what else was i going to do, sleep some more? i needed to get out of the house, so i threw on some make-up (full kabuki since i'd be in public) and headed out.

It was an interesting evening to say the least. i'm pretty sure my hair did not meet the height requirement and my jeans weren't tight enough, but they let me in anyway. the space was pretty decent (bourbon street nightclub, if i didn't mention it); two full bar areas, darts, several pool tables, a "cafe" area, plenty of seating, and a decent stage area. and it was chock full of interesting characters.

let me preface this by saying that i having nothing against hanging out on my own. i have no problems going to a movie, out to eat, or to show by myself. i'm an observer - i'm perfectly happy to people watch and file away the senarios playing out around me. i generally tuck myself into a corner or along the bar and hang out. however, on friday night, unbeknownst to me, i apparently had a large neon flashing light above my head that said, "all wierdos come by and talk to me!" i don't know who plugged this sign in for me (or where, thank you eric) but i kinda wish they'd talked to me first. or warned me at least.

first up was the obligatory foreign i'm-here-to-hit-on-any-and-every-woman-here guy. i don't know where these guys come from (this one sounded eastern european) or whether thy're aware that they're a trite cliche, but nothing seems to phase them. after being shot down by me (really? your second question is "you're here with just friends, no husband?" apparently a boyfriend wouldn't have slowed him down...), he moved on to other targets. next up was a guy - harmless, obviously not trying to pick me up, and possibly high - who was talking to me, but didn't really seem to need my input in the conversation. he would bring up things and then answer them, watching me but really just having a conversation with himself. it was... odd.

the most random conversation of the night came after the older guy next to me asked me to watch his (pitcher of) beer while he ran to the bathroom. no problem. i was unaware, however, that watching someone's beer for 2 minutes instantly made you a close personal friend. i learned all sorts of educational things: how much money you can make off of selling scrap copper (a lot, apparently), the mechanics of a drill bit, and that you can pull in $75 an hour doing landscaping - and that's just doing the trees. i waited till he was distracted by ordering another pitcher (because clearly he hadn't had enough) and made my escape to the other bar.

most of the rest of the night passed relatively routinely. the main band - 12 stones - took the stage and i found them to be quite enjoyable. the lead singer made me giggle. alot. i know most of you have not seen cowboy mouth in concert (and really, fix that would you? they're amazing and p.s. they're playing at bb king's at point orlando the 25th. just saying...) but this guy was fred leblanc on crack. fred - lead singer and drummer for cowboy mouth - is probably the most upbeat and positive guy you will ever meet. but don't let that fool you. if you are not having fun, if you are not standing up and clapping and having a good time, he will call your ass out on it, and likely stand over you with a microphone until you do. (please see past blog from january to clarify.) 12 stone's lead singer? a tad crazier and more vocal, if that's possible. my favorite crowd admonition was, "okay, so who out there is at their very first rock show tonight? yeah? one guy? alright, what the HELL is the problem with the rest of you? act like you're at a rock show, would ya?"

best part of the night came when i was heading home. there's a 24-hour drive-through starbucks in new port richie, so i stopped for an iced caramel machiato (soy and decaf) for my ride home. and sidebar, why does new port ritchie have a 24-hour drive-through starbucks when there is no such thing anywhere near me in orlando, one of the largest tourist destinations in the world? anyway, i waited at the pick-up window for a while. when the barrista (is it a barristo if it's a guy?) opened the window to give me my drink, he refused to let me pay for it because apparently he kept messing it up and kept having to start over. really? i wasn't waiting that long, but whatever... yay, free starbucks!

see the shenanigans you miss out on when you don't hang out with me?

The Best Dream Ever

sunday morning, 7:42 am. text from my mother: dream that you were about to get married to a guy named spike. your dress was pretty but on your head holding the veil was a white guitar.

i'm sorry, what? i'm not even awake yet... i roll back over and fall back asleep for an hour or two. when i wake, i text her back: i don't think i've ever met a spike. was he at least a rock star?

she called me after she got back from church. i was on my way to wal-mart to buy a few things and i almost had to pull over to the side of the road because i was laughing so hard. before i divulge the dream in all its insane glory, i'd like to preface it. my mom rarely remembers her dreams. when she does, it's never in great detail. she was able to recall minute details and swears she can still see me turning slowly to face her. there must be some meaning to it, but i'm sure i don't understand what it would be. the dream is as follows (my comments and mom's explanations in parentheses):

i was getting married, and we were at my aunt's church. ("i was getting married in michigan?" "yeah, i don't know why.") father harvey was there. ("who's father harvey?" "your aunt's priest." "oh, clearly.") the church wasn't for normal church-y things like daily masses and things; it was kind of a wedding factory that did weddings every hour or half-hour. after the ceremonies, the wedding party walked over to various places for the receptions. ("so we were in vegas!" "um, no.") my mother was looking for my father, but couldn't find him. she called his cell phone, but i answered. ("why did i have dad's phone?" "i have no idea.") apparently there were two different ways to go - up one hill or up another. ("hills?" "i know, there aren't hills like that in michigan.") she wasn't sure which way dad had gone. she eventually found him and they got a ride to wherever i was. mom walked into a large room - not the alter room, but another room where i was. she wasn't sure it was me at first until i slowly turned to face her. aparently my dress was very pretty. it was a simple white dress, a little longer in back to sweep the floor. i'm guessing my dress was to offset the spectacular head piece i was sporting. on my head was a guitar. ("not an electric guitar, though." "an accoustic?" "yes." "are we talking a little guitar here?" "oh, no, full sized, neck and all. but it was white and shiny...") actually, on my head is not accurate. i guess around my head is better. my head was through the hole the strings would normally stretch across; i had an entire accoustic guitar on, around, and above my head. ("it was standing straight up?" "yep. there weren't any strings, though." "oh, well that's good, then.") the veil came down from the neck of the guitar and wrapped around the sides of it, then trailed down my back. ("were we ok with this guitar-veil-headpiece-thingie?" "well, i remember thinking, hmmm that's interesting. but you weren't upset or anything, and neither was i, so i guess it was alright.") "where's spike?" i asked. ("again, you weren't worried, it was just like you were checking to make sure everything was cool.") mom answered, "i don't know, but i found your dad."

then she woke up for good. mom usually wakes up a few times a night, and she said that even though she did this, she kept coming back to this same dream. just random. and funny. what's even odder is that after telling this to rob, we managed to sketch out a fairly detailed idea of a so-called "wedding factory" where the entire wedding day could be planned in just a meeting or two. it started to scare me a little - it was way too easy. anyway, that's mom's dream for your entertainment - it certainly entertained me.

but god help me if i ever meet anyone named spike. i'll probably fall on the floor laughing and he'll think i'm a complete lunatic...

Wieners!!!

made you giggle, didn't it? it's ok, you can admit it. i certainly did today; i was trying to heat up a couple of my oscar meyer 98% fat free turkey dogs, and so i looked at the instructions.

"microwave: place 1 wiener in bun; wrap in paper towel. microwave on HIGH 30 to 45 sec., or until wiener is heated through (160 F).
Grill: 98% fat free wieners contain very little fat so they will not brown like regular wieners. Grill wieners only 5 to 7 min. or just until heated through (160F) turning frequently."

okay, here's my question of the day: how do you take yourself so seriously that you use a semicolon in your heating instructions and expect the person doing the heating to check the temperature, and still refer to it as a "wiener" FIVE TIMES?? furthermore, do they actually think someone's going to take out a meat thermometer and test for doneness like they would a turkey? on a wiener? seriously? i couldn't even read through the instructions with a straight face, and i'm hardly the type to snicker when someone says "bone" or "balls".

because i'm a dork and an english teacher, i decided to look up the etymology of "wiener". it's a funny word; i wanted to know where the hell it came from. turns out it's german, and short for "wienerwurst" - literally "sausage from vienna". somewhere down the line we americans shortened it to wiener and from then on used it to sell hot dogs and nickname male appendages.

wiener, wiener, wiener, wiener. say it out loud, it'll make you laugh. go ahead, try it. i'll wait.


it was fun, wasn't it? and you giggled, too, i know it.

Eat Your Heart Out, Kevin Hearn

my hands hurt. it hurts to type this a little. my arms hurt too. i feel as though i just did 6 back-to-back track a shows. (for those of you non-disney/non-puppeteer types, this means my shoulders are a little tense and the muscles of my forearms and right hand are starting to cramp up.) i have actually bruised the pads of my index, middle, and ring fingers on my right hand; they scream something fierce if i push down on them.

what, you may be asking, did she do to herself this time? is it a bad fibro day (please see past blogs for clarification)? did she find some sort of steep staircase to throw herself down? was she hanging on for dear life off a precipice with just her upper body strength to save her? (okay, i know that if my life depended on my upper body strength, i'd be a gonner in 20 seconds) no, it was much more strenuous than any of that.

rob and i discovered guitar hero III for the wii.

yes, we are dorks. yes, we spent the better part of 8 hours testing our shredding skills (that's what it's called, right?) to the tune of weezer, guns n roses, and social distortion. and yes, i'm now finding it hard to type because of this. but my band (eurema's cinnamon) just finished it's tour of tokyo. and rob's band (the burning retinas) completed the whole set list on easy.

by the way, have you played this game? granted, i play left-handed because for some odd reason the wiring between the musical section of my brain and my hands is mixed up, but this stuff is hard. the songs on medium are too difficult for me, and it's proving challenging to rob. there's still hard and expert. i'll wager even brian may would have difficulties with the hard or expert settings. i wonder if it's harder or easier for people who already know how to play a guitar. i mean, on one hand, you're used to strumming with one hand and chording with the other, but it's not like you're actually playing real chords - you're just pushing colored buttons. anyone got an answer for that one?

so i need to take a few days off from band rehearsal so my hands can heal. ah, the things we musicians suffer through for our art....

You Know, Sometimes I Worry

i overheard a discussion between a few of my children today. and that's what they are: children. most of them are only 14 or 15 - which is why it bothered me so much to hear this conversation.

one of the girls was telling another that it had been 3 months since she last had sex. the other girl replied that it had been 2 weeks and 2 days for her. one of the guys threw in his stat of a couple of months.

wow, really? i remember being in 9th grade. i remember being 14 or 15. i don't remember discussing casually in a classroom the last time i had sex. in fact, the couple of girls who were rumored to have slept with someone (at least the ones not in long-term relationships) were gossipped about mercilessly. the guys too, to some extent. there's always been a double standard there, but for the most part we seemed to understand that something that big was a little beyond what we could deal with emotionally. i think that what bothered me the most today was not the topic, but the blase way they talked about it. it was no big deal; clearly, everyone around them had had sex, so it was an easy choice for a topic.

i wonder if it has to do with sex education, or lack thereof. in the 5th or 6th grade, the girls and guys were separated and explained the basics of puberty and periods and whatnot, but in jr. high - in our gym classes - we had a whole unit on sex education. we're talking a 6 week, in-depth, mortifyingly detailed unit. we learned how and why people have sex; we learned the pros and cons; we learned about std's and issues that people have dealt with; we learned about disease and problems that can lead to death; we learned about birth and how it works and how a baby grows. basically, we learned that it was an important subject, one that had weight and needed to be thought about. i asked some other teachers at lunch (who used to work at k-8 and elementary schools) what kind of sex ed kids get now. apparently, they just get the hormone talk. i truly wonder if this lack of detail is part of what leads them to take sex so casually. i'm sure media and adverts don't help; and compounding these images on top of not taking sex seriously make for a very dangerous lack of morals. or even the concept of what morals are and how to uphold them.

two students i had two years ago are now pregnant. they're 16. there are at least 4 other girls i know of at school that are pregnant. it's not even a big deal anymore. a girl in my class got pregnant my junior year - it was a big deal. her parents had to agree to take care of her son while she was in school, and to support both of them. It was something that was taken seriously, whether or not you supported her. Now it's just casually mentioned. "oh, you remember sabrina from last year? yeah, she just had her baby." "hey, kelly's pregnant, did you hear? she and jorge are moving in with his parents." and it's not that there's a 40-year gap, either; it's less than 15.

are we really raising a generation of kids that have no concept of consequence? that scares me a little.

The Poster Child For Too Much Information

i have found her. she works at big lots on south obt. granted, she is not a child, having children of her own - more about them in a minute - but i have never seen such a perfect example of why you should keep some things to yourself.

i went to big lots for one thing and one thing only: an inexpensive speaker dock for my ipod at school. I ended up also buying some bbq chips and a coke. 3 items; all i had were 3 items. there was only one register open, so i resigned myself to waiting my turn behind the woman with the overflowing shopping cart. this proved to be more tedious than the 38 cans of cat food and 24 boxes of mac and cheese warranted. (seriously, are you running a day care center for 4 year olds and cats?)

as she scanned the (many, many) items, the check-out woman (hereafter known as TMI) began talking to the woman in front of me (hereafter known as cheesy-cat lady). as far as i could tell, the women only knew each other from the store; presumably, TMI had rung up cheesy-cat lady on more than one occasion. cheesy-cat lady asked TMI how things were going. this was a mistake of epic and tragic proportions. several times during this (mostly one-sided) discussion i wondered if cheesy-cat lady regretted her polite question. i know i did.

i now know more about some random worker at big lots than i do about some of my closer friends. i don't even know where to start. hmmm.... let's start with employment, though it was somewhere in the middle of the diatribe. TMI only works part time at big lots, and it's a good thing she does because she just got layed off from her full time job. and now that she's been laid off, her jerk of an ex-boyfriend thinks she'll take him back because she has three children - 3 boys, aged 13, 19, and 21 - and two of them still live at home and need to be supported. she and the ex have known each other since grammar school, and dated when they were in high school. she's very disappointed he turned out this way, since he used to be such a good person. she broke up with him because he was getting controlling and wanted her to cut ties with her children ("he's only 13 - i'm not gonna put him on the street"). he called the cops on her for allegedly walking around naked in the house to purposely distract the neighbors and attract attention to herself. (trust me, it would not have been GOOD attention.) he was planning to try to take her house and/or sell it for his own profit. when she broke up with him before he could do this - "i had to burn him before he could burn me, you know?" - he threatened to sue her. he is now calling her up repeatedly and telling her that she can't do any better than him and should take him back before she makes any more mistakes. now that she only has a part time job, he thinks she will have to take him back to make ends meet. she can't believe this is the same guy she once knew and dated. he's such a jerk. she doesn't want to be alone, but she's had enough jerks in her life, and is afraid she'll just attract another one. that's her life, her horrible life. but it's not so bad anymore because she's on zoloft and that's making her feel better even though she doesn't have any answers or any ideas on how to fix things.

seriously? at this point, the mantra in my head is, "i only have 3 items, please don't continue talking, i only have 3 items, please don't continue talking..." for the love of mike, people. take your disfunctional life and visit jerry springer. he and his trashy audience would LOVE to hear your story; your customers at big lots DO NOT. luckily, she simply rang up my things - apparently my scant amount of items did not allow for further explanations or play-by-play. what makes people feel the need to tell virtual strangers the most intimate details of their lives? i don't always want to hear these things, even from my best friends. there's just no need. demasi's probably the only one who would know these sorts of things about me, but he only knows a few - why should he be burdened with and/or bored by my inner thoughts and issues?

lady, seriously, buy a diary. i'm sure you can get one at big lots for a dollar, and you can put all your thoughts and feelings in there instead of spewing them out willy nilly all over unsuspecting customers...