Acrochallenge!

What, you didn't think I'd forget, did you? No holiday stops acromania from its appointed arounds.

Good evening all, hope you're enjoying the tail-end of your holiday. I did, though I didn't do much more than shopping and housecleaning.

We have a guest judge this week. Mr M, who as we know has never been seen in the same room with Captain Asshole, has asked if he can judge this week. (Remember that I'm always taking volunteers for judging.) Of course I said yes, lest I be beat about the head and shoulders with a croquet mallet, and so he is your judge. And he's also picked today's topic, which I must say surprised me a bit. The topic is: "The Moon in June." Now, do whatever you will with that and good luck.

All the other rules are the same, of course. Everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acronyms they can that correspond to the letters below, which were randomly drawn from ye olde acrobasket. Mr M will be judging sometime after 9pm Tuesday, that's Eastern time for all of you spread far and wide across our land. Then I shall post the results, and you'll all hurl your insults in Mr M's general direction, but he won't care a whit. I promise.

So. This week's topic is The Moon in June. This weeks letters:

Y A S L

Well, I've already thought up one right off the bat. So there.

Happy acroing!

Sunday Pictures

It's Sunday night, and I'm happy. Happy because it's a holiday weekend and I don't have to work tomorrow. Woo Hoo.

Had a pretty good weekend, went to our band concert, which was a Memorial Day service at a B'burg retirement village where they were dedicating a little park-ette to World War II vets. And it was a nice ceremony, it's nice to see WW II vets get some recognition, a nice ceremony save the speaker who couldn't say shit if he had a mouthfull. Amongst his golden moments were, upon introducing the mayor, saying he was in his sixth of four terms, and that he also played the sacrophone. I guess that's an instrument you really have to give up a lot to play, huh.

Anyway, the two drawbacks of the whole thing: this park-ette is in the middle of the damn woods, and so of course, so were we. I sat with my chair legs sinking in mud and tried playing and brushing bugs off me at the same time, and it didn't help that it was freezing cold Saturday morning. The second drawback was that we sucked. Folks, the B'burg Community Band is sinking. It's a distressing thing.

Then I got pissed off because the only two things Mr M had on his mind didn't involve me (sleeping and mowing grass, he chose sleeping), and so I went to Target and shopped for about 3 hours. I bought a new comforter set and a croquet set (CONTEST: come up with suggestions as how to make croquet more exciting), and some other odds and ends. Then the rest of the weekend was filled with the obligatory movies and clarinets and merriment of many kinds.

I got back home this afternoon and went to see "Shrek 2" with my sister and bro-in-law. No Taytie; he's 15. He'd rather boil in oil than go to a movie with his parents. It's a cute movie, I gotta admire anybody who'll make a movie and throw that many pop culture references and scenes of movie parodying in it.

But you're here for the pictures, aren't you?

First of all, a follow-up to last week. I now have what every girl dreams of: the white picket fence. I changed the border around my petunia patch (which I'm thinking of expanding to more flowers). Take a look:



Next, two more photos, both from Saturday. The first is my view from my seat playing in the concert:



See, told you it was in the woods. Next is a pic of me, Ed, and Sherman after the ceremony. Sherman's in his Memorial Day finery, standing beside the certificate the band got for playing that day. You know, I think this is the first pic of me I've ever posted anywhere on my website. And may it be the last:



Mmmmm. Sorry about that. Really.

Okay, and now the Sunday piece de resistance. The recipe of the week. This week, in keeping with a summer holiday, how about a trifle?



Damn. I always thought by its very nature a trifle was light. This has heavy cream, a whole poundcake, a pack of macaroons, wine, all the makings of pudding, and I don't know if you can see the green at the top (I thought it was limes), but it also has candy on top. Doesn't matter what's in it, though. I think it looks someone's been hit by a car and then put into a bowl.

Bon appetit.

"The Doctor"

I spent a goodly portion of time this morning doing "other" medical things, ie, visiting Smokin' Dr J and getting my blood drawn at the hospital, nothing wrong, just some regular testing. And may I just brag before we proceed about my excellent blood pressure. We'll find out later about the cholesterol testing - I'm reticent. I'm not eating much, but it all seems to be cheese and eggs.

But that's neither here nor there. I was at Smokin's office this morning. I'll tell you this by way of background information, though it's not really pertinent to the story. Dr J's office is in a big, old house in B'field. It's been redone, of course, to make it office-worthy, but unfortunately, when it was redone, it was in the splendor of the 70s, when paneling was all the rage. So you have the smallish, paneled waiting room, the bigger, paneled reception area, two examining rooms, one larger and paneled, with the really good table and the bathroom offshoot (that's the one where pelvic exams are done - if you're not there for a pelvic, it's a crapshoot as to which room you'll get), and a smaller paneled examining room, with the kind-of-rickety table and no bathroom and where it's situated the light isn't very good in the morning. Then, the biggest room on the first floor (it's a two-story house), is, of course, Dr J's office, which is warm and roomy and smoke-filled. And paneled.

So this morning, after not having to wait long, I was called and taken back. The smaller room, damn. I sat there, not on the kind-of-rickety table but in the chair, and waited for the doctor's arrival. And I looked around.

I looked at what I normally look at: a large framed photo on one paneled wall of a scene. I say "a scene" because I have no idea what it really is. It's nature, I can tell you that. For a long time I thought it was an arial view of Niagra Falls. Then the more times I saw it, the more I realized it couldn't be Niagra Falls because just below where the watery rush was falling, there was a town. I don't really ever recall Niagra falling on a town, I'm sure that would have been on the news at some point, so in subsequent visits, I've looked closer, wondering if it's fog rolling in on a town. But if it is, it's some massive fog. I mean, half the picture is a blanket of white, leading to more white that's tumbling down hard and fast towards the ground. Like, well, like Niagra Falls.

Finally, since the doctor hadn't made his entrance yet, I got up and walked over to the picture and studied it hard. And it think it probably is fog. A massive fog. I mean, it would make sense, only a fog that massive would deserve to have its picture taken, especially in a suitable for framing format. So I decided it was indeed fog, that mystery was solved, and I went and sat back down, which put me facing the picture on the adjoining paneled wall in the room.

That painting was "The Doctor."

"The Doctor" holds kind of a special place in my medical life. This is because it was in the Smokin' Doctor's office the very first time I ever went there, lo those many years ago. At that time it was in the good examining room, and was on the wall facing you as you sat on the good examining table. It was beside a cross on the wall, the cross that's still there, that Dr J always makes you focus on when he shines the light in your eyes. (Dr J is from the Phillippines and he may be a hard-livin' guy, but he's a die-hard Catholic.) Eventually "The Doctor" got moved to the smaller, less nice room and a large, pretty, framed photo of local nature got hung in the better exam room.

Here is the scenario of "The Doctor." It's around the turn of the century. In a dark and dingy room, a very sick little girl is lying on two chairs pushed together. Beside her sits her doctor, consumed with care and concern. In the background you see the parents, the mother bent over weeping onto a table, and the father looking on. In fact, if you'd like, you can go look at it here.

So, for years I've seen "The Doctor," and for years the same three thoughts have run through my mind. And I don't mean fleetingly, they appear and I sit and dwell on them, sometimes after I've even left the confines of the big two-story house. These thoughts are:

1. God, what a morbid painting.
2. Gee, I wonder how many doctors across America (and the world) must have this painting in their offices.
3. Damn, that doctor looks exactly like Ulysses S Grant.

Today, as I sat there looking at the picture, my eyes - and thoughts - started to shift. Shift to the dad, standing there, looking with worry and admiration at the doctor, played by Ulysses S Grant. A fourth thought thundered into my mind.

4. Holy shit! That's John Cusack!

I don't know why I never looked at the dad before. Maybe I'd been focusing on the morbidity of the picture and the doctor's uncanny resemblance to a Civil War General a world away from the painter. But the face of Mr I-Have-A-Sick-Little-Girl was a dead ringer for everybody's favorite nice guy actor John Cusack. I actually got up and walked over to this picture too, to have a closer look. Yep, that's John. (And I know in that link it doesn't look like him, but really. Trust me.)

Now I'll never look at that painting the same way again. And it'll make the little, darker exam room more interesting to be assigned to. But it still amazes me. The painting is from the 1880s, so it's possible the painter could have seen what General Grant looked like. But now, there was no way he could know that John Cusack was going to be a famous actor in the 21st century.

Hmmm. Two more thoughts:

5. John Cusack's looking on, thinking, "Wow. Our doctor's US Grant."
6. We'll never know who the wife looks like, since we can only see the top of her head.

(Disclaimer: This is a surgery-related blog. If you're sick of my surgery or don't want to know, check back later.)

Paying Through The Nose, Or The Stomach As The Case May Be

You know, money is a funny thing. I mean, it doesn't tell you jokes or do pratfalls, but it sometimes gives you that wry chuckle, the kind you chuckle all the while thinking you might jump off a building.

I've been saving money for months. This is because I had a major surgery and knew I was going to have expenses. Now, here's the tricky part. I'm generally a pretty smart gal, fairly, anyway, but in this case I was naive enough to believe that all I was going to be in for was $2250. That would be $2000 out-of-pocket and $250 deductible.

Yes, that sound you heard was me just falling off the turnip truck.

I saved my tax refunds. I saved from my paychecks. I drew some money from my savings account. Now, I must admit, I was very lucky to get a windfall from a little TheCompanyIWorkFor hospital supplement policy I have. It pays me a flat fee for every day I'm in the hospital. When the check came, it was double what I was expecting it to be. Of course I panicked, and called TheCompany asking what I did wrong and where should I hide so they don't send people out to break my legs. Turns out there's a little codicle in that policy that says if I'm in intensive care, I get double what I'd normally get. Thank you, intensive care!

And by the way, the $2250? Well, this is how naive I actually was. First of all, my hospital policy, which I guess I can no longer call the "never pay policy," this policy that is sold through TheCompanyIWorkFor, that I thought I pretty much knew inside and out - well, I was sure that the window of opportunity for coverage was six months. You know, as long as you are hospitalized within six months of your first test or doctor's visit, you're fine. Ehhhhhhh, wrong answer. It's three months. It's six months after, three months before. Therefore, my first doctor's visit, all my first bloodwork, urinalysis, and the most expensive test I had, the echocardiogram, were done about three months and three weeks before the surgery. No coverage. However, after finding that little nugget of information out, I called the hospital and I'm paying that bill myself on installments, $200 and something, for the next five months. I can deal with that; which is good, since I don't have much of a choice.

I also got a bill from my anesthesiologist. Now, my anesthesiologist was as nice as can be, and his Australian sidekick was a total doll, and they must know this about themselves, because their opinions of said selves is apparently pretty damn high. My bill to them was $1260. After TheCompanyI'mInsuredWith paid their part of the bill I was left owing - yes, the princely sum of $1228.13. Now, I may never be able to call it the "never pay policy" again, but paying $31.87 on a $1260 bill? I still haven't figured that one out yet. They paid for all of the anesthetic during the surgery. Which brings me to another burr I have up my butt - why don't anesthesiologists come with their anesthetic? Why do I have to pay for both? Do I have to pay for my doctor and his scalpel?

But enough of that. Since I opened my new and separate little bank account for medical expenses, yesterday I decided it was high time I started getting these bills off my desk (and my mind), so I paid what I had outstanding. Three bills: one to the hospital, one to the doctor, and one to Drs Dreamy & Crocodile Dundee, anesthesiologists.

So I paid three bills. I started out with $4056.54. 20 minutes later I had $369.00

And I chuckled wryly to myself.

Most Embarrassing Confession I'll Make This Year

I called in my vote to "American Idol." Twice.

Acrowinners!

Wowie Zowie. Welcome from the Land of Storms of Biblical Proportions. I just got back home - I had to leave because lightning knocked my power out, and it was a scant 45 minutes till the finals of "American Idol!" I had to skedaddle to someone else's house (my mom's). But now I'm back and all is well.

But you don't care about that, do you? None of you care about little ol' me, you just want the results. And so you shall have them.

This week's letters were R T U E T P. The topic was The Ocean. The entries:

*Rampaging tides unmercifully engulf tulip plantations.
*Remember Thor uneasily easing throught Pacific?
*Riptides terrible; usually eat the people.
*Respect the undertow, ere thee perish.
*Rescuscitating the undergrad, Evan tries pumping.
*Roger trembles until entering the Pacific.
*Rolling Tide's Uproarious. Ebb Tide's Peaceful.
*Roaring, Thunderous, Undulation - Everything Tidal's Powerful.
*Ricky - Tide Upended. Endeavoring To Pee.
*Reluctant Tide, unleash every tangible part.
*Rising Thong, unknot elastic torturous pain.
*Reddened Tourist, use every tanning product.
*Relaxing Tahiti. Usually enjoy tropical Pacific.
*Retrieving Titanic. Unpleasant endevour. Tragedy personified.
*Removing tuna until extinct. Trawling persists.
*Rowboat tossed (upended?) entering the Pacific.
*Ripped, tanned, unusually eager to pose.
*Ragged tsunami underway, 'eaded to Portugal!

Wooo! Damn, I'm really glad I wasn't judging this week, because not only would I never have been able to pick a winner (to me there are five that are championship caliber), but I wouldn't have gotten to tell the tale of Ricky, upended by a tidal wave whilst peeing.

So now I'm going to turn things over to the wonderful Kel, who's also fresh off some "Idol" viewing. Take it away, oboe section:

Hello all - here I am fresh from the Outer Banks. My first trip there and I have to say it was enjoyable. Nice and relaxing enough to get me back in the mood to work this week. But, I digress...

Thanks for indulging me with the memories of my trip - there was Ricky - Tide Upended. Endeavoring To Pee (Bet), the Rising Thong, unknot elastic torturous pain (Flipsycab), and the Reddened Tourist, use every tanning product (also Flipyscab).

And since the water was terribly, terribly cold in the Atlantic - I can picture Roger over there in California with Roger trembles until entering the Pacific (Lily G.) Ahhhh…if only I could have made it past my shins into the waves – but, alas, I am a coward.

But - with the immortal words of my dear departed Gramma - my favorite memory has got to be from deepfatfriar - "Riptides terrible; usually eat the people." Of course, we know that was all followed by the 30-min time out after eating before swimming rule.

Your Gramma knew deepfatfriar? Oh, I get it. Well, thanks, Kellie, and thanks to all who played. Remember, any judging volunteers, just let me know, I'm taking all comers.

See you next time!

Truckin', Got My Chips Cashed In AKA Acrochallenge!

Wow. What an occurrence. First of all, thanks, Kriz, for the flower counsel (and I just hate daffodils I guess because they only last two weeks then die and leave their dead greenery all over my yard). Today is the first time I've ever heard the phrase "deadhead" used in the flower biz. And I've heard it twice! I mean, what is the chance of that?

And by the way, did the flower term come from the hippies following the band around term or vice versa? No matter, let's get our dead heads on the matter at hand - Acromania!

Yes, it is Monday and that means it is time for the tidal wave of excitement that is Acromania. We have a guest judge this week, all the way from B'burg, via Texas, with a recent stop at the beach as well, it's the very lovely Kellie. And something tells me Kellie still has vacationing on her mind, because she's given us this week's topic: The Ocean. So remember, your acros must match the topic of the ocean (I'm looking around here, but discretion is my middle name.)

Other than that, all rules are the same. Everyone gets three entries to try and come up with the best acro they can to the letters below, which were randomly drawn from the acrobasket. Tomorrow at 9pm est or a little after (I mean, let's face it guys, the finals of "American Idol" are on tomorrow night, give her a break!), Kellie will be reading your entries carefully and doing the final judging. Then there will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth, and nobody will really know where lieth those little things with the sort of raffia work base, that has an attachment. (Thanks, Python)

So. This week's topic: The Ocean. This week's letters:

R T U E T P

There you go - start acroing!

Picture Day

Hello lads and lasses. It's Sunday night yet again - boy, don't they roll around fast. I had a busy weekend, which I suppose is a good thing for a girl like me. Mr M came down yesterday evening and I made meat loaf (which I think was pretty good, although it felt like a rock in my stomach after I ate it), we watched "Jackie Brown" (the Tarantino movie I never cared much for, so it was good to give it a second viewing for revision), and of course, did the dreaded clarinet duets (I sucked and was out of tune, but I hung in till my lip went).

Then today we went to the local band spring concert to see Taytie. It was sixth grade, then seventh and eighth, then the high school band. And the high school band - well, I hate to do a Simon Cowell and diss in public, but talk about your out of tune clarinets. It was absolutely painful at times. But I still had fun. And we came home and ended up watching "Seabiscuit," which I've also seen, but still kinda enjoyed again.

However, now to the visual portion of the evening. I worked hard yesterday. I started out with my mom at a local nursery, where I bravely picked out some flowers for my long-empty porch pots (long-empty meaning, since I moved in), and something to replace the hated daffodils that sprout every March and, well, die every March. On the advisement of my new email friend Denyse, I picked impatients for the pots and petunias for the yard.

Then it was to the Wally World (Wal-Mart) to get potting soil, trowels, flower food, and the like. Then it was to the grocery to pick up everything I needed for the meat loaf dinner. Then it was back home to actually plant the little mothers.

You know, I remembered early into things why I never really liked this sort of thing. Bugs. Dirt and bugs. Of course, some pots sit idle with nothing but dirt and moss in them for 3 years, they're gonna get some bug action I'm sure. Anyway, I persevered, and below are the fruits of my labors. First of all, my pots:



Now, the patch (my petunias look puny. pray for them.):



There. I can't let myself be proud of them. That's what started the Great Daffodil Suicide of '02.

Now, since it is indeed Sunday night and I'm going to try to make a thing of this, it's time for the Food Picture of the Week.

This week, it's simple, but oh-so elegant. It's a Burger Party!!



I just love this one. It reminds me of the mid-sixties, when neighborhood people actually gathered on someone's patio, and Japanese lanterns lit the night while everyone ate "gourmet" burgers and drank highballs in lime green plastic tumblers. And were happy.

And how gourmet can you get? The burgers have not only instant chopped onion in them, but flat beer as well! And they're served on French Rolls!

The possibilites are endless here. There's a Mexican burger (taco sauce and avacado), Italian burger (pizza sauce and olives), Russian burger (sour cream and red caviar) (now, if you could afford caviar, would you be having hamburgers?), French burger (mushrooms - how, um, French), and British burger (sour cream, mayo, and capers.)

Yum, yum. I invite you all to my house for a burger party! Tell me what kind of burger you're going to invent.

Post-Surgical Traumatic Stress Syndrome

I'm not quite sure what's wrong with me.

That shouldn't come as a big surprise, because I'm not sure I ever knew what was wrong with me, but it seems that post-surgery I really don't know what's wrong with me.

First of all, I sleep. No, you don't understand. I sleep. The hardest thing I do in a day's time is get out of bed, get showered, and get dressed. Once I finally do that, I'm ready to go back to sleep. I was lucky enough to get the afternoon off yesterday; I got home around 1:30pm. From 1:30pm till about 9:00pm, I slept in the Comfy Chair. I got up for a little while, then went to bed and slept till 8:00am. I could've slept longer. Much longer. But the alarm (which had been going off since 7:20) was needling me to get up and off to work.

And even when I'm awake, and don't get me wrong, when I am awake I'm lucid and happy, well, I wouldn't say happy, as happy as I'm capable of being I guess, but when I'm awake and going through conversations, clarinet playing, office working, movie watching, cooking, eating, driving, and the like, if at any moment I'd lay down my utensils for the given activity, I'm sure I could induce sleep in myself within a good ten minutes.

And don't get me wrong. I'm not lazy. Sometimes I have these nice bursts of energy where not only can I go to the grocery after work, but come home and do laundry and strip beds and clean house. And I'm glad about that. Glad all over. In fact, I get so glad that a glow comes over me, then I sit down in the Comfy Chair and fall fast asleep.

Then of course, there's the obvious personality disorder I seem to have developed post-surgery. The one that makes me not very pleasant and easily angry at people. Of course, this is because people upset me in various and sundry ways, be it something they say, something they do, or something they don't do.

And so I get angry, and being me, of course, I react the complete wrong way. This could be because I'm not really sure what the right way is. I clam up or cry, and that's the wrong way. I state my case of being angry and why, and that's the wrong way. Maybe my sin is mismatching the reaction to the person, I don't know. All I know is that I don't seem to be making anyone happy, most of all myself, which, pardon me for saying so, right now is the only person I give two hoots about being happy.

So that's where I am right now. I'm like that cranky baby on the circumcision billboard. I'm not bawling, I'm just teary and wanting to throw down a little bit. And if I owe you an email you haven't gotten, or I don't show up at chat or on Messenger, please forgive me. Believe me, right now you're probably better off. And I'll be back to you soon enough.

Be forewarned!

-

Nervous William is back in the bin. I knew it was just a matter of time.

He got into some trouble - some more trouble - the other night. And they took him to the bin, via jail. I wish I could have some sympathy. I'm a nice person, I'm a sympathetic person. But all I want is for him to be in there for a long time. You know, after my last couple of dealings with him, in the deepest darkest recesses of my mind I hoped he'd go away for "an extended stay" in confinement. Having it come to pass I figured somehow I'd feel guilty. I don't.

Even in the better times, so long ago they were, William was a hard friend to have. He was temperamental, he was pushy, and he was catty. He was definitely what you'd call a "high maintenance friend."

Lately I seem to be finding out that apparently I'm not much different.

I guess everyone has a Nervous William in their life. I just didn't think I'd be other peoples'.

Acrowinners!

Woah! A little late on the winners, but that's OK. Stennie was a little late, and I was a little early (as in going to bed). But it all worked out in the end.

And now, ladies, and germs, I'm going to hand it over to the very lovely and voluptuous Stennie:

This week's letters were I G O R E. The entries:

*I'm going overboard -- rain eternal.
*It's great outside, really exquisite.
*Itty green ova represent Easter.
*Inadvertently, G-d obliterated Rumsfeld's emotions.
*I gorged on roasted elephant.
*Ignignokt: goofy, odd, really entertaining.
*I'm going out. Rays exceptional.
*It's great! Often relaxing everyday.
*I'm graduating. Offered real education.
*Ivy grows, orchids rise.....echoooo!!!
*I've got outdoors-related entropy.
*I've got oranges ripening everywhere!
*I grow overly relaxed easily.
*Iphigenia gets off ruining exercise.
*Instang gratification outside real effort.

I'd like to start by subtracting five points from Flipsycab's entries, as
she clearly did not read the instructions. The topic was Spring Fever!
What does roast elephant have to do with Spring Fever? It's far too big to
barbecue, for one thing. Love you, Flips. Next time, read before you Acro.

Runners-up: MSAGRO's choice of "I'm going out, rays exceptional" caught my
Spring Fever mood. I also liked Lily's use of the words "itty" and "ova" so
I'm offering props for her entry "Itty green ova represent Easter."

But there can only be one winner, and I've got to give it to Mike, for
capturing the true spirit of Spring Fever: "I've got outdoors-related
entropy." So do I, Mikey. Let's take the week off.

Sorry I was late announcing the winners, but I had outdoors-related entropy.

Acrochallenge!

Hi guys, and welcome to another mind-blowing round of Acromania.

This week's judge is none other than the wonderful, witty, wild, and wuvvable (sorry, that even gave me a sugar high) Stennie. Stenns is taking time out from her busy pants-dropping schedule - no, wait, that's Marky Mark - from her busy filmmaking schedule to be our judge this week. She has also picked our topic, and it is "Spring Fever."

You know the rest. Everyone gets three entries to try and come up with the best acro they can to the corresponding letters below, randomly drawn from the acrobasket. Tomorrow night, let's make it 10pm est, since Stennie is on the west coast, Stenns will judge and announce the winners, and if you pay me enough, I'll give you her home address.

Remember, 10pm est tomorrow night is the deadline, and the subject is Spring Fever.

And this week's letters are:

I G O R E

Or, if you're Al, I, Gore. Enjoy!

New Feature?

Well, as strange as my weekend turned out to be, I've decided not to rehash it here in Betland. Suffice to say, I realized that even as my surgery is making me feel better physically, emotionally the same old neuroses are crawling my frame with alacrity.

And in fact, seems like all my Sundays are spent giving rehashes of my weekends, which, although most are enjoyable to me, make for some boring reading.

So I thought I'd try a new Sunday Night Feature here at Betland. If you don't like it, we won't continue with it and all will be forgotten. It comes from two sources. First and foremost, with my last Archie McPhee order, as a freebie I got an envelope of old recipe cards. They made me laugh, and they made the girls in the office at TheCompanyIWorkFor laugh, too.

Also, not long ago I found a website that cracked me up. It's pictures of Weight Watchers recipes from 1974. You know, back before Fergie discovered them and they got cool. If you're interested, here it is. Go there and enjoy.

So anyway, I thought maybe on Sunday nights, I'd feature a new photo of one of my recipe cards. Maybe you'll like them too, and we can do something with them. I don't know, guess the ingredients by the pictures, or - well, I would ask someone to volunteer to make them, but after looking at some of them, well, I'm not that cruel.

Tonight's first recipe card is for - yes, it is - the dreaded Brown Rice and Fruit Ring!



OK. Now, I'm looking at the ingredients here, and I assure you they're all good, wholesome items. From looking, though, I see egg-fried rice molded into a ball with egg yolks and bugs. Or if you want to get artsy about it, it looks a little like a calico bundt cake.

With leaves on top.

OK, who wants to make it first?

The Bearded Bard

Some of you may or may not know this, but my buddy DeepFatFriar has a very unique talent. He can, on demand, produce a limerick on any subject, for any occasion.

Tonight, he, Mr M and I were discussing the merits or lack thereof of fondue (which the Friar had just indulged in), and Mr M challenged him to produce a fondueish limerick. He succeeded:

I've just had an all-night fondue
I started with cheese. Wouldn't you?
And beef in hot oil
With my favorite goil
But the horseradish made her achoo.

Wow. Now, that's talent.

So Long Video

After work today I did my weekly errands and then gave myself a treat by going to the video store. I rented a current DVD, then went around looking for something older and interesting.

Well, I found something interesting, all right.

There was a big sign saying "Blowout Sale." There were also massively empty shelves. One of the sales ladies explained to me that they were "condensing" their inventory, and now there'd be no sections (foreign, classic, comedy, etc), all movies would be together side by side, alphabetical order. Which I suppose is better than all movies, side by side, in totally random order. But not much.

So, I was thinking, the next time I feel, well like I do now, in the mood for an old movie, I have to start at "A" and ramble through every crap-ass movie they have hoping to find a diamond in this rough. And dwelling upon that made me depressed so I took my one movie and started back up to the front of the store.

But then again, remember, I am me. And I detoured by this "Blowout Sale."

Turns out from what I can figure, though I didn't ask about this one, good old Movie Gallery is intent on getting rid of just about every video they have in stock. At first I thought, wow, if it's out on DVD now, the video is gone. Then the more I looked I realized that wasn't right - there were movies that aren't even out on DVD they were trashing in a sale.

And so even though with the medical bills starting to fall all around me, I couldn't resist a look through what they had. They had basically their entire "classic" section for sale. Ahhh, so that's why they're condensing things into one category. Because there'll only be one category!

I continued to look down each neverending aisle, until finally I came upon a certain movie. I stopped, and looked, thinking surely I was insane, picked it up, and realized this was actually happening to me.

The movie was "Run, Lola, Run."

"Run, Lola, Run" is a film I've wanted to see for years. I'd looked for it in my video store week after week till I finally just asked about it, and the girl behind the counter (the one who's apparently had a complete personalityectomy), punched a few buttons into her machine and said, "We don't have that, next."

Somehow suddenly they got it just in time to sell the mother for $5.99? So I bought it. Dammit, it's not been there for that long, I'm not going to let it sit on their shelves now, I don't care if I like the thing or not! It's mine!

But it brings up a point. First of all, with all this stuff they're getting rid of, Movie Gallery's going to be even crappier than it was before!

Second of all, as much as I then wanted to scour through all those movies to see what was in there, after "Lola" I high-tailed it out of there. What an absolutely fucking rotten time to be broke.

How Can I Miss You If You Won't Go Away?

Dear Crabby,

During my "unfortunate incarceration" at Mom and Dad's, I was very lucky to be devoid of any Nervous William sightings. This was a good thing, because in my weakened condition I really don't know if I could have withstood it.

I had had a few dealings with him before that, though. In fact, it wasn't too long after my long and rambling therapy blog about William that he came into my office to tell me he was moving. I'd heard on the grapevine that his mother was getting married, so this didn't come as any big surprise to me (he lives with his mom). But where did he tell me he was moving? To an apartment above a business in a building here in town - approximately five doors up from TheCompanyIWorkFor.

Well, I went into panic mode for a while, until I decided I just didn't care anymore, and that the next time I saw him, I was telling him to leave me alone and stop coming in my office (although that's hard because his family are also clients), and that some of the lies he was throwing around (his meeting Mr M in Kroger one day) went beyond creepy. And if it pissed him off, great. Maybe he'd leave me the fuck alone.

The next time he appeared in my office, I was ready . Until he came in cradling his new puppy in his arms. How do you tell someone off when they're holding a little doggie? You don't, if you're me. If you're me, the damn big fuckin' weenie-ass, who needs to get into any number of people's faces and tell them exactly how I feel about them, but can't.

And so I waited. I waited for N. William to move into an apartment next to TheCompanyIWorkFor. He never did. Another of his lies? If so, that was a lie I was happy about.

And so I recovered, and saw nothing of my Nervous Nemesis. Until the last day I was at Mom and Dad's. In fact, I was pushing an armload of my stuff into their van when he drove down their street and caught me. He was manic, so he spouted his piece pretty quickly before zooming off, but in this little exchange, he informed me that his mother got married and he was moving to Radford.

Radford. Radford! Radford! The clouds parted, and a sunbeam came down upon my broken body. I may have heard a heavenly host of angels. Radford's about 90 minutes from here. At one time Will told me he was thinking of going back to school at Radford University, and I took it with a complete grain of salt, as I do many things he says. But maybe, just maybe, he might be telling the truth this time. (Radford also has a "nervous hospital," which would be very convenient following the first day everything didn't go his way, but we won't even go down that road.)

And so I went home, happy for about 3 hours until I realized that there was no way in hell William would move to Radford. He'd crumble like an oatmeal cookie within a week. It's something he concocted in his twisted gourd and was going around spouting to anyone who'd listen, and I happened to be in that lucky party.

I didn't hear from him, but I saw his car here and there, and I knew that I was right. I didn't really care though, as long as he was away from me.

This morning he was in the office bright and early. He came in and kept complimenting me on my skin. Apparently he was looking straight past the dark circles under my eyes that would make Herman Munster green(er) with envy. He invited me to a concert that was going on somewhere Sunday. I told him no, that I wasn't going to be home. That I'd be doing a Sauerkraut Band gig Saturday and staying over in B'burg that night. That was true.

I wish I wouldn't have said that. I wish I'd have just said, "No, I won't go." The last time I completely turned him down flat on an invitation with no explanation, he got the message. He also ended up in the bin for awhile, but at least he was out of my hair. Mean, but honest.

Anyway, after my explanation, William said something that almost made me laugh in his face. When I mentioned the Sauerkraut Band gig, he said, "Oh, yeah, I know the Sauerkraut Band. In fact, I've seen the Sauerkraut Band." William has no more seen the Sauerkraut Band than I've had dinner with the Harmonicats. I have no idea why he thinks he can get away with these statements.

Oh, wait. He can get away with them. Because I sit there straight-faced and let him say them.

Why can't I look him in the eye and tell him he needs to leave me alone? Am I really that nice? Can you set him up with a scholarship and an apartment in Radford? Please help me.

Signed,
Bumfuzzled in B'field

Dear Bum,

Grow some balls and tell this ho-ho off. It's nobody's fault but yours.

Crabby

Belated Blogday

Happy Blogday to Me,
Happy Blogday to Me,
It was Monday, May 10th,
I forgot it again.

Acrowinners!

Better late than never, my acrobabies. After a trip to Roanoke and back today, I took a small napette and headed out to Radford (90 or so minutes away on the exact same route to Roanoke) tonight for a meeting. Sigh. I'm tired, but I'm home.

OK, let's get to this little matter of crowning the Acroer of the Week. Winner gets a free circumcision - or reversal thereof, whatever is wished.

This week's letters were: L Y T D N R T. The entries:

*Lightning yonder! Thunderous drone now responds. Thunderstorm.
*Left your top down? Naugahyde really trashed.
*Last year, torrential downpours nicely revived tulips.
*Listen, your tryant Deity: No rain today!
*Lake "Yard" totally drowned Nancy's ripening tomatoes.
*Let's y'all think "dry." 'nuff rain, totally.
*Let Your T-shirt Dry. Not Raining Today.
*Lynette! Take Down Note. Rain Thursday.
*Lollypop Yellow. Tasting, Didn't Notice Rain. Tissue?
*Look. Your torrential downpours not really traumatic
*Lightening yonder. Thunderclouds determined. Nobody requested Thor.
*Leaving. Yearning tropical destinations. Notably, relaxing Tahiti
*Leaky yard, trashed drainage. No rain today?
*Last year's terrible drought? Now really tantalizing.
*Leaving you to dance non rain tango.

Good entries all.

Honorable Mentions this week go to Kellie with her "Lynette! Take Down Note. Rain Thursday." Very forward-seeing, and probably correct to boot.

Also Honorable Mention goes to Mike with "Last year's terrible drought? Now really tantalizing." Well, I don't know that I'd go quite that far, but....

Runner-up this week goes to MSAGRO with his "Lightening yonder. Thunderclouds determined. Nobody requested Thor." Wonder how Thor feels about that. Never requested, except for Wagner and Elmer Fudd.

And this week's winner goes to DeepFatFriar, whose entry was pretty much what I was yelling at the sky from my driveway yesterday. "Listen, your tyrant Diety! No rain today!"

Thanks to everyone who playing, and we have a guest judge lined up for next week. Three guesses who it is.... Have a good week!

Don't Hurt Me!

I'm just back from my one-month Dr's appointment in Roanoke. I personally thought it went dismally and was a total failure, but the doctor and his staff assure me that it was a wonderful and successful visit and that I'm to be very happy. OK. I'm happy. Huzzah, huzzah.

Anyway, as I was turning onto McClanahan from Franklin St, right there at the intersection, a billboard caught my eye. The initial reason it struck me was because it was ugly, and I don't mean just in the picture and the subject matter, but it was laid out about the stupidest of any billboard I've ever seen. On the right hand side was a baby, lying down, on his tummy, in his diapie. He was crying, not bawling his eyes out, no tears, just possum-crying, like he was about as cranky as I've been the past week or so. Like maybe his diapie was a little wet, not that that's been my particular problem in the crankiness area. That's all that was on the billboard. That baby, then a bright blue background. The bright blue background filled up the whole center and left side, plus enveloped the baby. It was so badly designed, that's why it first got my attention. The ugly cranky possum-crying baby was secondary.

So you've got your cranky baby, and a sea of blue. Now, at the top of this billboard in big yellow letters it said, and I quote, "Why you shouldn't circumcise."

Now. Where to start. First of all, I did make the turn onto McClanahan without 1) wrecking, or 2) screaming.

Is this something I'm unaware of? That there's a battle for the infant foreskin going on out there and I've been in the dark about it all? Do people actually debate this issue? And even if they do, what do you care if I choose circumcision for my ugly cranky possum-crying infant? Or is that the issue? Does circumcision make a cranky baby grow up into a cranky adult?

Anyway, at the bottom of this, The Ugliest Billboard In Town, in small print, was a url. You know I had to, didn't you. And you know you have to, too, don't you?

http://www.nocirc.org/

It's worth going there to see their logo. Babies of all creeds and colors dropping their rattles to hoist the flag of anti-circumcision. There's an essay contest, that one's nice. I read the winning essay. It left me kind of confused. What college guy in his right mind would go around dissing circumcision? Actually, I have an answer to that question, and you probably do too, so we'll just leave it at that.

I don't know. I don't know ethnicity, religion, or anything else. I just know that if I had one of those things, and believe me, I'm rather glad I don't, I'd sure as hell want it circumcised. I don't care if it did make me a cranky baby.

I'm good in that role, anyway.

Acrochallenge!

Hello again everyone, and welcome to another rain-soaked-lightning-striking-thunder-rolling-I'm-tired-because-I-just-tramped-through-not-one-but-TWO-grocery-stores-and-my-heat-pump-appears-to-be-out-so-it's-90-degrees-in-my-house round of Acromania.

Needless to say Bet is tired. Bet also didn't find a judge for this week. Therefore, I shall humbly pick. Since there's not a lot of witticisms to be had out there about one's heat pump blowing tepid air, let's have this week's Acro Topic be "Rain, Rain, Go Away."

All other rules are the same. Everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acros they can to the topic and the letters below, which were freshly drawn from the acrobasket. I shall judge tomorrow night, and make it around 9, even though I may not post the winners right away. I may be gone tomorrow evening; if I am, they'll be posted later, but I'll get there, I promise.

OK. This week's topic is "Rain, Rain, Go Away." This week's letters are:

L Y T D N R T

There you have it. Now if you'll excuse me, it's been a long day. Oh, btw, I made $80 with the Sauerkraut Band last week. Went to the dentist this morning. "That'll be $80, please." Sooo loooong....

Due to the forbiddance of alcohol, I have a cherry popsicle with my name on it.

A Happy Sunday

Today is Mother's Day (it's winding down now). I had a really good day, but before I wax happily about it, I just wanted to say something. On my way home from Mr M's, driving down Rt 460, I got to thinking about people who don't have their moms. You know, I write long and hopefully funny blogs about my mom and all the nutty and sometimes bothersome things she does, things I cry about at the time and laugh about later. Sometimes it's easy to forget there's not a soul out there who's lost their mom that wouldn't love to have one of those "bothersome" times to laugh about later. There are a few people in particular I was thinking of on that trip, but if you're reading this and it fits, I was thinking of you too.

After a few mandatory clarinet duets this morning (and a great one-egg omelet: I'm eating eggs!), Mr M and I had a finger-painting fest. It's something we'd been threatening to do for a long time, ever since he had to finger-paint for a class project (yes he is in grad school, I promise). We decided we'd make my mom (Granny) some Happy Mother's Day masterpieces. It was fun. His was very abstract expressionist (Granny, grapes, a salmon and Saturn - I mean, that's right out of Magritte), and I was way too studious working on mine. In fact, it made Mr M laugh.

Thanks to the miracle of Paint Shop Pro and Blogger, here's a little gallery show. First, Mr M's ode to Granny:



And now, here's mine:



Ahhh, such talent in our hands.

When I got back to B'field, I went to my sister's for dinner, which was fun, that being meant sarcastically and truthfully. It was fun, but you know, I'm also in that stage of just learning to eat. I tried a grilled burger (off bun), and ate about a third of it, but she had some spicy pickles that just drove me wild! I'm sure they weren't exactly "recommended eating," but I sucked on those spicy pickles till I was sure I'd be sick.

Taytie and I looked at his yearbook together (you know, I am a yearbook addict), and watched the video of his performances in the high school talent show. It was a hoot. He played in two bands. The first, he played guitar in a band that did "For Whom The Bell Tolls," by Metallica. I mean, I don't know from heavy metal, but they were really good - their lead guitarist was not only very very talented, but had some seriously good rock guitar god moves going as well. The second band he played in he played drums. That band did "Under the Bridge," and I liked them a lot better, simply because I knew that song and could sing along. It was really fun though; when I was in high school, nobody went all out and formed bands and that. People did "interpretive dances." And no, I was not one of them.

I love watching Tay get more into music. It's something he'll always have, and he informed me today that he's actually going to be taking guitar lessons now. I can only imagine what'll come of it, today he was already playing "Miserlou," the Dick Dale guitar shredder that's in "Pulp Fiction." That cracked me up.

And I'm glad he's letting his hair grow.

No more auntly bragging; after all, there is no Aunt's Day. And you know, why not? Aunts Unite!

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This (she just didn't tell me all the details)

It's 12:49am and I'm back home at the Poderosa. Ahhhh. Wanna hear about my Wednesday? Well, sit down, cause you're gonna.

Actually, my Wednesday started Tuesday night. As you know (or a couple of you, anyway) from reading last night's blog, I seem to have a sprained body, ie, I hurt. Also during the evening, I got a little bit of sprained feelings too, and so I took them both and went to bed about midnight. And the toss-and-turn-o-rama began. "I'll lay on my left side, oh, shit, I can't lay on my left side." "I'll try the right, oh, shit, the right's not gonna work." "How about kinda halfway on the right and half on the stomach, oh shit, forget that, oh, I'm too flat out on my back, it's killing me!" This went on from midnight till almost 2am.

As I was lying there thinking, "I just shouldn't have to put up with this," it suddenly hit me. By damn, I don't have to put up with it. What did they send me home from the hospital with? Oxycodone! And so I climbed out of bed and began my search for the bottle (I only used it twice when I got out of the hospital, so I wasn't even sure I brought it from the folks' house). Finally, I got my hands on it, and took a nice healthy teaspoon full. There was no immediate reaction, but eventually I relaxed and although I don't know if it was that the pain left or I just forgot about it, finally, about 4:30am, I drifted off to sleep.

Oh - except for one thing. A kind of side effect of the Oxy. I itched. It was wild; it started on the bottoms of my feet. Then moved to the tops, then moved to my calves, my thighs, my hips, I could just trace its route right up my body. It ended on my nose, which itched and I scratched it till it actually bled. Even tonight, my nose is blood red as I type. I felt like Mr Carlson on "WKRP in Cincinnati" - I have a monkey on my back!

So, fell asleep at 4:30, and woke back up at 7am. I lay there in bed for awhile, watching "Today," and thinking I'd finally found the spot where I can recline comfortably, and that I was going to blow off work completely and get me some damn rest.

The phone rang. It was Mom.

I made the mistake of telling her how bad I felt, and how bad the night before had been. She tried and tried to get me to come over there and spend the day with her, but I said, ever so politely, no, thanks, but no, I've finally found a spot where I can curl up in bed and be comfortable, and all I want to do is just rest right here.

I hung up. And started back into doze mode.

Within 45 minutes, the doorbell rang.

I got up, in my nightie, no underwear, and hair that looked like a bag of alfalfa sprouts. I answered the door, and there they were, my mom and dad. Both of them. My dad happily announced he had come to pull up the dead daffodils in my yard. My mom didn't announce anything, but she came in with a purpose.

Stunned, I sat down on the couch and mentioned again how I was finally curled up in bed, how tired I was, and how I really didn't want or need anything. My mom started looking for stuff to clean.

I begged her not to. See, it's at this point that I must say again, I truly do love my parents a great deal, and they do things for me above and beyond the call of parental duty. But what is it about parents that make them want to do these things at the totally wrong time?

Finally, I gave in and let Mom do whatever she was doing (it was something in the kitchen), and went and got in the shower (I knew at this point bed was over). When I got out of the shower, I heard the vacuum running. I grabbed some clothes and headed to my bedroom, thinking I could at least linger in the bed while I was sorting the clothes and putting my lenses in and the like. I walked into the bedroom - she'd made the bed! So I pulled on my clothes, and headed out to the living room to find something I could occupy my time with.

I ended up with my bill file. It's been hopelessly out-of-date with old bills I've paid and not shredded and bank statements that need to be filed. I did that while she picked up thing after thing at the Poderosa and I told her to please put it down, that I'd do that later. (I love Mom dearly, but I hate the way she does anything having to do with my clothes and toiletries. No matter how many times I say, "Please don't do that, I'll do it," she's not caught the hint yet.)

Finally my dad came back in from doing Daffodil Duty. I was sure I was safe, at least for the afternoon. It was about noon. I saw them both shuffling around outside, thinking they were just having a smoke, and then - then - in they came into my house with the Shower Shelf.

Mom bought me the Shower Shelf for Christmas. It's just a three-tiered shelf that goes in the corner of your shower, you know, you all have one. I've been carrying it around, in the box, in the back of my car, since Christmas Day. I've not thought a thing about it. I've not missed not having shelves in my shower. Never once when plucking my shampoo off the top of the sliding shower doors have I said, "Dammitall to hell, I need Shower Shelves." Never.

Today, Mom and Dad became convinced I had to have a Shower Shelf and I had to have one now.

When I saw them coming in lugging the box, I began to cry. I sat there, sniffling and feeding old bills into the shredder.

I don't know if the instructions were in a foreign language, I'm sure this is a distinct possibility, but it took my folks approximately 90 minutes to get this Shelf together and in its destination. I heard clangs and bangs, and harsh words, and I questioned what exactly I had done in this world to deserve all this, and finally, I got the word. It was in!

And my parents went home.

At that point, I undressed back into some sweat pants and said, "Adios world, I'm going back to bed." I ate a couple of hummus crackers first, then just as I was heading to bedly paradise, the doorbell rang.

My Mom and Dad. They'd been to the grocery, and thought I needed some eggs. So they bought me some. And they brought them by.

I put the eggs in the fridge, and lay down on the couch instead. I'd been there about 20 minutes. The phone rang. Do you even have to ask?

It was 3:00. And it was also at that point I put my clothes on and went in to work. I figured it was the only way to get any peace and quiet.

And I did, believe it or not. Work wasn't busy, and San, Kath, and I sat and talked and laughed until almost 5pm. When San, who was looking out the window, made an announcement.

"Granny and Paw Alert! Granny and Paw Alert!" They'd come into town. On the premise of checking their mail.

When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine. Mom. Just wanted to know if I was alright. I had pretty much decided against driving all the way to B'burg for band, but that changed my mind. I got in the car and headed out. I half expected them to be in the driveway when I arrived home at 12:30am.

So I suppose the moral to this story is: Even if you have blood squirting from both eye sockets, always just say "I'm fine." It'll save heartache in the end.

Sprained

Any fans of "The Dick Van Dyke Show" out there? Remember the episdoe where Rob and Jerry go skiing, only Laura doesn't want them to because she knows how clumsy Rob is and she knows he'll wipe out on the slopes and die? And she and Millie are home and Laura's all panicky (as Laura is, you know), and the phone rings and she knows it's Rob because it's Rob's ring, and she knows that at the end of the other line when she picks up it's going to be Rob telling her he's dead.

As it turns out, Rob did indeed wipe out on the slopes, but it wasn't his fault. He tripped over a goat. But he got a bad sprain in the offing. He got a sprained body.

I think I have a sprained body.

And the sad part is, I didn't even go skiing. I didn't even trip over a goat on thawed land, which, around here, could be a distinct possibility for a person.

I went back to work for a few hours yesterday. I sat at a desk, on my years-old hard and unforgiving office chair, I admit, but I basically sat down for four hours and answered some phones. And when I got home, I was sooo tired.

After a fitful night last night, I woke up to find my whole left torso in pain. I looked down, half-expecting it to be blue with bruises, but it wasn't.

I guess it was just sitting in a position I wasn't used to for that long. Then today, this morning, I did it again, but left work at mid-day. And then it was off to the car dealership to have the CD player, yes the same CD player that's been not working since, what, St Patrick's Day?? finally yanked out of my car to be sent away for repairs. I had to sit there for two hours. When it got to be 5:00, I actually thought they'd closed and forgotten about me. Everything was quiet and I seemed to be the only person around. I had thoughts of the lights going dim and me there alone with a TV and a coffee machine to keep me company. But finally, the guy came and told me it was out, and it cost $70 just to take it out. Woo hoo.

And finally, I got to come back home.

And I still have a sprained body.

Oh, on the update front, however. Guess who I ate this morning? Fred Fucking Flinstone. There's one Fred in my bottle, and this morning I got him. He was orange. One Fred, three Great Gazoos, and the rest chockfull of Wilmas, BamBams, Pebbles, Barneys, and Dinos.

You know, since Fred's the patriarch of the family, maybe they make sure there's only one of him. Like the king of the bottle. Wait, King Vitamin. That's a cereal, isn't it?

I'm rambling.

Acrowinners!

Acrowinners? Damn, I was beginning to wonder if we'd have acroplayers. I'm starting to worry about the low turnouts lately...are yall getting tired of this? Do I need to spread the games out? Change nights? Dispense altogether?

Anyway, we got some entries, we have a judge, and let's get right to the good part. This week's letters were M E O A L. The entries:

*My electives? Operatic Aerobics, Lathing.
*Minimally edible options at lunch.
*Maleficence existed openly. And lockers.
*Marijuana encounters, often after lunch.
*Million "eruptions" observed. Acne's legacy
*Math. Everyday, only Algebra lessons
*Man, every one always lies.
*Mocked everyday on account'a loafers.
*Me, eating oreos, alone, lonely.
*Makeup exams, only after laziness
*Moronic essays, opining about literature.
*Miniscule ego. Openly abused. Lambasted.

And now without further ado, here is the Friar himself to do the honors:

Well, people, it’s damn slim pickin’s. (First apostrophe indicates a contraction. Second one indicates a missing “g.” Remember sophomore grammar? [I obviously don’t.])

What the hell is this? A boycott? A girlcott? A transcott? Don’t tell me the rest of you regulars actually liked high school. We’re not having any of that around here.

Whatever.

Honorable mention, teen angst division: Msagro for “Million "eruptions" observed. Acne's legacy”, but watch your terminal punctuation there. The lack of it nearly got points taken off.

Honorable mention, cafeteria division: Mike for “Minimally edible options at lunch.” So true. So sad. So true.

But the winner for absolutely capturing the spirit of the category: Stennie for “Man, every one always lies.” Truer words about high school were never typed.

And so no one leaves the room unrewarded, a special nick-of-time award to Lily G. for getting her entry time stamped one minute before the deadline.

Thanks for playing. See ya.

DeepFatFriar

Thanks, DFF, for judging and topicing. If anyone would like to partake of the honors for next week (if there is one), please let me know now. Bye!

Acrochallenge!

Hello, hello, hello, and how are all my little acrobabies today? Well, in continuing with a theme...

...The agony was that today I actually went back to work at TheCompanyIWorkFor. It was only from 1-5, but seemed like an eternity, and my back and shoulders got really tired. But it was OK. Tomorrow I'm working in the morning and taking the afternoon off. Sounds kind of like Mike's schedule, doesn't it? Nah, way more taxing than his.

Well, guess what? It's time for another it's-May-3d-so-why-is-it-only-42-degrees-outside round of Acromania! We have a guest judge this week. After spending the weekend with the man himself, I thought it only fitting that our judge this week be none other than the DeepFatFriar himself. So not only will he be judging your acros this week, he's also come up with this week's topic, which is a goodie.

The rules are almost the same, but pay close attention, there's a wrinkle. Everyone gets three entries to come up with the best acro they can corresponding to the random letters drawn from the acrobasket and pertaining to this following topic: "Things You Hated About High School." The judging this week will take place at 8pm, not 9pm as usual, but 8pm tomorrow night. DFF is an early riser; therefore, he's an early bedder. Soon after, I'll be announcing the decisions, and war will break out across the land. Just hide your torture photos of the captured, please. It may come back to haunt you.

This week's topic, "Things You Hated About High School." This week's letters:

M E O A L

There you have it. Now...(God forgive me for this one)...get to class!

The Agony and the Ecstasy

Well, here I sit again, another Sunday at the Poderosa. It's been a long and busy weekend. Well, a long and busy Saturday, anyway.

As you all may remember, Saturday I was to try my first foray into reality, a concert with the Sauerkraut Band. No, wait. That's an oxymoron if ever I heard one - reality and Sauerkraut Band.

The band was playing at a beer tasting at a theatre. We were to play from 8 to midnight. We arrived a little early, Mr M, DeepFatFriar, and myself, and loafed around before the others and the equipment arrived. Then everyone set about to get the stage (which for this night was on a gazebo) set up. I did a very few light things, and felt pretty much the shirker. But that's just me.

The ecstasy was seeing all the Sauerkrauters again - for some of them, it'd been since Oktoberfest, or New Year's Eve (and let's face it, how much did I remember about New Year's Eve?). They're such a fun bunch of people, it's a shame we don't get to see each other more often. And then there's our Fearless Leader Ed. Ed also of Community Band. I hadn't seen him since March, and he was a sight for sore eyes.

However, the agony was seeing all those folks drinking beer and eating the wonderful looking, wonderful smelling German buffet the theatre had set up. Veal cutlets, chicken, red cabbage (my personal favorite), and a potato and pepper dish that smelled to die for. I had a postage stamp-sized piece of cheese and chugged Pink Lemonade all night.

Ah, but the ecstasy. The ecstasy was stepping up onto that stage with all the band, putting Sherman in his lederhosen up on the music stand, and hearing "Eins, zwei, drei, vier!" and that first singing of "Ein Prosit." It's just fun, dammit.

And all that happened. And it was fun.

And then, the agony began.

I knew within the first 45 seconds of the show beginning that I didn't have much business at this shindig. The first song. Where we stand up and peppily play a medley of German songs. I stood up, blew about 8 bars, and the walls started closing in. The walls started closing in, and we were outside! Really, though. The lightheadedness and feelings of being ready to pass out started that soon. But I perservered, and got through the first song, and got to sit back down. Oh, after a quick "Ein Prosit."

And it was pretty much like that through the whole show. Play a minute, stop a minute. Let my head get back to normal. Try not to fall out of the chair. Stand up, toast everyone, swig a little lemonade, and start it all over again. When you get that many headrushes, it takes a toll. We even got not one, but two calls for "The Clarinet Polka," and I had to embarrassingly play sitting down. Because I knew I could either stand up or I could play it, but I couldn't do both. Ed seemed to be OK with it, but that doesn't mean I was.

We got a couple of breaks, thankfully, where I got to rest and take a couple of walks and get some fresh air. However, when the final break came, at 11:10pm, I knew I was done. I just couldn't do it anymore. And everyone seemed to understand. Everyone, apparently, but me. I just got so pissed off at myself that I couldn't finish, that I actually made it to 50 minutes from the end and still had to quit. And I guess that's it. I considered it not so much "stopping" as "quitting."

And that was agony.

But DeepFatFriar set it straight for me as we were getting in the car. That basically I was playing a concert I had no business being at anyway, considering where I am in my recovery, and I not only played it, but got almost all the way through it. And as both he and Mr M told me, I seemed to be the only one who thought anything of it.

And so, I'll try to forget that part of the agony. And concentrate on the real ecstasy, which came about halfway through the show.

If you've been a member in good standing for a certain amount of time in the Sauerkraut Band, you earn your doctorate. You are then known and introduced as "Dr." Last night, the first time round in "The Clarinet Polka," Ed was introducing Mr M and I as we got ready to play the number.

And it came.

I was introduced as "Dr!" I got my doctorate! It was a total surprise and a bit like being named Miss America. Oh, shit, it was not, it was 100 times better than being named Miss America.

It was ecstasy.