Don't mess with me...

This is what happens when a helium balloon is served at the table.

Today, Pioneer Woman asked people to share past Halloween costumes they've worn. If she picks your post, you can win a big orange dutch oven. So, I shared this:

"I was a full-on super chicken. I'm talking feathers and a huge claustrophobic head with a beak. I had serious wings, drumstick thighs, and a pair of over-sized chicken feet that required I walk backward down stairs. Needed a handler that year."

Saturday: Salt lake City

The billboard industry in Salt lake City would put Lady Bird Johnson into a whole new spat of legislative fury.

This market is an awesome and entertaining corridor for anyone with an inkling of advertising blood in them. I outright laughed at some of the creative. Good stuff. And after driving through, I can say this about Salt lake Cityites (or at least, this is what research must have “discovered”):

They fear addiction of any kind. Lots of ads for rehab and treatment joints.

Plastic surgery is, however, quite popular.

God is good (we all knew that).

They enjoy Disneyesque adventure parks for the whole family.

Everything about the town is wholesome. Even Greek Town is wholesome. Subtext: This is not Detroit or Chicago. Oh-Pah!

Refineries are cool places to live and meet friends.

Oh, and the other thing about this place? People drive crazy fast!  The speed limit vacillates between 65 in the city to 80mph in the country. And people do drive the limit. Truckers, too.

Another thing I have to confess I love about this area. The drivers are not passive aggressive. Someone wants to pass you, they do. Without the NW glare. It’s every man/woman for themselves on the road. No one tries to drive and give a morality lesson at the same time.  This is incredibly freeing and dangerous for anyone who grew up in Michigan.

Friday: On the Road Only 10 Hours Past EDT

Well, we finally leave town at the bright and early hour of 6:00 p.m. A new record for Romoser TIme.

I suspect Michael left halfway through prep to get a massage. He is a madly intelligent man.

When we finally hit the road, we stop – many times — for these reasons:

Pick up take-out, because it’s dinner time.

Drop off Mikey’s SAAB at our friend Norm’s garage (to add pads to the metal-on-metal brakes, which we hear actually make cars stop, but in a silent way).

Fill up the tank. About $180 worth of liquid summer adventure!

On the Road: Four hours into the trip

Mikey and I are already eating MacDonald’s shakes, fish sandwiches, fries , Almond Joys, and Heath Bars. We’re superheroes, hopped up on fast-food crack.  I fear a sugar crash is eminent.

We start singing patriotic songs but make up the words or we combine the lyrics and melodies. At this point, I’m just following Mikey a fraction of a second behind his lead. He makes up a lyric, I harmonize, and it’s all slightly off.  Then, without the benefit of a radio, Mikey starts singing Pink Floyd’s “The Wall,” but we don’t know the words, all we remember is “I’ve become, comfortably numb.” That line we sing in a “numb way.” It’s really quite funny.

One Hour Later:

I’m falling asleep and Mikey is quietly singing “Green Acres is the Place to Be.” So I rally and raise him the Beverly Hillbillies “Jed Move AWAY From Thar!”

That keeps us going for about 15 minutes. And then Mikey goes back to quietly singing Hogan’s Heroes.

It’s then, when I realize Hogan’s Heroes has no lyrics but only whistling, that I make the call to pull over. Things have gone too far.

 

Riding the Roomba!

How's it possible that within one day, I see two videos of two different species riding robot vacuums? These robot vacuums, in case you've been living in the same closet with me, are called Roombas. And I want one immediately.

Cat on a robot vacuum.











 

Human baby girl on a robot vacuum. You can tell she's a girl, she's wearing pink. And she's an excellent driver.

Did you know this is a thing? It most certainly is, because I also found...
This:

Duckling and confused shark-cat

Here we have a baby duckling who alternates between chasing a cat that's riding a Roomba dressed in a shark suit, or being chased by a cat riding a Roomba dressed in a shark suit.

Apparently this wasn't fun enough because a dog dressed up as a hammerhead shark makes an appearance toward the tail end of the video. Licking his chops. Could mean he's either hungry, confused or feeling slightly anxious.

And then I found this:

Look closely:

Those, my friends, are prairie dogs riding a robot vacuum cleaner to some bossa nova music. I wish I could say rumba music but I can't.

And finally, although I'm sure there are more tiny animals, babies, and toys riding shotgun on a Roomba, I ferreted out a ferret video just for you.

Ferrets are stinky, even when their scent sac is removed like the "k" from "sack."

The risk with bisque

To whom it may concern:

Thanks for the freaky bisque clown that was left on my porch this morning, unannounced. 

It DID NOT freak me out. 
Your ploy has failed. 

Just bring it on, freaky clown people. 

Bring. It. On.

Poodles, pitbulls and pansies

I didn't see this, just heard about it, but I'm telling everyone. It's like my favorite new story.

So, the other day, my in-laws, Mikey and my dog Zeke are sitting outside on the front porch for happy hour. When all of a sudden, they have the bejeezus scared out of them by a couple of poodles.

Here's how it went down:

Zeke, a sensitive soul

Zeke likes to stand at the top of the stairs and, because he's not in touch with his "inner editor," he barks "hello" at passerby. When he gets their attention, he stops. We've talked about this, and it's something Zeke is working on. Barking alarms pansies. And really, that's all Zeke does. Barks.

Enter the poodle people.

As mom, dad and Mikey are enjoying the sun, two women walk by with two highly manicured poodles on leashes. These pups look like they've been baked at a salon. They've got muffin tops and furry bons bons. They are damn fancy.

Now, for some reason, Zeke doesn't bark at these people or their dogs. Maybe he felt empathy for the ridiculous looking dogs. However...

As soon as the women see Zeke, one starts screaming at the top of her lungs, 

"NO!! NO!! NO!!"

This about knocks the ice cubes outta my in-laws' cocktails. Zeke is frozen in fear. My husband is at a loss for words (See "how to win a domestic argument" 101).

Then the other woman picks up her dog and starts yelling at my family,

"SO. NOT. COOL! SOOOO! NOTTTT! COOOOLLL!!!!" And they storm across the street.

During this scene, and it was an abomination (neighbors came outside to find out who was being skinned alive), my dog never left the porch. He never left the yard. But as soon as the freaky "poodle people" walked across the street, he ran into the bushes, hid and whimpered. My in-laws were just in awe. And by this time, my kids had joined the family on the porch. 

And that's the story. No moral, other than it's nice to see that our neighbors will come out of their homes to see a good fight. Suppose that's reassuring.

Later, Mr. Stove Stoveykins

Obituary:

The Romoser's ancient General Electric stove passed away loudly the other night after Mikey picked up a hammer and inhumanely euthanized it. A sad demise as it had provided a reliable hot seat for copper pots and tea kettles for many decades.

"Stovey" had been a gracious, ubiquitous appliance in the kitchen. But six months ago, after its timer knob fell off, it decided to become a home-cooked version of the "Operation" game, providing frustration and sport to anyone who dared cook on its surfaces. Eventually, the unadorned screw that once housed the "knob" stripped and became uncooperative, frustrating all who tried to turn the damn timer off. A pair of needle nose pliers were employed as the stove slipped further and further into obsolescence. (I'm drinking wine now, so forgive misspellings and overt embellishments.)

And so, bathed in the dwindling sunlight of a fine spring afternoon, "Stovey" slipped into a suspended state, dangling wires and all. Here is her last portrait, nay I say, only portrait ever taken, after Mikey forcibly removed the clock from its metal casing.

Life is Lively

I just found this "Life is Lively" post in my drafts folder with no copy other than the headline. Indeed, life must have been pretty lively when I started this post.

Hello Mr. President

Friday night.
The president was in town today, kind of a big deal.
I missed going outside to watch everyone watch for him while I watched for him. Instead, I stayed inside, ate cheese and apples, wrote my work stuff, and enjoyed listening to the voice in my head say, "Good, now you can play hookie on Monday."
After all, Monday is President's Day.
Or Presidents' Day.
Or simply, Presidents Day.
Editor's choice.
:)

Katie

I miss her.
Hope she's meeting and making new friends.
Hope she doesn't fall out of the top bunk.
Want her to eat well.
I miss her.
Hope she's staying healthy and going for a run.
Hope she doesn't let things overwhelm her.
Want her to be overwhelmed by the experience of learning.
I miss her.
Hope she does go to the health center to find out if she can get prescriptions and care if she's sick.
Hope she does ask to get her bike back so she can tool around on campus.
Want her to call me anytime and come home often.

I miss her.

Roam if you want to...

The Roam Riders successfully rode in the Bike MS event this weekend through Skagit Valley. It was a gorgeous ride with great people who worked exceedingly hard to raise money to find a cure for MS. One team in particular, "Lyne's Legs," had a novel way of promoting their group: They all stuck Barbie doll legs into their helmets, easily identifying who they were as they rode by. But it wasn't until the second day's lunch when the impact of why they were riding hit us. We saw a beautiful slim woman pass us on an electric wheelchair and head toward the team as they were yelling "Lyne! Lyne! Lyne!" These guys literally served as her legs for the ride.

So recap: The fundraising for the entire event is just $200K short of hitting goal. If you want to help us get there, consider sharing a few coins. It only takes a little bit from a bunch of folks and goals like these can be attained. Thanks to everyone who already supported the Roam Riders! (We did surpass our rookie goal, but hey, I think we can still raise more so donate!

Saturday in Seattle

Saw a dad and what looked to be his son, sprinting in full Hasidic attire. This must be running religion week. (See below post.) Katie was in the car with me and said, "I bet they wish they could drive today."

Candle karma

Mexican religious candles

I'm on this run the other day, which feels great as a departure from riding my bike nearly every day. Background: We no longer have two cars.

So, I'm on this run, right? As I round out my last hill two blocks from home, I see a sign. "Free." Next to the sign are four Mexican candles (which I really love, they're so bright, fun and religiously campy) and some assorted uninteresting wood pieces. I pick up two candles and continue walking up the hill. Looking down at my recent grab (these will be great on the backyard table) I notice the images are less than fun. Jesus on the cross, and there's blood. And Jesus with a thorny crown, and he does not look happy about it. So I think, maybe I'll turn around and put them back, but I'm immediately seized with guilt. Guilt. I grabbed the candles, it's not cool to put Jesus back, let alone put him back on the ground next to a Free sign (although he probably would have liked the symbolism behind that gesture). So all these thoughts are going on in my head. By now I'm at the back door. Then it hits me. I can soak the paper off these candles! But I'll leave the prayers on because the prayers are important. Jesus and God won't mind if I take off the image, but everyone knows removing the prayers would not be cool.

As I fill the soup pot with water and immerse the candles, I'm racked with new guilt. The prayers and images are one label. There is no way I'm peeling off Jesus without taking the prayers, too. This is not good, a voice says to me. Two candles, two penances, get ready, the voice says. But what if this is the devil telling me superstition exists? It's very human to fall for something like superstition, which falsely asserts we can control our fate if we sacrifice a chicken, or go really big with the white Voodoo chalk. Besides, who wants to see the crucifix or a crown of thorns over some lamb chops in the backyard? How would appetizers benefit from that? I continue to soak the candles.

The very next day two weird things happen to me:

Yes, that's a fly, straight out of "The Ring"

A garage door mechanic calls out of the blue and says he's only a block away for our 10am appt. I don't have an appt. with a garage door mechanic today, it's supposed to be next Tuesday I tell him. The day after Labor Day. Flint-born, people know you don't work on Labor Day, I made a point of getting someone out here the very next day. So. why's he here now, I wonder. (Look at the candles.) Some confusion he says, you have the coupon for the free service call, right? Yes. But I want him to know it's a really old door. We've already been told most people won't work doors as old as ours, made around the time the house was built. No problem it's just a look he says. Of course. Aha! But, by the time he gets here, the door is not fixable. He pulls this bait and switch on me to buy a new garage door, which we're not interested in doing. No matter, I have the free service call. He says, nope, only if I had performed a service. I say, but you did, you told me you couldn't fix it. We go around and around for a while and my son, who is painting the house trim interrupts us. What? I ask. He looks sheepish, like someone from Jesus' flock.

Mom, I've pulled of this big piece of wooden trim from the roof line. Mom. It's broken, I don't think I can fix it.

And there you go. Two hits, two candles, karma strikes. But I'm not superstitious.

Need more funny

There's an old story my Grandpa used to tell about a farmer's wife cooling pies on the window sill closest to the farm's pigsty. Czechs, for the record, cannot stand dirt and filth where it doesn't belong, so part of the humor was centered around flies who would come in from the pig sty and land on the pies. I can't even remember how this joke went. He'd enjoy retelling it, over and over again, sprinkling in descriptions about the richness of rural life, complete with flies and generous heaps of pig poop. It's not a funny joke, but Grandpa would always get us laughing out loud because it was the one time he'd say "Shit." And he'd say it loudly. So we'd all laugh.

I'm getting my old job back. It's a bittersweet story. I guess that's generally the case for the poor mug losing the job, good news for the person getting it back. And this replacement writer just wasn't funny. So today, I was told they wanted more funny. They needed more funny. Can you imagine your boss saying, "We need the copy to be funnier, can you do that?" Hell, you can make a joke out of just about anything.

Slugs and Snails

Ode to mucousligenous masses who commit poorly devised plots to eat my tender garden shoots. You are gonna die.

It may be one of these methods:
Toss into the blue to land on blackened pavement (Your home -- a mere shell -- becomes shell mosaic)
Toss into neighbors' massive laurel bush
Perchance you eat the Sluggo Plus? How's that little respite between the shoots, betch?
Plop into the garden composter -- a slow, hot hell of green plastico
No beer for you! But maybe a slow languid swim in a bucket o' water?
Toss into back alley where plant purgatory greets poorly planned blimps

Oh yes, say "bye bye."

ParentMap's Golden Teddy Awards

Here's a chance to blab about your faves. One of the liveliest reads in Seattle is holding their annual Golden Teddy Awards right now. You might even win something if you post your picks.
http://www.parentmap.com/raves/family-fun/raves/best-of-seattle-for-families-2011-parentmap-golden-teddy-awards

How to get rid of 15 months of Internet brain

Read something on paper
Run
Run some more
Dress up fancy
Run with your dog
Garden
Write something on paper
Blog about silly things
Don't look for another job... at least not yet
Call an old friend
Register for unemployment

Creativity

You know how sometimes people try too hard to be clever because they're thinking too much? Well, that's me right now.

Block! Experiencing a block.

Sitting in Purple, sipping a flight of Argentinian

That's just damn fancy for drinking slightly filled glasses of red wine. Four of them, all in a row. I may have to order duckling to tackle this.

Oh the pain.

Purple has a splendid tower of wine bottles sprouting up from the ground floor. Where I sit, in the lofted lounge, I can see the whole ground floor. Mikey should be walking through the front doors soon. He, like I, had a late Friday afternoon interview. Guess what the weather is outside? Raining. And I'm in Purple. So it's a good thing they're piping some good electronic groove in here or I'd have a serious attack of the 1980s in my ear. 

Could I, would I, get a job? I would love to work in Seattle again. Nice folks. But pretty darn corporate -- wonder if they liked me. Think I'll sip on more wine ...