I'm wearing a jester hat.

It has bells on it.

I'm grateful for my life and all the wonderful people in it.

So much to say

But this photo really should say it all for us. Courtesy of cuteoverload.com

Stuffies, stuff and fluff

Amanda starts school on August 14. She's in 6th grade now, which is amazing. We were playing with her stuffed animals before bed tonight and I recognized so many that had been given to her over the years.

Priscilla, a white fluffy rabbit given to her around Easter from a shop in Granbury while I was on a ladies' retreat. I think she was 5.

Sully, that Monsters Inc. dude. Not very cuddly but very charming. An estranged friend gave that one to her.

Dory, a fish given to her by her uncle-in-law Gerry for her 9th birthday.

Lou, a Jack Russell terrier I gave her one Christmas. Named after her dad's nickname.

Thunderjam, Big J, Little E, Dove (a bear) and Bird (a donkey), and countless others of all shapes and sizes. There is even one in her collection, a small rainbow dinosaur, that I bought from a thrift store my first year in college. I saved it from a recent garage sale. It doesn't have a name. It's just jolly.

And Hartsy, so named for his paws around a big red heart. He's a bear I'd bought her from Walmart for Valentine's Day a long time ago. He's the most popular bear around, and I imagine if she had to save only one from her collection, he would be The Chosen.

The three of us did some school supplies shopping at Target tonight. We figured incorrectly when we totted up how many supplies she already had and we could just fill in the rest. It was still a lot of money. But we bought a lunchbox so cool that all three of us almost got one. Amazingly, Renee' said no, and she rarely says no to a Shopping Self-Indulgence at Target. (This indicates her true level of illness, and we do suspect that her boss gave her pneumonia. But we'll see if she can fight it off.)

I also wrote a real actual paper letter to Amanda's principal to tell him we are taking her out of Spanish Immersion. The commitment of 1st grade thru 5th had been fulfilled, and it wasn't my fault that they decided to tak on another year because her 4th grade teacher was a wash, and her fifth grade teacher had a baby mid-year. Plain and simple, Amanda's had trouble understanding the lessons, and by the time she finally has the instructions straight, everyone else has their classwork done. She always feels left behind, and none of us at home can understand her work enough to help her. My Spanish gets me through spelling words, but that's about it. Her principal has been badgering me to keep her in, but I'm realizing it's for political/admin reasons, certainly not for Amanda's welfare.

Well, I halfway cleaned the kitchen, halfway fed the dog, half put some stuff away. Tomorrow is Thurs and Mander is going to come to work with me. It should be a good day - she has some letters to write, and we'll work on the homework CDs. I think we're meeting up with Beendon for dinner. I need to let her know the winery won't work out because it closes at five. Unless I leave work at 330p, I'd never make 5p. But we can still get together because she is leaving for vacation soon and we're going to Austin this weekend.

It really bugs me that she can just pick up and GO like that. Just goes off, and leaves us here. That's ok, she'll be in the car with a toddler.

What happens when you don't have anything to say? from Andi

Sometimes I get an urge to update the blog.

Every time I lay down, my knees are parallel to my shoulders.

Cutting oneself with a serrated knife is a different sensation than doing so with a paring knife. Still as unpleasant, might I add. Bread can be dangerous.

Lately, I forget things immediately after thinking of them.

Lists are great, but they don't work if you don't remember writing things down in the first place.

At work, the deadline to do my timesheets was yesterday EOD. Today, I've thought about doing them several times, including just now. By the time I've moved on to the next topic, I'll have forgotten.

Sometimes I forget things immediately after thinking about them. Does that ever happen to you?

Love Languages

This is an interesting quiz that gives you and your partner ideas about the kind of languages we use to feel loved and give love. Fascinating. Post your score, if you dare. My Primary Love Language is: Acts of Service; my Secondary Love Language is: Words of Affirmation.http://www.youthnetsouthampton.org.uk/breakout/lovelanguages.php

The date is set.

November 18, 2006 is the day we make it unofficially official. Granted, most of the U.S. is not on board with our desires to establish "a marital trust," but we'll just do it our own way. It's probably better this way anyway, because there are fewer expectations and we can mingle traditions and contemporary iconography at will.

Brenda said something brilliant just this morning, so I will share it here:

"Is doable a word? I mean it doesn't look right somehow. It's not like it's in the dictionary or anything. I mean I don't think it is, maybe I just haven't checked."

Oh, wait, that wasn't it. Wrong cut and paste. She really can say insightful things sometimes, honest... Here it is:

"Weddings are not about joining two people really. They are about testing your relationship in every possible way so you ask yourself about a million times - is it worth it? If you get to the cake then the answer is yes."

So, since I'm on a diet, reading this and the subsequent thread that followed just had me thinking about cake. Any kind of cake, not just wedding cake. I'm trying to drop those last few pounds; I'm looking forward to being that size 2 pretty soon. I recommend eating nothing but organic broccoli and filtered water for optimum lightheadedness.

Mmm cake. Sorry, back to the wedding. We've chosen a little winery in Grapevine to host it - we've gone full-service so that we don't have to work or make our families do work, and we can relax and have fun. R and I are not radicals, and we're not out to be offensive by any means. This is going to be a sweet affair, with some of the traditional and eloquent, but we're two women making a statement of our love for each other - and we have a full understanding that these aren't commonplace, and many - MOST - people in our lives are still adjusting to us as a couple. God knows we love you. Thank you for loving us. Thank you for being in our lives and extending a caring hand. We can't apologize for the life we have together, because being happy is our priority, not what a long history of social mores dictates.

Rant, rant. If Renee' decides to write about the wedding, well it will sound completely different, I'm sure. :)

From 2nd of 3

Brenda's brother, Majlogon, has created the certificate I've always wanted. Yes, I've been assimilated into the borg. Please see my credentials for any questions or to have my identity authorized. Thank you.

*Despite my best attempts at manipulating the image and/or the uploader, I can't show off my certificate here. I will continue to make adjustments and get back to my fans.

Blister Packaging of Doom

This is an official rant. I want to know why it is that retail stores now are putting everything in blister packaging??? For the lightest, smallest, plastic, non-fragile items even. I just don't get it. We are destroying ourselves with packaging!! Don't they understand that a zip-loc(tm) baggie will do the trick just fine?

R and I went to Best Buy to scope out potential birthday presents for Amanda and to pick up some printer ink and a phone car charger. We realized that we were in for trouble as we scooped all three of these things off the Pointy Display Rods of Destruction(tm).

Once in the car, we figured we might as well get the thing plugged in, as we haven't had a charge on her Cingular phone for a week. So we pull it out of the bag, stare at it, then at each other. R takes a moment to see if she has a switchblade, hacksaw or machete in the car but we'd left all those in the Corolla. The charger is nestled snugly in several layers of plastic, mocking me, but that's fine - we'll get it plugged in later. Renee and I smile at each other innocently, like lambs, if lambs could smile. If only lambs had mastered the skill of opening blister packaging. Baaaaastards.

Getting back to the apartment, I realize the inevitable is at hand. I get a steak knife, a pair of kitchen shears and an Exacto knife at the ready. There's a hammer, a crowbar and my teeth, if it comes to that.

First cuts go into the ink cartridge, and that went fairly well. It was a combo pack, but Lexmark decided that it was important just to contain the two boxes, not to hermetically seal them. Not too bad, didn't take too long. Snip, snip.

Then the car charger. A simple wire appendage, weighing no more than 3 ounces total. It was on clearance, I'm happy to say. So for $1.49 (yes, can you believe that??) we pretty much paid for the resplendent Teflon Kevlar Fibreglass Bliztr-Pak that could both contain polar bears and repel bullets. This deceptively clear and light package was about to become my worst enemy, the BloodLetter, the Blister Packaging of Doom. You don't understand: the battle was on, but I feared it was I who would be dethroned.

I girded my loins. Then, haha, I laughed to myself, as I saw a perforated oval skimming the backside of the container. This should make it easier to open, I thought. No, what this did was make the spring-back of the plastic more unpredictable. Ha ha. I snipped and scissored on the front, the back, the middle. I tore with my fingers and pulled with my teeth but I stopped when I realized I was putting my eyeballs in harm's way. Here is the packaging with me halfway through it. Panting, I get through the first layer only to discover that the cardboard backing is just as hard to bust through. I kid you not. I've been at this for 15 minutes, trying desperately to not slit my own wrists in Retail HariKari. WTF are these manufacturers doing?

I get the cardboard out - I guess the (c) 2006 Dorkwads, Inc. had to be written somewhere. After pulling it out with a banshee holler, there is yet another layer of plastic. I am laughing hysterically and wiping blood and tears off my countenance. Renee' is backing away slowly as I try thrusting the package in her direction: "Here! You! Take it! Fine, then. Get me a bandage and a shredder! Something!"

The charger inside mocks me, snuggled in there, all peaceful. I'm breaking a sweat. I hate this charger and everything it stands for. Corporate America. Commercialism. Materialistic savage retailing capitalists. Stupid cell phones anyway. This last section of plastic is a doozy, but at least it's not ROUNDED. So I'm stabbing, punching and basically disemboweling the remainder of this, this THING. And in my disheveled, rampant anger I nearly, oh so NEARLY, slice the charger cord. This sudden realization makes all the blood drain from my face and I study it carefully as I take it from its molded bed. no no no please let this not have been in vain. I pleaded with the Plastic Dogs of War.

But it's ok, the charger. IS. OK. I hold it up to the light in transcendental glee. I whisper to Renee in a very "Ren and Stimpy" fashion: "Look, Ren! The charger! I pushed the jolly, candy-like BUTTON! This is for you, all for you, MY DARLINGGGGG..."

She comes walking out of the bedroom with a new, unopened calculator and says sweetly, "Can you do this one, too?" So I collapse amidst the sharp, glittering edges hoping one of them finds my jugular.

This is how weird my world is

First of all, I have to say that what I want for dinner has to be the worst thing in the world, not really fit for human consumption, but here it is:

Double Stuf Oreos(tm) and a bag of white cheddar cheese popcorn.

Has to be DOUBLE STUF and it has to be WHITE cheddar. Not to be confused with white cheddar Oreos(tm) and Double Stuf popcorn.

I don't know why. I could guess PMS, but I don't think that's it.

Here's a whacked out photo of Brenda that she sent us recently. Comments are open. No holds barred. Ask her about her time on the Short Bus. Ask if she caught any flies in that trap. It's like she's a sleepwalking news reporter speaking into a purple microphone. Renee' and I have even wondered why it is she felt the need to send it, but then we realized: she loves abuse. Billdor craves our ill-will. So we give it freely, and we encourage this behavior in others.

I think I'm just bitter because she got to go see her friend Sina in Atlanta, and all we got is this picture as comfort. Hmph.

Renee' asked me if we could get a hippo as a pet. She said they're usually happy creatures. I was going to refute this, but then I found this as proof that she's right:

It's off cuteoverload.com, one of my favorite websites in the hole wy whirl. Here's another favorite website, it makes me happy to see so much Despair.

So yeah, good times. I'm glad my people love me in spite of my eccentricities.

This is a painting Amanda did almost a year ago when Renee' broke out her paints and introduced us to BGros - her and Brenda's art venture and business. I am incredibly proud of this painting and it's my favorite. She got almost no coaching from any of us, and I think it's just amazing. If you're lucky, you may end up with something of hers that's ALMOST this awesome. :)

Who would have thought such greatness would run in the fambly? Oh wait, I don't think it has...

Coffee - not as easy as it seems.

There's coffee yet unborn in this household. R recently bought a can of that chicory stuff that you might have at the Cafe DuMonde in NOLA. I think it's pretty good - strong, but good. She thinks it's strong, but bad. I'll probably make some this morning, and try to keep it on the weak side, but it will probably come out like motor oil.
I wish I could say that I had Real Coffee Skillz(tm) but, no. Here's an example: Yesterday, I was trying to clean out old grounds and coffee from pot, ergo resulting in tipping the used filter, grounds go everywhere. So I clean out every crevice in the kitchen which then had grounds in it. Heinous, I tell you. This is the punishment for drinking coffee. I'm sweeping, and Renee comes out for emotional support. Kiss, hug. She goes back out to the living room. Grinding new coffee (from Target - Southern Pecan flavor - not bad) and setting up new water ("make water" - haha), I finally get the whole process started. Coffee is on its way! Hallelu- ACK! what's wrong with the pot? Leaking, coffee...streaming... Grabbing towel, watching precious caffeine trickle down cabinets. R hears my cry for assistance and wonders what crack I'm on that I can't get through a cycle of coffee. We stop the brew and try to figure out what just went 86 on us. Pot's ok, everything seems normal... oh - I didn't put the machine's filter holder back in. I laid the filter straight down in the darn thing - without that, nothing to measure out water, grounds going into the pot, the works. Fairly important piece of plastic, that thing. Grumpy is no longer a word that can describe my mental state. R is laughing and comforting me. I'm growling and whining. We clean up grounds (again. Huh, whoda thunk.) and add new water, grind more coffee. Well I thought I added new water. Nope, no can do - all the steps weren't meant to come together for me that day, no sir. But even as we finished up and waited for the first TRUE cup of coffee, I suddenly didn't want it anymore. Just kidding. It was ok - too strong cuz I forgot to put more water in it. But R added some more water after it finished brewing, and like the angel she is, made me stay out of the kitchen while she fixed us our first cups.

If this isn't an advertisement for those Coffee Singles, I don't know what is.

EXACTO!!!

Wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone renounced violence forever? I could then conquer the whole stupid planet with just a butter knife.

Two benches ignoring a tree.

I stole this picture and headline from Renee'.
Maybe the only creative thing I'll ever do is blog. Blog creatively. Although Brinbrin and Matt seemed happy with my writing help on the adoption resume. That made me happy. Even if they don't use any of it, and they hate it all, at least they lied to me and said they liked it. So I'm good for something, at least.

We painted this weekend. I will eventually put up a couple pics of our objet d'art, but really, for now, just use your imagination. Mine, titled "Roadkill Birds," had three nice small poppies in the corner and some good grass. Amanda's is a lovely still life, with a blue vase and several varieties of flower. She got paint on her shorts, but it came out. At first, Renee' was frustrated, toiling and heaving over her work, sighing and stomping off, returning - "How's this?" "No, that's crap," the rest of us would say, gently encouraging her to keep trying. "Ok, this isn't bad," she'd say. And B would give her the ole "No, you should stop now and start over with a new canvas. Really. Don't touch it." And R would glare and pout, walk off, come back. But when she started over, it was brilliant. She even came back to the original crap painting and turned it into an awesome urban-ish flower. They both created some really cool pieces.

I feel obsessed with painting and being creative. Last week, or over the weekend (I don't remember -- time is becoming muddy these days), I was haunting the house trying to find my box of pastels. Couldn't find 'em. Wanted to go out and buy more at 11pm. Renee' was all, "Why am I living with a lunatic?" and I was all, "Do you want some bread? Maybe some toast. Where are my pastels? They aren't in this closet or in that box or in the freezer."

There is this insatiable need to do more. I did one painting to their 10. The paint makes me twitchy. The brushes make me wish I could use my fingers. People kept talking to me. I'd be in the middle of a brushstroke and Amanda would get paint on her eyeball. Or I'd be contemplating the fabulous combination of brown on brown, and the girls would be all, "Andi, your painting is a pit of despair. What do you think of mine?"

The kicker is, I'm ok with sucking (for now) because I just want to keep doing it. One day, my paints will come.

HOLIDAY!!! but wait...all things below are boring..

Ok so we had a much needed holiday weekend. It is funny to me when we are exhausted at the end of it though. As we were just walking up the stairs Andi said "will you please bring the aparment down." She is such a funny gal, that Andi!

Ok so life is busy pretty much all of the time. However, this weekend was slow moving and gentle on the soul. Friday seems so long ago. We went out to dinner at Bravo! It was wonderful in every way. Oh wait...was that Sat? I forget. Anyways at some point we went out to Bravo and it was Bravo.

Saturday we went to Brenda's and spent the day working on the adoption album and doing a little painting. We also watched a movie and grilled. It was general laziness and good times.
I believe we were productive on the album but we will see what Brenda ends up posting. I am so grateful that we got to be a part of this important process once again.

Sunday Andi and I mostly just did a whole bunch of nothing. We lost such track of time that we were guessing it to be between and 11am and 2pm and it was actually 2:30 pm. What a lovely day it was. We picked up Amanda at 8pm came home watched yet another movie and that was that.

Today we got up at 10am, which was lovely. We had breakfast and headed to Barndoors for yet another day full of painting and grilling with swimming thrown in the mix. It was a lovely time.
I did manage to put out two grill fires and the house did not burn down.

It was a blast being in the pool with the family. Now we are home and starting to slip back into reality. Well, at least the grown ups are slowly fighting reality. Amanda however is just about to embark on a journey.

I love our life. I am anxious for vacation. I will be meeting Andi's family and I am excited to put faces with the names.

SACAGAWEA!

So, my daughter is a Shoshone Indian. At least, for a day. A few minutes anyway. She was part of a classroom "wax museum" - a display of characters that speak when asked to give information about their history. Kind of cool, wish I could have gone to see it, but today we had a new business pitch that needed conversion from InDesign to Word and it took all morning with two editors working on it. So yeah. I volleyed with her father about going, and he went, took pics, and sent them on to me. Her first words when I said he was trying to go, "Oh man, he's always criticizing me." But maybe he holds her to a higher standard and in general, lazy people hate that.

Please note how I slaved away on the accessories for this costume. I made a "fur shawl," a headband, and a baby wrap out of the finest WalMart cloth. But I think she put it on crooked and it just doesn't look right in this picture. No matter how often I tried to get her to take some care when she put it on for rehearsal, she just didn't give a crap. Sigh. You know how they say a mother's work is never done? It's also "dust in the wind." People don't notice when you do it right, and they sure do when you get it wrong. Ah well, keep on keepin' on. She'll be 18 one day and then I'll be begging to sew costumes and do scrapbooks and paint boxes and watch movies and play board games and go for walks. Life is comfortable but it still isn't FAIR.

Language in another language

This is an instruction manual of an MP3 player written in English by non-native English speakers. Here is an excerpt:

Preface:
For you using the unit correctly. Please read the attached manual carefully before you using the unit. We will not inform individually if the information in the manual was changed.

Attention:
1. Please take out the battery from the unit for prevent the unit damaged if you don't use it long time.
2. Don't use the unit in very hot and cool and dank environment.
3. Please make sure the "lock" button on unlock position.
4. Don't collide the unit with hard object. Otherwise it maybe wear the surface or fall off the battery or damage the hardware of the unit.
5. Please change the battery under the following condition.
a) The symbol of the battery volume was blank and flashing.
b) The system was power off automatically. And power off again soon after power on.
c) All buttons no function and they are still no function after take out and replace the battery.
6. Avoid to using the unit in very dry condition for prevent static electricity.
7. Don't disconnect during the unit is in formatting and uploading and downloading. Otherwise it may make wrong the program.
8. When using the unit for moveable storage. Please export document correctly per the document management method.

It is enter stop interface no matter enter music interface from any interface. The current directory should be resume to the directory when left if the current song need to resume to the song when left MUSIC. It will turn to the first file of the directory if the resume song was avoided.

I would like to mention that I found almost no misspellings. And even though on first read it doesn't seem to make sense, I bet if you had the MP3 in front of you and needed to perform a step, you could figure it out. Me love you long time.

What Scrapple Means to Me.

Scrapple is a food I ate often while growing up. It's a northeastern thing, and nowhere here in Texas have I located any Scrapple. Scrapple's finest brand is represented by Rapa, a Delaware-based company who only makes Scrapple.

Do you need to know what it is? Well, it's a breakfast meat. What kind of breakfast meat, you ask? Take a pig. Take a blender. Add some cornmeal. Form into blocks. Slice and fry in the pan and eat with scrambled eggs and toast. You don't look too closely into your Scrapple. Any oddly textured bits get swallowed with the rest, and you just don't think too hard about your breakfast. Because the taste is amazing - surpasses bacon, sausage, kippers, and Spam in all ways. (Spam is maybe not a great example, tho Amanda loves how Renee' cooks Spam.)

My sister can tell you a great story about families and Scrapple. When I was around 2 or 3 years old in our hometown of Delaware, I was laying spread eagle on the floor. So she asked, "Hey you, what are you doing?" To which I replied delightedly, "I'm a piece of Scrapple!!" Isn't that adorable? See how influential this stuff is? Children and barns alike were raised on this stuff, the building blocks of nutritional mystery.

Some people eat it with syrup, but I'm not a fan. These are the syrup-on-my-sausage types, and I'm not akin to this. I like mine cut thin and fried DARK - my brother likes it that way too, I think. My whole family has cravings of it, so that a select few of us began making our own, which is pretty darn good. By us, I mean, not me, per se. Now that only my one brother and one family friend remain in the northeast, what choice did we have? My other brother in Austin and myself have to wait to either get care packages of Scrapple or travel to Florida, where my sisters and mom make it themselves, or they wait for care packages of Scrapple. It's a desperate situation really, and I've discovered Rapa ships! but only through February because of the temperatures. Understandable, since Scrapple gone bad is absolutely not to be trifled with.

It's an old recipe: Rapa does it best, my sisters do it well, and every other version I've tried just doesn't cut it. So I'm hoping you all get a chance to try some. Gather your best folks around you so you can stay distracted while you eat your Scrapple.

B is for Birthday, Beef and Brooligig

This is one of my birthday presents. For those in my life who I love dearly, I so wish you could be there to experience these priceless objet d'art. This - is apology steak. Named so for its aroma of Matt's sincere regret for his wrongdoings, his slips of the tongue, his faux pas. Any mistake or misstep made in our direction, and his payback is a steak dinner. He may have been sorry for the fact that he is singlehandedly responsible for global warming, and if I have to turn the A/C up in the apt, we nail him. I mean, he offers up dinner for our whole family, cooked by him. Repast on Sunday was no exception.

I don't have photos of the lovely wheat-free bread/crushed nut horse derbies, or whatever he called them. We did bring salad, and Brenda always makes potatoes. (She has to contribute somehow; I mean, we can barely tolerate her presence as it is - there has to be peace offering.)
We brought the salad so we didn't come across entirely as the freeloaders that we are. (Kudos to Bingdon's herb dressing, btw. She should post it here.)

Anyway, after the game of modified pinochle, we had ice cream and Brenda's famous cherry-chocolate cake. I think it's the best she's made EVAR. No photos of that either, but it's for the best. You'd have been licking your screen by now if I'd posted them.

No one got any pictures of all of us together, and I blame Matt for that...

A birthday poem from Amanda to me.

Birthday Poem

Candy, cake, and ice cream too
Mommy did you know I love you?
Come on, let's go, it's time you know,
To blow out the candles so blow Mommy blow!!!

It's a surprise,
So I'll tell her lies.
She looked surprised
When I saw her eyes.
The camera is flashing,
Renee is laughing.
I gave you a present, It looks like a crescent.

Logan is running,
He looks very stunning.
Logan went to grab a potato,
Hallie instantly had to say no.
Shannon is talking about Germany,
It's starting to annoy me.
It's your thirty-fifth birthday,
So everybody say Hip-Hip Hooray.
Now it's time for me to say
I hope you had a good day!!

Love,
Amanda Reis


I ask you: does it get any better than that?

Mucho amor, mi pequenita.

Much ado about chickens

No, that's not Renee' in a chicken suit, but it's probably as close as it's going to get. You see, tomorrow is my birthday. I'm turning that ripe old age of 35. I didn't think it was possible, either. All that hard-living, fast times and reckless abandon. Wowie. Whoda thunk.

So, in homage and respect to my aging carapace, I was delivered the most gorgeous bunch of flowers, a box of candy, 6 balloons and a serenade "You Are My Sunshine" by...this chicken. She even cracked a couple jokes. "I'll do any job, just no chicken strips, please" and "I'm a girl chicken - can't you see the chicken breasts?"

The 5' furry fowl also brought the entire office over to my cube to experience the scene. And after a videotaping mishap (thankfully, the battery died) someone did snap a couple digi photos, and she said she'd email them to me over the weekend. I'll share them with you later.

What a great start to a great birthday. I've gotten cards from co-workers, two of them even bought me lunch (thanks, D, R and M). So it's been a fun week, and the weekend purports to be grand as well.