Saturday, January 14, 2006

Apparently 27 days of rain WILL make people want to kill themselves

We here in Portland, visiting the 'rents. Shock of all shockers, it's raining. Raining in a "we may have to spend the night in a hotel on Saturday night if the river rises anymore" kind of rain.

They have lots to offer here in Portland. Powells and Dungeness crab will keep a girl busy for a while. That's if a squawking bird and a squawking 11-month old aren't tying up all your time.
But the rain is slightly excessive. Maybe we should start building an ark over here.

(As a side note: you know you travel too much when you are able to pack for a 5 day trip in 42 minutes. Lord knows on a good day it takes me an hour to get out of the house to go to the grocery store).

But let's get back to the excitement of the trip. The parrot. Evil little monster that she is. Her name is Clyde. "Her name is Clyde" you find yourself saying? Her name is Clyde because she says "Hi, Clyde" when you walk in the door. And for some reason, the fam started to call her Clyde. But don't let her male name fool you. She is ALL female.

When we walked into the house, she shrieked her displeasure so loudly that the baby BURST into the most pathetic scream you have ever heard. For the next hour, the two of them went back and forth. Derek threated to drown the bird, shoot the bird, strangle the bird. She didn't give a rat's ass.


I called my sister from the bathroom to ask her advice. Big mistake asking a non-animal lover how to create a peaceful co-existence.

"Isn't there a closet they can put the bird in?"

Well E finally won Clyde over. As much as that is possible. When Grandpa was holding E in one arm and Clyde was on Grandpa's shoulder, E desperately tried to become friends. Clyde was having no part of it. I envisioned Clyde pecking E's eyes out at the first opportunity. Let's be honest. Every shirt Grandpa wears at home has a reinforced collar patch that Nana has sewn on to cover up where Clyde ate the shirt. But Clyde just hid behind Grandpa's ear, doing a quick peek every once in a while to see of the little mongrel taking up HER owner's time was still there. But she stopped shrieking. I should have done a video, Missbhavens style, but I'm not that technically saivy.

Thank you, God, because I was this close to opening up the back door and giving Clyde her freedom.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Tackier than breaking up by a Post-It note

Text-messaging your ex-husband to tell him that you thought he should know that you are engaged.

Because you thought he never noticed anything when he was married to you (which, by the way, was until about 10 days ago-literally), so he probably didn't see your ring when you flashed it around on the day you dropped the kids off last weekend.

Who says internet love can't work out?

May karma bring you all the karma you deserve.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Bah, bah, bah, bah...bah, bah.

To my bestest, best friend in the whole world.

I hope you had a great birthday at the St. Regis today.

Thanks for forgiving me for sending you The List, which you finished last night--just in time to realize that you are going to have to get rid of Mr. January--and apparently on your birthday.

I love you!

I'm not supposed to be posting

Because I am supposed to be studying. But there is something just bugging the crap out of me.

What the hell is up with men and flashlights?

My husband has 8,000 flashlights and apparently my son has the same affinity. If you don't get my husband a flashlight for a present for any holiday, he is slightly disappointed. My mother got him a flashlight for Christmas and apologized repeatedly because she thought he already had a similar one. Little does she know that he plays with it when no one is watching.

Last night I went upstairs to find my husband lying in bed with the boy, reading a book on wine making, with a headlamp flashlight on. He told me that he couldn't turn the overhead light on because it would wake the boy and he couldn't turn the flashlight on until the boy went to sleep because all the boy wanted to do was put the flashlight on his own head. The flashlight attaching to the head with straps that looked disturbingly like a pair of thong underwear. So there they were, lying in bed, warmed by the LED light of the headlamp flashlight. Snug as bugs in rugs.

What a bunch of whack jobs.