May Pointless Lists

Ah, how I love a recap.  I just do.  I have a thing for closure, I guess.  Closure is nice.

Quick work story before we get to the lists: I knew it was going to be one hell of a phone call when the little old lady at the other end of the line says, icily and with authority, "STAY WITH ME."  Honestly, Little Old Lady, I'm paid to stay with you, but let's not split hairs, shall we?

So she hadn't gotten a paper yesterday morning and she was Pissed Off.  Yes, capital PO, that's the level of pissed off-ness we're talking about here.  She had called THREE TIMES in THREE HOURS and she STILL DID NOT HAVE HER PAPER and she was MAD ABOUT THAT.  I was like, I can tell you're mad.  I said it in the voice I use to calm down screaming babies or Grandma's having panic attacks on the highway (although in that latter case, it doesn't work).  The Voice does apparently work with pissed off little old ladies because she calmed right down.  I took her info, I agreed that it was frustrating not to receive something you've paid for, I sympathized with the fact that she can't get out of her house to go get one her damn self.  I almost played the "Steve just had brain surgery" card (actually he just had some melanoma scraped off the top of his head, but wow, we're talking Frankenstein) but she didn't seem to need that, so I figured I'd save that particular excuse for another day.

When I hung up, Stacey was like, throw that message on Steve's desk and get out of there!  Which is what I did.  I stopped long enough to say, this lady is pissed off with a capital P, but then I was out like a flash.  Steve gets cranky about these sorts of calls.  Irony, since that's essentially his job, but who am I to point that out?  So he grabs a paper and tells me he's going to get Betty or whatever her name was her paper and Stacey was all, maybe bring her chocolate to sweeten her mood, and I was all, or Valium, and Steve was all, maybe chocolate laced Valium?  Which we all agreed would be a good idea.

Pointless List time!

Books read
Game of Thrones: A Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1.  Um, wow.  This book took me all month, I kid you not, and I'm even a fast reader.  It's just that it's so damn long, and when you essentially just read at night... well, it takes a while is what I'm trying to get at.  It's pretty slow paced... I mean, stuff is happening, but the author is in no hurry... but that's cool because the imagery is nice and it's an interesting storyline, even though there are certain characters I'd like to punch in the throat (and I'm actually a very non-violent person, so there you go).  I started the second book last night.  I suppose this one will take all month too.  I'm happy about that.

Movies watched
None.  And I don't even care.

Something I keep forgetting to mention
I switched up my homemade laundry detergent this month just for kicks and I am so, so happy I did.  If my towels were any fresher I'd have to slap them.  The addition of baking soda is golden.  Last time I doubled this, but next time I'm going to go for broke and maybe make five batches, since I figure if I'm going to grind up some bars of soap I may as well GRIND UP SOME BARS OF SOAP.

2 cups Borax
2 cups washing soda
1 cup baking soda
1 bar Fels-Naptha laundry soap, finely grated

Mix all that together.  Use 1/4-1/3 cup per load.  (I use the quarter cup, just in case anyone cares.  Also, it helps to dissolve it in the water while the washer is filling up, THEN toss in the clothes.)

Garden update
Things are growing!  It's pretty awesome.  The disappointments: The spinach is sick and the beans and zucchini aren't doing much of anything.  On the upside, the tomatoes are in!

The spinach has mites.  Talk about a disappointment.
Eric picked a leaf and it fell apart.  Most of it is
just dead and gone.

But the lettuce is doing great!  Plus we have
what appears to be either pumpkins or zucchini growing
too.  I figure we'll just see what happens.  Why not?

Upper garden.  Later in the summer when
it's chaos and anarchy up there,
I can prove there were paths at one point.

Our raspberries are going nuts.  Hooray!

Raspberry closeup because I can.

Thornless blackberries aren't doing too shabby either.

Skilly appreciates our abundant weed population.

The bushes are going wild.

Lavender is starting to bud.  Chives are beyond control.

We planted three different basils this year just for kicks.

So that's the state of the union.

Things I learned
Walking into a clean house is nicer than walking out of a clean house.  And for some reason our town's Little League likes to schedule coach pitch games on Farmers' Market Thursdays.  Not cool, Little League.  Not cool.

Things I got at the farmers' market now that I think about it
Lettuce, spinach, spring garlic, garlic shoots, spring onions, green onions, broccoli, braising mix, swiss chard, blue cheese, pastured ground beef, Colin the Ethically Raised Chicken (still in my freezer, by the way.  I need to get on that), parsley, tomatoes, English cucumbers, ciabatta bread.  Not too bad for spring in a temperate zone.

I'm choosing my confessions

Johanna has decided that it would be really cool if, in the future, the whole world was one big bouncy house.  Because then no one would need canes.  If you fell, you'd just bounce right back up again.  She's also fairly sure that because tomorrow is the future, this will all happen tomorrow.

FYI, seven-year-olds have no use for logistics.

So Eric went bear hunting this weekend, which meant the girls and I were free to party.  Just in case you care about that sort of thing, every five years Eric draws a bear tag, apparently.  (I faintly remember the last time he went, when Johanna was two.  But those years are a blur, what with the not sleeping.)  He has yet to be successful, which is why I don't worry very much.  It's sort of awesome to think we have bears running amok out there, and it makes me sad to think of one forever doomed to be a rug on my floor.

Anyway, so the girls and I spent another weekend in the Town of My Birth, with my parents this time, and with a rather busy agenda.  Eric stole both my phone AND the camera, so no documentation, but whatevs.  I am not bitter about that in the least, as you can plainly see.

First up: My cousin Clara's baby shower.  Clara was pregnant with twins and due in August.  She delivered earlier this month.  June didn't make it.  Maggie is doing well and is up to 2 pounds, 2 ounces.  (UP TO.  Good lord.)  So it was a bittersweet shower, although lovely, because my cousin Shell throws a party like nobody's business.  Cowgirl theme, lemonade in pint jars, I don't know, it was cool.  Got to meet some of Clara's friends and in-laws, got to spend time with my family.  Clara gave us all an update on Maggie's progress.  Mighty Maggie.

It was nice.

Second up: Memorial Day and decorating the graves.  We used to do this every Memorial Day when I was growing up--it's like a six hour loop to get to all the grandparents and great grandparents et al--but I haven't been in on it for years.  My brother Tim came up just for the day, and that livened things up quite a bit.  He and the girls formed "Team Circus," which mostly I try not to think about, but they had a good time.  It's fun to hear the stories.  Now that we're older, we appreciate family history.

That was also nice.

We were such a large group that we had to take two cars.  I drove Grandma and Grandpa's van.  For some reason Mom thought it was a good idea to put Grandma in the front seat where she could see the speedometer.  I thought we were going to lose her on the highway.  I was going ten miles below the speed limit and she had a total panic attack.  So I made her move to the back after our first stop, behind me so she couldn't see what I was doing*, and then after the second stop Dad put her in their car.  She trusts my Dad not to kill her, I guess, because Mom said she was laughing and having a good ol' time.  Gramps gave me an A for my driving--I hit too many bumps, he said, and I parked too close to the fridge in the garage when we got home, so I got a couple of points deducted.

*Not because I was mad or anything--I've known Grandma almost 40 years and this is just the way she is.  No, I put her in the back for her own peace of mind.  She kept apologizing when we got back home, telling me I'm a good driver and she felt bad.  It's okay, Grammie.  We are what we are.

R.E.M., Losing My Religion.  This song is not actually about losing your religion. That's just southern slang for being at the end of your rope.  Grammie and the car on the highway!  See where I'm going with this?  What, I haven't said enough?  I THOUGHT that I heard you laughing...

Time won't keep us anymore

I mentioned in my last post that we'd spent the weekend in the Town of My Birth and how Ann and the girls and I got kicked out of a bar.  (Lesson: Maybe read the posted signs.)  But what I didn't mention is that we spent the night and the better part of Sunday with my grandparents.  

My grandparents are beyond awesome.  I need to just get that out there right now.  A couple of stories I don't want to forget:

1. I was complaining about turning 40 this summer, and Gramps was all, "What are YOU complaining about?  I'm going to be 90."  Well played, Grandpa.  Well played.

2. My grandparents do not have wifi, so my poser iPad was pretty much worthless.  But I pulled it out anyway and tried to teach Gramps how to play Angry Birds.  He kept making the birds go backwards and did not get the whole concept of lining the birds up for maximum pig-hitting potential.  It was hilarious, though.  Well, for Abby and I, at least.

3. This is not an awesome story, but they can't all be: After Mass they took us to some all-you-can-eat buffet, which was actually sort of depressing.  Talk about food from the middle aisle.  But anyway, after eating pizza and some spinach leaves and jello, Johanna announced she needed to use the restroom... and then proceeded to freak out because she was sure she was going to throw up.  I was like, you know what kid, this is just the sort of stomach we have.  And she was like, I wish we were all individuals because I don't want your stomach.  But I am glad I have Daddy's butt.  And I was like, me too, because Daddy's butt is a thing of beauty.  I wish I had Daddy's butt.  And by that time Abby had joined us in the bathroom to see what was wrong and she was all, will you please quit talking about Daddy's butt?  It's creepy.  And I was like oops, right, sorry.  Lest you're worried how this all turned out, Johanna did not throw up and was running around like normal when we got back to the house.

4. On Sunday morning, Abby and I decided to head out into the hinterlands and see what we could find.  Eric thought maybe the girls needed new swimming suits this year, but Johanna opted to stay at the house and watch cartoons instead of shopping.  (My grandparents have cable and she is deprived.)  So as we were headed out the door, Johanna explained what sort of swimming suit she'd like: "Something green, with penguins or frogs on it.  I'm good with that.  Or one of my favorite animals, like a bat or a cheetah.  Triangles and circles are also good."  Needless to say, we did not emerge victorious on that front.  

Abby did find me a $4 shirt at JC Penney that was pretty awesome.  She also had me try on some shirts of questionable taste just for kicks.  We went into a few teenager-esque stores that were sort of frightening, even for her.  We had a good time.  Abby is quite entertaining when she wants to be.

5. Grammie made us dinner--roasted chicken, steamed red potatoes, salad, corn on the cob, apple pie--which was completely awesome.  (I had to talk her down from making green beans and carrots.  There's only so much you can eat at 1 p.m.)  I meant to stay awake on the way home but I didn't last 20 minutes.  P.S. Johanna could not figure out why we ate dinner for lunch.  Abby tried to explain, but I'm not sure how much sunk in.  No matter.

So we had a very good weekend, is what I'm saying.  And then we came home and I had a dentist appointment on Monday and I have two small cavities and I'm pissed because I haven't had cavities in years and I don't want to get fillings.  What I really want to do is just take a nap.

P.S. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Chevelle, Same Old Trip.  Huh, these lyrics are a little angry, and I most definitely am not (well, except for the cavity part, but that had nothing to do with our trip).  Ah, well.  Have I mentioned what a great album Hats Off to the Bull is lately?

Soon I find I'm searching for the exit from the ground

So this weekend my Aunt Ann and I got thrown out of a bar.  I'm not sure about Ann (ha!), but that's a first for me.

My kids did too.  Probably that is something I should add.

We spent Saturday and Sunday in the Town of My Birth.  I've been wanting to come and sit with Ann through one of her chemo treatments, only she opted to have us all come (she finds my children enchanting for some reason) and do something way more fun like getting tossed out of bars.  I admit I see the logic.

Ann and John gave Eric a gift certificate to a new brew shop/restaurant/bar for Christmas, so the plan was to go there for lunch.  But because my stomach tends to be high maintenance, Ann thought we should get a pizza first, just in case there wasn't anything I could eat at the restaurant.  Well, that's hard to argue with.  Pizza is the world's most perfect food.

Yes, that is an important detail.  Jeez, people, I'm getting to the kicked out part, just relax.

Around 12:30, Ann and John, my cousin Seth and our little foursome breeze into the building.  The restaurant/bar is in the back, but we don't really think about that at first because we're too busy looking at all the brewing supplies.  And who am I kidding, I was totally being a poser at the beer fridge, pointing out all the breweries we've been to.  I don't drink beer, yet I am a beer snob.  Eric is terribly proud of me.

We've been talking to the owner for like fifteen minutes and looking around and being posers and awesome before we decide it's time to eat.  And the waitress stops us at the threshold and is all like, I'm sorry, but minors aren't allowed in the restaurant.  Actually, minors aren't allowed anywhere on the premises.  And we were all like, whoops, missed THAT sign.  Which, incidentally, was clearly displayed in the window.  Like I've said before, details are boring.

Abby looks older than 12, although not quite 21 (thank God), but Johanna is clearly underage (what with only being seven and all) so that was that.  TOSSED.  It was awesome.  The girls and Ann and I weren't particularly hungry anyway because of the pizza we just ate, so Ann was like, there's this frozen yogurt shop down the road--let's go!  So that's what we did--left the boys to their pulled pork sandwiches while we enjoyed self-serve frozen yogurt with toppings galore.  The girls were thrilled.  (Artificial everything, bummer, but whatevs.  I think everyone else feels worse about what I can't eat than I do.)

It's probably a good thing we took two cars.

Funny story: The gift certificate that Eric was planning on using?  With me in my bag.  Ah, well.

Oh, hey, while we were walking around the little mini mall area after our frozen yogurt, we saw this guy in Starbucks with a glass eye, except he wasn't making any effort to be on the down low at all because it was bright gold.  The eye of the tiger?  I have no idea, but it was a little freaky and sort of awesome.

Gin Blossoms, Hold Me Down.  It's not about being thrown out of a bar, just being drunk.  Close enough.  Live version!  That's all I could find.  Sorry.

I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears off

So one downside of working is that I'm not able to hit the opening of my favorite farmers' market at 4 p.m. like I used to do in the good ol' stay-at-home-mommy days.  I have to wait until after 5 like the rest of the world, which is fine, I guess, except I'm always too late for the good stuff.  Like strawberries.  And eggs.

There's this kid (who is actually a kid, like in high school now I think) who's been selling stuff at the market for years.  He's a smart one and diversified his little holding to include eggs.  I like supporting this guy because, well, for one thing I went to school with his parents (and his mother was one of my best friends in fourth grade), but also because I admire his entrepreneurial spirit.  The very first farmers' market I got a carton of his eggs.  That was apparently a fluke because he's been sold out every other market since then, and no one else seems to share his vision.

Very disappointing.  Supermarket eggs just don't taste the same.

But I have been able to get some pretty kick-ass produce.  Like lettuce mixes and spinach (our lettuce and spinach is so close, and yet, so far.  See?  Here's a picture:)

Keep growing, little babies!

Braising mixes.  Purple broccoli.  English cucumbers and tomatoes.  Every time I hit that particular stall I can't even believe I'm seeing cucumbers and tomatoes in May.  It blows my mind.  Which, admittedly, does not take much.

Green onions.  Parsley.  I've yet to find leeks or cilantro, but I still hold on to hope.

Pastured ground beef.  Colin the ethically raised organic free range chicken.  (Actually both are still in my freezer from previous market days because I haven't had time to figure out what to do with them / thaw them out.)  Fresh blue cheese that is so amazing I can almost not stand it.  Ciabatta rolls. My goal this morning is to figure out how to work all of this into tonight's dinner.

Blue cheese stuffed pastured burgers with tomato and lettuce?  Maybe.  That has some promise, actually.

Johanna had a baseball game last night, but I decided to go to the farmers' market and THEN go to her game, so I got there in the third inning (and they only have three innings) just in time to see her bat.  Well, at least her father and grandparents were there... right?  I'm not THAT terrible of a mother... am I?

Oops.  I just remembered I'm supposed to be pounding out my little community column about now.  Technically I should be SENDING it about now, except that's hard when you haven't even written it yet.

Coldplay, Lost.  Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost.  Probably.  Actually it's a toss up at this point.

My public beckons

So I'm at my public's house RIGHT NOW because my parents invited us to dinner (salmon that my Uncle Bob caught in April.  Mmm!) and then I was all like, how about you dye my hair? and Mom was all like, ha ha, sure! and then I went and got my bag o' crappy clothes and bottles of dye (yes, bottles, because my hair is thick, yo) and Mom was all, oh, I thought you were joking.

The point I'm trying to make is that my hair is now dripping with dye and I'm on my parents' crappy Dell and I'm going to update to thank my mother for dying my hair.  She just likes words, I guess.

(You know, Mom, you really need to up your standards.  Seriously.  A few incoherent words should NOT be enough.)

Anyway, while Mom was dying my hair, she was all, you know what I hate?  My mustache, and I was all like, word up!  I hate mine too!  And then we talked about my sweet little grandma considering bleaching options at 89 and how it sucks to find some long hair on your neck and then wonder how long you've been walking around like that and how many people noticed.  (Probably none, though.  It's my ugly shirt theory: Everyone is so worried about their own ugly shirt that they don't even see yours.  You know I'm right.)  Oh, and how Mom sort of misses my big puffy dumb hair sometimes, now that I'm straightening it.

So it's been awesome, is what I'm saying.  Anyway, I have like three minutes to go before I have to rinse my hair out, so this will have to do.

Oops, one minute.  Bye.

Best. Mother's Day. Ever.

My Mother's Day wish this year was pretty simple: Give me the day off, but let all the stuff I normally do--the housework and cooking and laundry et al--still get done.

Well, simple for me.  I mean, that is sort of like asking for the moon.

But!  I totally got my wish, and plenty more besides.  Like cake!  And cards!  And a really lovely breakfast AND a really lovely dinner!  And a new ebook!  And lots of time to read!

Here's how my day played out:

Omelets for breakfast and a cup o' joe.  And my Jo!
Note the flowers: Catmint and tulips.  Perfect.

Front of Abby's card...

...And the back.
P.S. For obvious reasons, Abby is the
card maker in the family.

WHO could this be from?!?

ONE of Johanna's cards.  The kid had a lot
to say this year, apparently.

Abby making me a cake.  Or two, actually,
since she used powdered sugar instead
of flour in the first.  Oopsies!

Me and my Kindle, chillaxin'.
IN THE SUN.

Cake!  In the middle of the day!

Dinner: Grilled sandwiches, fries and salad.
Eric makes the best grilled sandwiches EVER.

I realize this is already too much to take in, but I've got a couple of stories to add.

The scene: Over breakfast.

Eric: So, Mama, today you get the day off!  But that's not all!  We're going to clean the house for you...

[Girls shaking heads vigorously]

Eric: ...And if anyone has a question, they're gonna ask me and not Mama.

Abby: What if I need to ask about my menstruation cycle?

Eric: Uh... then I'll do my best.

Johanna: I think we should ask Mama questions.  Otherwise she'll get so bored.

Me: I think I'll be okay.

***

The Scene: Over dinner.

Abby: So Dad and I have bonded now because we talked about menstruation.

Eric: She asked about cramps. I told her it was because her egg gets stuck in her Fallopian tube.

Me: I'm pretty sure that's wrong.

Eric: PRETTY sure, but not positive.

Me: I'm googling that.

[Later, with google as my guide, which is pathetic, I realize]

Me: Um, it's the uterine lining contracting.

Abby: In "most women."  I'm not "most women."

Me: Well, if you want to ever pass Biology, maybe don't listen to your father.

The end.  Seriously, people, I don't think this day could have been any better.  It was so good, in fact, that I'm going to have to step up my game for Father's Day.  Email me your ideas now.  Please. 

They say you're getting better, but you don't feel any better

Yesterday morning Eric actually slept in until 6:45 a.m., what with having gotten home from a meeting at 11:45 p.m. the previous evening.  He's usually at work by 7:15, so the mere fact he was still home around 8 a.m. is something of a miracle.

Yes, you need to know this, or the following story will make no sense.

He was just asking me what I had planned for the morning when the phone rang.  It was the secretary from his office--the phone must have been cranked because I could clearly hear what she was saying.  She asked for me.  Eric was like, sure, she's here.  And then she starts laughing.  Hysterically.  And then she tentatively asks if she's speaking to Eric.

Wait, let's screenwrite this thing:

Secretary: Is this Eric?

Eric: Hi, Cecelia.

Secretary: Oh my God.  I thought you were back in your office.  Are you taking the day off?

Eric: No, just haven't made it in yet.

Secretary: I thought... I was thinking, "Trisha has another man in the house!"

Me: Tell her there's no way.  I'd wait until at least 8:30.

Eric: Um...

Secretary: Well, anyway, we can't do the radon inspection until next week.

Eric: That will be just fine.

...And then some boring chit chat goodbye stuff.

Oh, and they're just inspecting the radon work, not redoing our radon test, just so we're all on the same page.

The end.

Except.  The meeting?  Was about a proposed park in the farm zone.  It ended up being approved 4-3.  No one cares, I know, except Eric was interviewed for the radio news program when he got in that morning, and he gave a good sound bite.  It played all day yesterday, apparently, but I heard it for the first time this morning.  He sounded good.  Not that I'm biased.

Thom Yorke, Hearing Damage.  I'm sort of surprised I haven't used this one yet.  It's my favorite.  I could seriously quote this whole song.  Wait.  Press this link and there you go!

Trying to find air to breathe again

Let's see here.  I can't claim to have a coherent thought this morning that might translate into something worth reading on the blog, but you could successfully argue that THAT is the whole point of this endeavor without really even trying very hard.

Oh, hey though, here's something I want to mention: One of my Facebook friends was going off yesterday on all the newly minted geeks and nerds who only heard of The Avengers like last week.  And I was all, what about the dorks?  Where do we fit in?  Because honestly, what the hell is The Avengers?

I was told dorks don't fit in and are therefore not even part of the equation.  At least the guy is honest.  If you think that hurt my feelings, you'd be wrong.  Dorks are tough.  Well, we have to be, what with everything that gets thrown at us.  Like insults.  And rocks.

Yesterday's coach pitch highlight: When the first baseman realized that he wasn't going to be able to run to the base in time to tag the runner out so he just chucked the ball in the direction of the bag.  Well, at least no one got hurt.

And when the coach on the other team told a kid to go cover home, so she put the ball down and just stood on the bag.  The lack of ball did not stop our players from sliding.  And some even touched the base.

Johanna, by the way, is quite the hitter.  First pitch or two, and bam, that ball is gone.  It's fun to watch.  And yes, I am biased, but dude!  I think I'm supposed to be.

Work highlight: Forgetting to attach the sheriff's log to an email and even having whole conversations about it and not realizing my mistake for like a half hour.  Ah, Monday!  Thou art hilarious.

Yay UPS: My replacement Kindle came yesterday and it's so new and pretty that I'm sort of afraid to touch it.  The screen is scratch free, there's no cracks (as in three) in the casing, and you can actually see what's printed on the keys!  It's totally crazy.  Of course it came a half-hour before I had to go to work so I didn't have much time to set it up and/or play.

Game: Which is the new Kindle?

But once I did, I learned that while Amazon saved all my page placements, everything on my calendar and notepad apps are gone.  Don't put all your eggs in one basket, I guess.  If you're reading this and there's some event that I'm supposed to already know about, you need to tell me again. (For instance: When is Gram and Gramps' 70th anniversary party?)  I'm trying not to think about the notes that Abby and Johanna wrote on various road trips.  That's just too much to deal with.

And with that, I take my leave.  You're welcome, Internet.

Flyleaf, Again.  This was part of my last iTunes extravaganza.  I just like it.  P.S. Apparently they're an Emo Christian band.  That is sort of awesome.

Now I just wonder

So I essentially spent this whole day in a work meeting, learning all sorts of shit that will be very helpful to me in my burgeoning career at the paper.  Except for the burgeoning career part.

It was actually a pretty great meeting.  Lots of useful tips, plus being in a room of creative people is fairly entertaining.  We had this exercise where we had to come up with a special section for a fictitious town.  The town my group got saddled with was made up of like 12 bars and 4 strip clubs and had a meth problem.  Oh, and good fishing.  So we were like, come for the fishing, stay for the meth!  I thought our special section should focus on the strip clubs, but another lady nixed it because it was "too negative."  Too awesome, you mean.  Well, she did agree to the "dirty dozen bar tour" story.  I consider that a win.

Also, I sort of have a problem taking things seriously.  It's a FICTITIOUS TOWN.  We can write WHATEVER WE WANT.  Um, see where I'm going with this?  I probably didn't help the group much, now that I think about it.

But I did meet some people.  At lunch when I was abandoned by my own peeps*, I asked if I could sit with a group of strangers, and they were all, sure!  And they were very nice.  So that was cool.  And my fictitious town group was mostly great.  Later when the reporters all got together to bounce ideas off each other, I was pretty sure I was going to get laughed out of the room.  Because eventually I had to admit that while I do some writing, I'm a receptionist.  A gopher receptionist who does whatever is tossed my way--be it typing a handwritten letter to the editor or putting together the police log or measuring the paper or dealing with the public.  Except they did not laugh.  They were all, we need someone like you in our office.  It feels like I'm bragging when I tell you this, and I totally am.  Who am I kidding?  I was just so relieved they weren't laughing at me.

We just got home from Mass and grocery shopping, and I'm so tired.  My fingers actually ache from all the note taking.  Eric and the girls are watching some movie they found on Netflix that I'm pretty sure went straight to video.  Not in the mood for that.  I want to put my iPod headphones into my ears and listen to some Linkin Park and some Chevelle and not think.  I realize this makes for a sort of crappy post, but sometimes that's all I have in me, people.

*Because they had assignments to cover.  Whatever.

Liz Phair, Cinco de Mayo.  I listened to Whip Smart A LOT about the time that Eric and I got married.  Possibly before, but it's hard to remember those days because they seem impossible.  Also: I've never been to Rome, either.

The broken locks were a warning

People!  I am despondent and despairing, and not a little bereft.  Observe:

Charlotte Bronte* has a crush on this screensaver.

My Kindle is broken.  Whoa is me!  That little patch?  Will not go away.  Having part of a screensaver on top of whatever book you're trying to read is pretty much impossible, just FYI.  At first I thought, no biggie.  She's an electronic device, these things happen.  So I restarted her.  Twice.  Then I plugged her in just in case it was some sort of power issue.  Then I called Amazon customer service.

Oh, it took me a minute or two to find Amazon's number, but I was motivated, so there's that.  I got through the automated bouncer fairly quickly and was talking to a real person in less than a minute. He was very nice.  He confirmed that I had indeed tried my own damn self to solve the problem, and then passed me on to a SPECIALIST.  Fancy!

Specialist guy was also very nice, plus he had a British accent.  I went through my issues again, and he was all like, it sounds like one of the layers of e-ink has broken and it's dead.  Or something like that, I'm totally paraphrasing.  But he was very polite about it and seemed genuinely concerned when I was all, but I'm reading Game of Thrones!  And I mentioned the accent, right?

Also: Layers of e-ink?  Never stop learning, I guess.

So what happened is this: I get a new Kindle.  I think.  It might be refurbished, I have no idea, but Amazon is sending me a Kindle Keyboard for a reduced price (which yes, I know, I could get a Touch now, but I don't want a Touch.  I want mine) and I just have to send poor Charlotte back to them so they can confirm I'm not making any of this up.

Also: I'm pretty sure this happened last night after Johanna's coach pitch baseball game.  I had my bag on the floor and Johanna is incapable of just getting into a car; she has to roll around a bit on the floor first.  I was all, I hope you didn't just break my Kindle.  She was horrified then, and she was horrified this morning when I told her I'd had to order a new one.  Poor Jo.  I wanted to say, don't sweat it, because this is just one in a number of things you are destined to break in your lifetime, but I wasn't sure that would really help the situation any.

P.S. Another reason coach-pitch is awesome: Last night a kid running to second stopped, picked up the ball and handed it to the short stop.

*My Kindle is named Charlotte Bronte.  Next time, I'm picking an author who can claim longevity.

Lifehouse, Broken.  (Sometimes it's just too easy.)  Charlotte is damaged at best, like I've already figured out.