creatively untitled

Driving Me Crazy
I am a relatively laid-back and patient person. Relatively. Why is it that traffic makes me crazy? I find myself wanting to yell at slow drivers. Sometimes, I find myself ACTUALLY yelling at slow drivers. Sometimes I even applaud them. And while I am, by nature, a sarcastic person, I am not, by nature, a yeller. (Unless you count the ONE TIME I yelled at Kevin when he was emptying the dishwasher. He was about 5 years old. The kids remind me of this story often. Not one of my shining moments as a parent, so I would like to take this opportunity to say to my kids, "Let it go! It was like 10 years ago!") Anyway, sometimes I yell at slow drivers. Yes, I know they can’t hear me. No, it doesn't make me feel better. Kinda makes me feel petty and . . . impatient. If I get behind a slow driver when I turn onto the highway from my house and get stuck behind him until the road becomes a 4-lane, and the little blue-haired lady who is somebody's sweet grandma is driving 10 miles under the speed limit, I am losing a grand total of like 12 seconds on my way to work. Twelve seconds. For this I get impatient??? I’m clearly an idiot.

Batman vs. Dirty Clothes

I’ve been spending WAY too much time (Kevin, that’s “TOO much time”, not “to much time”) contemplating the whole Batman vs. Superman thing. I think I understand why MOST of the men in my life prefer Superman. . . they are jealous of the fact that he can undress anywhere and just leave his clothes scattered around without getting nagged.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Yeah, It's Yea
For all you bloggy, texty people: the word is spelled “Yea” not “Yay”. Yay is not a word. The Grammar Nazi strikes again.

It's a Girl Thing
Why is it pronounced "Guy-necology"? Just wondering . . .

It's Not Just for Football
Monday nights are awesome for one basic reason: clean sheets. I always wash my sheets on Mondays 'cause it's my day off. But there is nothing like crawling into smooth, clean, cool, Bounce-smelling sheets and drifting off to sleep. Especially if the cowboy is working night shift. :o)

my left foot

Copy machines and printers. They make me want to behave in not-so-nice ways. My office printer lies. Every time I command a print job, my lovely HP All-in-One printer/scanner informs me it is out of paper, or that the ink cartridge is stalled. Neither of the above is ever true. So I click “GO” again, and it works like a charm . . . except when it feeds through ALL my paper at once, causing a jam of armageddon proportions.

My computer is also networked to the laser printer in Melissa’s office . . . when it wants to be. On Thursdays it generally takes a break from normal function and prints whatever I command . . . in triplicate. (Must have belonged to the military in a former life.) Anyway, it makes me crazy. Today I tried to print photo collages. It only wanted to print yesterday’s bulletins, even though I cancelled that job three times. Picture Jane Fonda in "9 to 5" in the copy room on her first day of work. Never would print the photo collages.

Then there’s the copy machine. Demon-possession in a mechanical case. It only knows one command: PAPER JAM. But at least it tries to be helpful when it malfunctions. The Xerox E-Studio35 provides endless cartoon drawings of all possible areas where paper can become jammed within the various locations of extractable parts. Flip, flip, pull, slam, click, whack, lock, and it should be back in business, right? Not so easy. After breaking down all of the suggested sections of the machine, plus kicking it twice with my left foot, the paper jam will still remain. And it is not discriminatory - it jams for everyone at church. The funny thing is (apparently because my office is closest in walking distance to this technological monster) everyone assumes I know what’s wrong with it and how to fix it! If they knew my ineptness (or is it ineptitude?) with all things mechanical they wouldn't even bother asking for my assistance. I mean, I still use a hand-crank can opener, for crying out loud! Can somebody just buy me some carbon paper, please?

batman vs. superman

My top ten reasons why Batman is better than Superman:

10: Michael Keaton, George Clooney, Val Kilmer, and Christian Bale...vs. Christopher Reeves? What?

9: Flying car vs. red cape.

8: (For all you green people) Batman uses the resources that he has in his possession to create enough power to save the world. Superman...works at the newspaper...a business that kills thousands of trees every day. Beat that.

7: Batman fights poverty, oppression and the abuse of underground druglords. Superman just repeatedly rescues Lois from her own stupidity...and occassionally he prevents some car accidents. But seriously, he's only had one arch nemisis. How much can you do after you've killed Lex Luther?

6: Alfred. Need I say more...

5: Batman is not an avenger. He chooses to continue in the path his father began, to help the poor and oppressed of his society. When his mother and father were killed, he rose up to restore the society that forced people into the murderous lifestyles they had fallen into. Do we need a lesson in repentance and forgiveness???

4: Batman dresses in black. Like Johnny Cash, and the Men in Black - he makes that look gooooooood. Superman looks like he woke up at the circus.

3: Batman actually has a good disguise. You can't REALLY tell who he is when he has his costume on. Superman just takes his glasses off and puts some more gel in his little curl. Besides, now that there are no more phone booths, what does he do? Run into the nearest AT&T store????

2: Superman isn't really a superhero. He just came from a planet where they apparently had a lot more gravity.

1: Last but not least, HOLY TOLEDO BATMAN! He kicked Arnold's butt. Which means, he could technically take over California...but more importantly, Batman whooped up on Mr. Universe.


Now, the boys in my life all think Superman is the better choice, but they're entitled to be wrong. Besides, Mike is biased toward the Clark Kent/Superman dual persona . . . judge for yourself:

kool and the gang said it best . . .

C-E-L-E-B-R-A-T-E!

This has been a week of celebrations!

Sara's birthday was yesterday, though for Sara a birthday is a week-long event. Twenty-four hours is clearly just not enough time to acknowledge all that is "Sara"!

Greg's birthday was Tuesday, so he and Sara are practically twins (if you ignore the fact that Greg was a high school graduate by the time Sara entered the world!) We celebrated by inducting Greg into pop culture - we bought him an iPod. (The music he listens to, however, keeps him firmly rooted in the last century!)

This coming Sunday is Mother's Day. And while I am not a proponent of Nationally-forced holidays, nor to any event which encourages the wearing of flowers on one's lapel, I'm crazy about my mom and I'm crazy about being a mom, so this alone gives us reason to celebrate. Only I'm cooking for Mother's Day . . . the biggest "eating out" day of the year. But that's why I'm cooking - no long restaurant waits for us!

The biggest celebration of this week was Kacey's college graduation.
Wow. She did it and I'm so proud! She worked part-time her entire four years and kept her GPA in the 3.2something range (though it's a good thing she was only required to take 3 hours of biology!) She earned her bachelors in journalism (just like her mommy!) with minors in Bible and Geek . . . I mean Greek.

Graduation itself was fascinating. Truly. We were able to park within 3 miles of the arena, so the invigorating hike through the muddy construction-laden campus in dress shoes was worth the price of admission. The event began with the introduction of the Class of '58. Then the introduction of the new pharmacy professors. Then the introduction of the faculty. Then the introduction of all the deans. Then the recognition of all the grandparents. And parents. And siblings. And next-door-neighbors. And pets. (And they never once mentioned future in-laws, though Kacey's wonderful ones were there in full force with even the baby in tow!)

Then came the bagpipes . . . always the anticipatory-symbol of great things to come. Next somebody who is supposed to be somebody said something about other somebodies who have gone sometime before and how they need some more financial assistance to build something to honor this someone who used to be somebody. All in all, a riveting speech.

Then (drumroll please), they began announcing the graduates, in alphabetical order by type of degree, Master's first . . . Abigail Aaimes, Allison Abingdon, Abu Abu Abong, (which Greg said in his native Arab-based language translates: "come here, come here, COME HERE!") Andrea Adams, Andrew Adams, Amy Adamson, Bradley Adamson, Andrew "Andy" Andrews in absentia, Charles C. Andrews . . . and since there were only about 500 of them, this part flew by like slugs on a freeway. Finally, and with hightened enthusiasm on the part of the 11 onlookers who came to acknowledge this great milemarker in my daughter's life, her name was called. From our seats in the back of the arena she looked like tinkerbell in mourning, so we solemnly watched her march across the portable stage, shake the hand of somebody who is somebody, receive an empty diploma cover . . . AND she accomplished all this in strappy black heels without tripping over potted ferns and lost tassels even once. Amazing.

I am seriously proud of my baby girl. Check out the video (complete with cheesy midi-file "Pomp and Circumstance" music!) She's so preeeeeety!