You wouldn’t believe the weather here today. It was in the low 70s. Felt like fall all day long. Cool breeze blowing. I was wearing a sleeveless sweater and even needed my little cardigan at times. It was glorious.

Tomorrow I may need a light jacket.

Can you hear me cheering?????

I’m spoiled. Growing up in Texas and being spoiled on Tex-Mex and authentic Mex on the north side of Fort Worth, you just expect much better than Taco Bell from your Mexican food. I was heartened to see that there’s an On the Border here in Boise. At least there’s that, and I do like their salsa ok.

One particular J’s favorite “Mexican” food, Pollo Rey’s, right next to the movie theater. We tried that yesterday. I had a veggie supreme burrito. She said it’s the best Mexican food, with the freshest ingredients… It tasted like a grilled stuft burrito from Taco Bell… sigh. Their salsa was decent, though. And there are a hundred or so Mexican food places here… I can just keep trying.

No good fast mexican food either. No Taco Bueno, no Chipotle. Not even a Don Pablo’s for sit-down food. But On the Border is not bad. Unless they’ve northwesternized it.

It was very funny. But there were 2 man kisses. Those grossed me out. In major fashion. I closed my eyes.

Other than that, I laughed my pinkytoe off.

Wow. I thought it was bad in 2004 when Frank and I went to 3 different stores to find Trivial Pursuit. (BTW, that’s a fun link, that. It’s the story where Frank got some serious training about how to speak to a woman — I mean the man actually agreed with a woman who said she had a big butt. It’s like he’d never been in the presence of estrogen.)

Anyway, we decided that we need to have a nice big J family Trivial Pursuit game so we can prove that I’m the smartest. Or that the girls are the smartest. Or that the young Js are the smartest. Or that I’m not the dumbest. Even though I came in dead last in Scrabble tonight (my job in the game being the person that says, “No, you spelled that wrong,” and the spoiler who puts my 4-point word in the place where someone else wanted to put their 40-point word. Is it truly possible to draw every single “I” and “U” in the bag?).

So a couple of days ago, we hit a Walgreens, because they have everything from rubber brooms that sweep dog hair and paper shreds off the carpet to tampons to rechargeable camera batteries to mascara, plus an entire aisle of board games. No luck at Walgreens.

Same day we tried Target, which carried LOTR Trivial Pursuit, Trivial Pursuit for Kids, Trivial Pursuit Rainbow Brite Edition, Pursuit a La Trivial, Viva La 80s Trivial Pursuit, Trivial Pursuit Does Dallas, Trivial Pursuit DVD Disney, Trivial Pursuit Election 2000 Edition, Trivial Pursuit Marvel v. DC, Trivial Pursuit 33 1/3, Trivial Pursuit Illegal Immigration Special Edition, Trivial Pursuit Sweeps Week, Etc. But no regular old 6th edition, or Genus 6, for us old folks.

Yesterday, we tried Walmart. Same thing as Target, except they also carried the Trivial Pursuit Fox & Friends Edition.

Today, it was Toys’R'Us, which also carried the Trivial Pursuit Dora Edition and the Classic Thundercats Edition, and K-Mart which carried all of the above.

We ended up ordering it from Amazon with overnight shipping and should receive it by Friday. We should have done that on Monday and would have been playing by Tuesday night.

It seems like everyone owns it, but no store actually sells it. Even more frustrating is that I looked it up on TR’s website to see at which store I could buy it, and did the zip code search, and I supposedly could buy the 6th edition at both K-Mart and TRUs near us. Bah!

Ok, that was way over the top, George. President Bush just said that New Orleans saw flooding on a Biblical scale during Katrina.

Ok, during the Great Flood, it rained 40 days and 40 nights. No one lived except the 8 people in Noah’s big boat. And the fishies. It was another 40 days before the dove that Noah sent out from the boat found dry land again.

Let’s keep it in perspective.

Has he even read Genesis?

I like this Boulder D.A. woman. She’s handling these idiot reporters very well.

John Hawkins has a well-thought-out case against Giuliani for President in 2008.

#1, he isn’t just pro-choice, he’s pro-abortion — also known as murder. And he supports partial-birth abortion, at that, which is where they wait until the baby is being born and then suck out the baby’s brains — also known as murder. That’s enough for me.

p.s. I like my guns and would like to buy an “assault” weapon. And I like my “assault” 16-round magazine for my P99.

p.p.s. Don’t even get me started on illegal immigration.

Case against McCain here.

Someone posted on Freecycle that they want a motorhome.

May he rot.

Today was pretty relaxed. We slept in and lazed around. Frank’s mom & sister dropped us off in the north end of Boise to walk around while they went for a doctor appointment. We found a Chipotle knockoff that could be a decent substitute and actually even has a bigger variety (jambalaya burritos!); drawback was the guac wasn’t nearly as good. But it’s acceptable. We walked around the shops and looked at the expensive old houses around there. It was like being in old Fort Worth around TCU.

Then we drove around looking at houses in Eagle, which is a pretty expensive town. We drove out to Hidden Springs, a Stepford town that is like Celebration, Florida (the town that Disney built). It was a neat little town, and we walked through a couple of models. One of them had a completely unacceptable kitchen due to limited cabinet space, until we opened the pantry, which was a whole other room.

Then Grammy has poked herself in the eye and needed to go to the urgent care clinic, so Frank and I watched Arrested Development and ate pizza with his dad while Silly and his mom took Grammy to get her eye fixed (ouch, scratched cornea). When they got back home we watched some Scrubs.

I’ve been so tired from coughing my lungs up that we just came back to the hotel after that. I’m ready for bed and a real allergy med that actually works.

My birthmark came out! 6 more weeks of summer! So now you can see the fabled mark.
Here’s a picture without enhancements and one with pointers in case you can’t tell where it is.

* Frank’s Grammy says the funniest things. Talking about Frank’s Aunt Crystal, who doesn’t like to dance, she says, “Then what the heck are you supposed to do for fun if you don’t dance??”

* Frank wanted to show Grammy his carry pistol, which is tiny and fits in an over-sized wallet-sized holster. He was sitting a few feet away from her and holding it up, and she didn’t know what it was, but he is clueless and thought she heard him say it was his gun. She motioned for him to bring it over, so he brought it over and handed it to her. She jumped in surprise and said, “Oh, you rascal, it’s a darn gun. You J’s and your guns,” and confiscated the gun for a minute. “Gimme my gun back!” So she shoved it back in his hands.

* I have seen the neckid baby picture of the Frankie. What a cute fat baby he was.

* The current track of Ernesto has him landing an hour north of our house Thursday at 2 a.m.somewhere around Ft. Lauderdale and maybe east of our house out in the ocean, but barely east of our house, so we’ll still get a lot of wind and rain, but I’m not sure why they’re expecting Ernesto to remain a hurricane all the way from Miami to Daytona on land without downgrading into a tropical storm. We’re still not sure what we’re going to do. We’re still hoping it fizzles, but if it doesn’t, we may beg Frank’s friend Eric to put up the shutters in exchange for me preparing their next 10 Thanksgiving meals for them (Frank doesn’t think he can be bribed with money). Frank’s going to call our neighbors who are taking care of the cats today to see what their plans are as far as their own shutters. They’re supposed to travel Friday. We may have to cut things short and fly back early to prepare, but that’s only if there is no one to bribe. Our poor kitties, though.

* My new endocrinologist’s office is a little disorganized. They first set me up at the wrong imaging center for my ultrasound, because all imaging for my insurance has to go through one center, apparently, and all the doctors in town know it. They called just now to tell me the time of my new appointment at the correct imaging center, and after checking my calendar I see that it directly conflicts with my next endocrinologist appointment… but at least this guy’s not a quack, right?

* The Office should not have won best comedy at the Emmys. Yes, we laugh our heads off at that show. But Arrested Development and Scrubs were the funniest shows on TV last year, followed by The Office. Arrested should have won. And how the President and First Lady from 24 didn’t win supporting actor and actress is beyond me. There should be a Federal investigation. But who cares about Hollywood? They parodied a plane crash yesterday. Bad taste. Yay for 24 winning, anyway. And Calista Flockhart should eat something. Anything.

* The weather here is fantastic. Cool in the shade, cool in the evening, warm but not too hot in the sun, and it’s dry. Dry. I love it.

* Yesterday after church we drove to Idaho City and hiked in the mountains. Hiked! In the mountains! And so far, I can move today! After we were done hiking, Frank, Silly Sarah, and I were sure we’d gone for ages. Joe Foo’, Denise, and Kayla (their dog) were ready to go for more. I said, “We hiked 20 miles!” The Marine said, “It was 3 kilometers.” Whatevs, man. We could have died exercising as vigorously for as long as we did. And then on the way back, there were dirt bikes coming up our way, so some genius (Denise) had the idea to go down this super steep slope instead as a short cut to avoid the bikes. Yeah, I’d have sprained an ankle, so I just slid down on my butt instead and dumped dirt and pebbles from the cuffs of my jeans onto everything I touched for the rest of the day (Frank’s mom’s nice rug, her nice leather chair, our suitcases, our hotel room floor, the car, etc.). Denise said it was my choice, but I ensured her that there’s never a choice with peer pressure.

* Saturday we picnicked in one of Boise’s parks and had lovely weather. I can’t imagine picnicking in Florida until January. In August? Yah. Uh huh. Eating a sandwich under an umbrella on the beach with my sister was only out of the necessity to eat.

* These oatmeal raisin cookies are yummy.

* Frank thinks I’m still supposed to fix his plate for him on vacation. Ha. I keep telling him, get up and fix your own plate, I’m on vacation. “But I’m tired.” “Yeah, and I’m on vacation.” “Well, then, my mama can fix my plate.” “It’s not her job, either, you get up and fix it yourself, you big baby.” The man is 27 years old. But he really is cute.

Ok, so… where was I?

I was edgy. I was on 1.5 hours sleep. And there were 7 incidents on airplanes on Friday, not to mention that one of them was a Continental flight out of Houston where a student’s luggage contained dynamite. We were flying Continental. On Friday. Into Houston. Then out of Houston. Faaaaaanntastic.

Back up. When we got to the airport, we checked our suitcases, showed the ticketing agent that our guns were unloaded, and took our bags over to the TSA agents. We told them which bag had guns and which had ammo and waited to see if they needed us to unlock the suitcases for them but they were fine after X-ray.

I have to say, there’s something very funny about a TSA agent scanning your suitcase that contains guns and then the one that contains ammo and then giving you the double thumbs up and saying in a chipper voice, “They’re both okay!”

We ate at Chili’s, and I was already profiling, and I’ve completely taken a screw’em attitude on the profiling. I’m looking everyone in the eye, and if they look like they don’t have anything to live for, or they’re on a mission, or they look like they have a fifth cousin whose step sister once removed might have in a previous life been part-Arab, I’m keeping an eye on that guy. And until the government gets it right and profiles every Muslim and also rigorously psychologically screens any person who wants to get on an airplane, I’m just going to have to offend a bunch of people and I’m not sorry. BTW, blood shoots out of my eyes every time I hear about suspicious activity on a plane (like say dynamite, or guys passing around a cell phone and absolutely refusing to stop and give it up to the flight attendant) and then hear the Feds come out and say “there was no terrorist activity involved”. Yes, Uncle Sam, I am a moron and would love to take a big healthy dose of that bologna soup you’re dishing out. Can you serve it in a big crock of bull? Thanks.

So at Chili’s I stared at this one guy eating with his mama, because he hadn’t smiled through all of his dinner, and he looked foreign. Then he caught my eye and stared back and gave me horrible murderous looks like I’m an infidel, so of course, I wasn’t backing down in the staring contest. He did. Later, though, he and Mommy started laughing and he actually was nice to his girl American waitress so I decided to leave him alone. However, I told Frank that if he was on our flight, we weren’t going.

We jumped on the wrong tram to the gate, so after we got everything straightened out, we arrived at our gate and were probably the next to the last people onto the plane. Of course, I was doing risk assessment, so we passed up our row before I realized we were way too far down the plane.

UPDATE: TATTOO. Right before getting on the plane, we were queued behind a person in a wheelchair, and those airplane people who wear the orange vests on the skywalks out to the planes were helping the person out of the wheelchair. I was praying praying praying, and I saw that the orange vest people had darker skin that could kinda sorta pass for Middle Eastern but more likely not. But you know, I should profile anyway, because I’m not stupid. So I was eyeballing these guys to see if they were handing off any boxcutters to the wheelchair people, and did grama and grampa have beady little eyes? Then I noticed the tattoo on the leg of one of the orange vest people. I studied it to make out the detail, because I was too far to see all of it, and when I got closer, I could see that what covered the entire shin area was a pair of praying hands with rosary beads wrapped around the hands, and a cross dangling from the beads. Ok, that guy’s not a Muslim terrorist. And then I heard him speak Spanish to grama and grampa wheelchair, so yeah. Twice Catholic to the second power. I felt a little better.

We got settled into our seats, and as soon as the engines started revving up, I smelled paint fumes or some kind of chemicals. So I, on 1.5 hours of sleep and in no mood to be trifled with, started making noise. “I smell paint. Do you smell paint? Anyone else smell paint? Chemicals? What is the smell?” And I was looking around for confirmation from other passengers, who were all looking at me like I was a cuckoo nutjob. Ask me if I cared. So when a flight attendant walked by, I asked her a stupid question to get my point across. “Has the cabin recently been painted, because I smell paint?” which means, someone’s putting together a chemical bomb and no one else even notices, what is wrong with all the rest of you complacent people. She very calmly said, “What that is, ma’am, that’s jet fuel.”

Yes, we were sitting just atop one of the engines. Didn’t keep me from crying the first 20 minutes of the flight, but whatever.

Of course, I’d been praying and praying and praying. I saw the sign in front of me: Life vest under your seat. That’s where my Bible happened to be, hmm, I took great comfort in that.

I wanted to sleep so badly. I knew I was too tired to concentrate on the Bible, so I tried reading Harry Potter to put me to sleep. But there was a child 3 rows in front of us whose parents and grandparents apparently thought that instead of having a cranky, mildly whiny baby, it’s better to tickle the baby over and over and make the baby do the BLOOD-CURDLING SCREAM GIGGLE at the top of her LUNGS for the discomfort of the entire packed-to-the-hilt 757 so that every time Jesus and Harry Potter have finally comforted my edgy, terrified, 7 diverted-planes-today brain enough that I’m just about to drift off to sleep, I am stopped suddenly by the sound of what I am sure is a woman screaming for help.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that the man sitting next to us took his laptop out and turned it on before the captain said we were allowed to use our approved electronic devices, so he was under my suspicion for the entire flight.

I’ve already told Frank that we’re not flying any more after this trip until our Feds get a clue and stop being PC and adopt the El Al model. We don’t need to improve it. We just need to copy it. Until we do it, I’m not flying. I used to be a great flyer before 9/11, but not now.

And I used to tell myself that I’m not going to let the terrorists win by letting them keep me from flying. But it’s not them. They’re not keeping me from flying. Our stupid, coddling, whiny, PC government is keeping me from flying. The politicians who sit around and read polls all day instead of actually ever doing anything are keeping me from flying. The Feds who refuse to face reality and refuse to fix the problems rather than the symptoms are keeping me from flying. Our activist, terrorist-loving judges are keeping me from flying. The immigration and customs agents who hand out visas to young Middle Eastern men like they’re candy are keeping me from flying.

Ah, we’re here. We got in around midnight last night. Joe Foo’ and Sarah picked us up at the airport to bring us to our hotel. Which is very nice and in a great location. Movie theater and lots of eateries nearby, airport not too far, parents not too far, Foo’ not too far.

And my wonderful mother-in-law had also sent a gift basket and a fruit basket and other things along to welcome us to Idaho. Now, she used to have a business where she made gift baskets, and let me tell you, she must have been the best in the business. Let me tell you the contents of this gift basket, she’s amazing.
*Bottle of sparkling cider
*Bottle of Idaho chardonnay
*2 wine glasses
*Corkscrew
*Smoked salmon (ok, I’ve always been afraid to try something like this but I’m going to do it)
*crackers for the salmon
*Cherry almond bread
*Oatmeal raisin cookies
*Box of chocolates
*Can of pistachio/cashew/almond nut mix, yum
*One of those tins with the marbles floating around in it, and you make them rest in indentations, this one is a travel-themed one.
*Idaho travel brochures
*Here’s the kicker - when we talked to her Thursday night, I told her that my feet were killing me. There’s a little foot spa gift pack with foot scrub and foot lotion and a face mask! That one made me cry.
*Two cloth napkins
*Plus the basket

And she’d sent the fruit basket with bananas, grapes, plums, peaches, oranges… Plus sent some sodas for Frank and bottled water for me, and crackers and homemade biscotti from her Aunt Phinny. I’m telling y’all, she’s the dream mother-in-law. Not intrusive or controlling but extremely thoughtful.

Today Frank’s dad is making us breakfast, then we’re doing a lunch with his grandmother, and later a late picnic at one of Boise’s parks. This is already such a great vacation. Starting pretty much the minute our flight left Houston for Boise.

The flight from Orlando to Houston was another story. But we can talk about that later. For now, I want to go join my hubby in the shower. :-D

I’m guessing not allowed in carryons? Mine don’t have prescriptions on the outside. They’re clearly labeled as EpiPens… I hope I don’t have a major allergic reaction in flight.

Oh. Shucks. My feet are going to hurt, I have to take out Dr. Scholls.

The Walgreens girl who helped me this morning must be praised. Not like God, you know, but you know what I mean. I walked in and started looking for my mascara. She asked if she could help me. “Um…. no.” I’m not sure I thanked her, on 1.5 hours of sleep. “Ok, well let me know if you need anything.” Then, after I’d perused the whole aisle and started to re-peruse, I could see her looking my way. I said, “I would say yes, except I can’t remember the brand of my mascara.” Seriously. Topamax. She asked what the tube looks like. I pulled the old one out of my purse and showed her. “Oh, Maybelline!” She took me right to it, and I thanked her. Then she went to the makeup counter and found me a coupon for $1 off. I told her I’d be back to pay and get my $1 off after I picked up a couple of other items. Then as I was picking up some conditioner, she told me she found a $2 off coupon! I told her she’s my very favorite person today.

Then I walked by the Halloween items, unwittingly, and one of those candy dishes jumped up and grabbed me or sang at me, and I absolutely shrieked, and one of the checkers at the front asked what in the world that was, and I apologized and told him that something jumped out and bit me and I didn’t sleep much, and lo siento.

Then I picked up some digital video tapes and went back to the makeup counter. Awesome Makeup Girl told me that any time I buy makeup I should go by the makeup counter because they always have coupons for all kinds of things back there. She also put lotion samples in my bag. I felt bad for blowing her off in the beginning and told her apologetically that I was kind of embarrassed I didn’t know the brand of my mascara. That was my way of saying I’m sorry for being such a complete pinkytoe. She was very nice.

Yay for Awesome Makeup Girl.

You know how Dumbledore’s hand died in Half Blood Prince? I think my right heel has snuffed it.

In better news, we leave on vacation tomorrow. A whole week in Idaho. Awesome, we’re escaping this humidity, whee! And last night I learned (since my husband doesn’t share things with me except during “oh yeah” moments when someone else tells me) that his sister will be there too, so it will be the whole Frank side of the family (immediate family anyway, Silly Sarah, and Joe Foo’ and Denise, and the parents, and Frank’s grandmother). We also learned that the J’s are putting us up in a hotel instead of on their couch! Wow, wow, wow. We are so excited.

So. I will, of course, be up all night. I don’t sleep the night before I travel, and the house is still exploded from the whole den fiasco. If I can track down that hacksaw in the garage, I will win this battle of wills betwixt the den and me sometime in the middle of the night. I could come home to a cleanish house after all.

The dog is going to the spa for 11 nights, and her lodging will cost almost as much as our airline tickets. The kitties will be cared for, but they will miss me. They might miss Frank.

We will have our computers and will have internet at the hotel, but expect blogging to be intermittent. I’ll do my best to upload pictures as I have them, and I rilly rilly promise to try this time, but … no promises.

Mwah!

Love y’all, musees! Ta!

Saw the neuro today and asked him to take me off the Lamictal because of the hand pain issues. He is weaning me off of that and putting me on a higher dose of Topamax to use that for both the migraines and the epilepsy. So I’ll be on twice as much Topamax and no Lamictal.

Most of the side effects of the Topamax are better. I’m getting smarter after my dumb spell. I’m doing math in my head better. The tingling in my heels is getting better. So the side effects will get worse for a while and then hopefully better.

Oh yeah. The best news. No migraines for almost a month. I’m feeling not nearly as sluggish (that’s probably a combo of no migraines and being off the birth control). The side effect of that is that I’m off my butt and on my feet, so I’m icing my heels in bed so I can be on my feet the next day. I hate my feet. But I love that I can be on them at all.

Yay!

P.S. I’m crossing my fingers that my cough goes away when the Lamictal does.

i’ve been working really really hard on the office/den. yesterday i bought wire shelves for the closet and had them cut down to size. today i went to install them. they’re .5 inch too long. even though i measured the closet before i bought the shelves. i guess i didn’t measure good.

so now i have to go back tomorrow and get them cut another half inch. but really i want to just give up. and i don’t have a lot of time. i think i’m going to have to save it for after vacation. * sigh *

Oh wait. I am a girl, and that’s three generations of K’s there, and it’s Spidade and my Bro and the cutest nephew ever.

BTW, look at these peepers.

so tell me. am i the only one this neurotic about the mail? any mail that comes to us is sorted into four piles: resident, file, read then shred label and shred full.

the Resident pile is stuff that comes to Resident at Address in City and goes into the Trash in Kitchen.

the File pile is stuff like bills and statements and medical info from the insurance companies, etc. stuff i file. it goes into the File Box in the Den to be lost forever because i never file anything. hopefully that changes after this week, because i’m really close to finishing the den. now. the envelopes for the bills go into the shred bin if they have any indication of the company on the outside of the envelope or any mail inserts. no one digging through our trash needs to know who we do business with.

the Read then Shred Label pile isn’t really a pile. i tear the labels off the magazines either when they come in or before i throw them out, and i shred the labels.

the Shred Full pile is anything that goes straight to the shredder. ads that are addressed to Mr. and/or Mrs. J at Address in City. stuff from our credit card companies that say “Account Information Enclosed” - i don’t even open those envelopes. the other day, Frank brought in the mail and asked me how to sort it, and i told him that those went in the shred bin. he said, “but it’s from the credit card company.” i said, “yes, but that’s not the statement. those are the balance transfer checks. the statements are in different envelopes.” also, offers from other credit card companies. straight into the bin.

a little neurotic.

oh, here’s one. i’ve told Frank that when Amazon boxes come in, he’s to unload them immediately, tear the label off, put that in the shred bin, and take the box to the garage for trash. he said, “if someone’s digging through the trash, won’t they already know our address?” i just stared at him until he figured it out. “oh. tearing the label off is so people digging through the trash at the dump won’t know our address.” see, he learns quickly.

a lot neurotic.

we got home from the pond party Saturday, and the people across the street had a huge amazon box. Frank pointed this out. i said, “Ooh! get it! i need it so i can mail clothes to Sandy!” so of course, he went and got it and stood out in the middle of the yard with it waiting for me to get out of the car. when i saw this i frantically waved for him to get inside with his booty. he didn’t understand that you can’t just steal someone’s trash and then stand out there and let them see that you stole it. anyway, when we got inside, i was able to learn the name and address of our neighbors. “can you believe they didn’t take their labels off their amazon box???” Frank laughed at me.

So the other night I was lying in bed reading Harry Potter, and Frank was reading one of his comic books. I asked the very valid question, “Did I pee already?”

This sent Frank into the biggest laughing fit. I could not understand why this question was so hilarious. I mean, I pee every night before I go to bed, otherwise I’ll have to pee all over him in the middle of the night or, even worse, risk stubbing my poor pinkytoe (the actual pinkytoe, not the figurative one) on whatever might grace the floor between the bed and the bathroom. And I don’t like to get up in the middle of the night.

And I couldn’t remember if I had peed before getting into bed, so I was hoping that my sweet husband would tell me that he’d remembered. But he really laughed for about ten minutes and finally by the end of it, I might have been giggling, but I was only giggling at his apparent breakdown. At one point, he choked out the question, “Would you like me to get a notepad and write down the dates and times of all your urinations?”

Supportive husbands are the best.

I mean, he’s just such a caricature of himself and his wife that I actually feel sorry for him. But man, I really feel sorry for that little kid.

Transporter 2 was more plot, less action. But the action was super-cool. Up until the garage scene, I was enjoying the movie for the fun and the Handsome Rob of it and giving it about a 5 on the SarahK Dumb Action Flick Ratings Scale or whatever I call it. Because most of the fight scenes to that point were this one blonde chick, who I think was trying to be Pink with guns, just shooting a lot and wasting way too many bullets (seriously, take time to aim and you really only need one or two, it’s just not necessary to spend 100 rounds on 1 foe).

Then came the garage scene, which has fire extinguishers, fire hoses, uneven parallel bars (ok, they’re pipes, but Handsome Rob uses them well, oh yeah), fire axes, Samurai swords, stairs, you get the picture. Excellent dumb action scene. That itself bumped the movie up to a 7.5. Add in the fact that there’s a P99 in the final fight scene, and I give this movie an 8 on the ratings scale.

Not as good as the first, which was a 9, but a good, solid 8 out of 10. We’re ordering the special 2-pack.

At Walmart today, I tried to grab a cart when I was walking in. The cart wouldn’t budge. The front wheels would, but the back wheels wouldn’t. The thing was trying to flip itself over. So I finally raised my eyebrows at it and grabbed another one.

Apparently there was a gentleman watching the festivities, because as I walked in with my cooperative cart, he giggled and informed me with a somewhat Indian accent, “The emergency brake was on.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. I, of course, recovered quickly and said, “I just thought it was possessed.” He laughed with me.

you can say anything bad about fried pork. chicken fried pork chops, especially.

you Jews and Muslims are totally missing out.

Ah, what a beautiful evening it was. The sky was every color imaginable, a cool breeze blew through the neighborhood, and there were almost no sounds. Actually, the no sound thing was a little creepy, because it was kinda calm-before-the-storm quiet and got me thinking about how President Amajibberjabber wants to blow up the world or something tomorrow, but then I also remembered that Jesus totally kicks Mohammed’s pinkytoe, and the sky was beautiful again.

About a block and a half from home, Rowdi decided she was going to lead me home. Oh no she dih-int! So it was:

Ohhhhh, Mommy I’ll just die if I don’t run run run, because I think I hear something way up there, and it could be a dog or a person or a bird or a figment of my imagination or wind or my own breath, or we should just go check it ouuuuuuuuuttttt!

Stop. Come here. Sit. Let’s walk.

Ohhhhh, Mommy I’ll just die if I don’t run run run, because I think I hear something way up there, and it could be a dog or a person or a bird or a figment of my imagination or wind or my own breath, or we should just go check it ouuuuuuuuuttttt!

Stop. Come here. Sit. Let’s walk.

And so on. And then we passed this nice black lady who absolutely refuses to make eye contact or exchange mild pleasantries with me any time she’s out walking and I’m walking the dog. Seriously, we’ve passed like 10 times over the past few months, and she will not make eye contact and I always say hello, and apparently that iPod is up so loud that she simply cannot hear me, so I take it up a notch every single time, and apparently I’ve just not reached that decibel quantity that makes me audible. Anyway, Rowdi loooooves black people. I’m not kidding. If we see a white person, Rowdi wants to meet that person. But a black person? My racist dog is trying to knock me over and jump around me because she will just die if she cannot meet and sniff and kiss every last black person on earth.

So I made Rowdi sit and wait until the very nice black lady who loves me as much as Rowdi loves her was around the the corner and far down our street. And Rowdi was whining and raring to go.

Let’s walk.

Oooooooohhhh, Mommy, I’ll just die if I don’t follow her and sniff her and love her and squish her and lick her, I’ll just die!

Stop. Come here. Sit. Let’s walk. Ok, Rowdi. Stop. Go make (that means sniff and pee). She didn’t pee.

And so on. Then we got on to our street, and she needed to suddenly investigate the tall pampas grass off the sidewalk. Urgently. Um, no. So I’d had enough and decided to run, not jog, the rest of the way home. Aaaaaaand the whole black family was congregating in front of their house in the middle of the street, and I just kept running, dog trying to jump around me, and I just kept running.

And we were almost home, and Mommy, I’ll just die if I don’t go so much faster than you!

Stop. Sit. Then…

sing-song voice… “ROWWWWWDIIIII!!!!” Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. It’s the very nice lesbians and their German Shepherd mixes who bark and their little dog Thor, and they’re talking to someone with another little dog. I’m a house down from my house, and they’re parked in front of my driveway in the middle of the street having a dog jamboree.

Mommy, I’ll just die if I don’t get over there right now, I love the lesbians!

And I’d had it, yes I had. And then one of the nice lesbians said, “We’re not helping, are we?” and I barked, “NO!!” and one of the Shepherds barked, and Rowdi said, “You want a piece of me?” and the other lady with her little dog left and the lesbians who always talk to Frank when he walks Rowdi turned around and went home. And I said apologetically to the lesbian backs, “Well, no, she can meet your dogs, but she has to be nice when she meets them, she can’t be a brat…” But you know. They were already to the next house and didn’t so much as give me an understanding wave.

Then Rowdi tried to sniff to pee in our front yard. Oh heck no. You had your chance. And I got to the door and yelled “Sit” loudly enough that the entire neighborhood must have taken their seats, and the door was locked, and I’m quite sure that I knocked loud enough for the entire neighborhood to check their peepholes too. I couldn’t be bothered with the doorbell.

I didn’t even cook for Frank tonight. I was going to make him chicken fried pork chops (yeah, that’s right) and mashed potatos (yep, that too, uh huh) and serve it with fresh fruit. I had him make us caesar salad. Under supervision.

Paper Shredder Danger!

Did you know that the super duper awesome paper shredder is sharp even when it’s not on?

Uh huh, uh huh. And if you turn over the mechanism and decide to just flick of the little hangy-on shreds so you can get a totally cool new fresh start on the shredding, it gives your middle finger the most cruel deep cut and really surprises your stupid little brain. Especially if you are the lovely and talented SarahK.

Man, it’s like there’s razors all up in there.

when Rowdi and i have the same reaction to a snake. ok, mine was more scareder than hers, and i didn’t know i was scared of snakes.

we were walking to the back yard. there was a snake that slithered up the house and turned into the back yard. apparently a black rat snake. a 3.5 foot long one.

i jumped, yelped, turned and jogged toward the front yard, pulling Rowdi behind me.

Rowdi started, planted her feet, growled, and barked at the disappearing snake. then she followed me, because i urgently needed to get away from the disappearing snake.

eek. heeby jeebies.

So I need to get some hiking stuff down, and I was thinking that I sure am glad that my hiking clothes are up there in the hiking bins with the backpacks and the hats and nalgene bottles and snake bite kits (be prepared!), etc.

Then I remembered that none of my hiking clothes will fit me. Which means I get to buy hiking clothes. Yay!

Then I remembered that I live in Florida where there are no mountains or canyons, so the selection of hiking clothes is going to be subpar. Boo!

But yay to hiking soon!

Yesterday there were little neckid 12 year-old cheerleaders begging for money so they could go on their cheerleading trip. Their shorts were even shorter than little teeny cheer skirts usually are. no lie.

CHEER GIRL SAID: Hi, ma’am.
SARAHK THOUGHT: Ma’am??? Give me your little donation box and let me bonk you over the head with it, you little brat.
SARAHK SAID: Hello.
CHEER GIRL SAID: Would you like to donate?
SARAHK THOUGHT: Will it go toward buying you clothes?
SARAHK SAID: No thank you.

***

Ever since we got home from church and turned on Fox News, they’ve been doing three things: 1) telling us what John Mark Karr is eating, drinking, and watching on his flight from Thailand (ooh! it’s the story of the century! good thing that Fox News photographer is sitting in front of JMK on the plane, or we never would have known!); 2) showing us pictures of LAX (and did you know that it looks exactly the same every 5 minutes?); 3) telling us that JMK was possibly on female hormones for gender reassignment surgery, and therefore he may be a little coo coo, since that’s what female hormones do to you. Or something like that. The third one makes me laugh, but 1 and 2 almost gave me an aneurism. We’re now watching mindless cartoon comedy.

***

It’s funny when the dog and I react the same exact way to thunder.