Schmutzie's Eight Things Meme

Long ago and far away ... back when she was young and foolish, the blogger Schmutzie graciously tagged me with the Eight Things meme.

Now, I've participated in the Eight Things meme before--more than once--so I'm not being faux modest when I say I had difficulty coming up with eight new things to say about myself that didn't verge on being very indiscreet.

I mean, hey, here I am laying my life wide open to the Internet--and loving it--but is it right to drag other beings into the spotlight with me? So forget it, Internet. I'm not telling you what a cocktail named the Capecodder, a red-headed boy from Lynn, Massachusetts, and the Rathskellar bar in Kenmore Square did to make me into a middle-aged woman who wonders how on earth she ... but enough of that.

So anyway. Me: Eight things about.

1. I am not at all interested in beet sorbet, so the 29 of you who came here hoping to learn about it had better go elsewhere.

2. I love photography and want to learn how to take pictures. So far I've made the following progress: I bought an expensive camera--the dooce camera, in fact--and I'm producing a lot of blurry images. This?



was not on purpose. So I set myself a task, which was to manage to take a picture of a rooster for Schmutzie's cockroll. A picture that was in focus. (Just so you know, these pictures will appear from time to time in the rest of this entry. Feel free to tell me which you like best. And don't fear the rooster.)

3. I neither like nor dislike dogs, although I do find many of them kind of smelly.



4. I'm physically lazy, which is why I'm sitting here blogging instead of going out for a long walk. And so, I am also large. But not, unfortunately, scary.

5. Some people express surprise that I actually am as old as I claim to be. They think I look younger. (Hey, don't we all?) I attribute this to my very talented colorist and the fact that some tiny percentage of my body weight serves to emplumpen my cheeks. (Of course, being incredibly immature helps, too.)

6. I'm jealous of people who pick up foreign languages easily. I don't. I can bumble along a bit in French only because it was banged into my head for eight years.

7. I've never understood women whose life's ambition is to have children. To me that's like having your life's ambition be to start growing hair under your arms. OK, maybe having a baby isn't as inevitable as growing hair where you don't want it ... but it's not that hard.



8. I disapprove of people who swear a lot. I swear a lot. Amazingly enough, enduring my own disapproval isn't as bad as you'd think. Because what makes me think I'm so smart, anyway? I'm such a fucking know-it-all. I wish I'd just shut the hell up.

Lighting Candles

Life has been all kinds of busy, Internet, hence my lack of verbiage.

And because I could get Carpel Tunnel Syndrome trying to fill you in, I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Last Saturday we realized school was about to start



and we felt pretty ambivalent about it,



so we went to Warren's in Kittery, ME for one last big-ass dessert



before packing up the car and heading back to Illinois.

On the way we spent the night in Chautauqua, which is all kinds of adorable



what with the porches bedecked with vases of gladiolas



the pedestrian-friendly streets,



the cultural offerings,



and a really good bookstore. (If you haven't heard of the Chautauqua Institute, you could read this interesting Wikipedia entry or get the brief version from me; it's a resort for intellectuals, where the focus has always been adult education.)

So that was fun.

Then it was home to inspect the damage from the big storm that struck the Chicago area while we were eating ice cream in New Hampshire. So I bid you welcome to my back yard




and you can see what my first order of business was.

It was obviously not to get my son a haircut, so he went off to school somewhat on the shaggy side but relatively cheerful about the start of the school year.



Unlike his mother, who vacillates between full-on nausea and a sense of impending doom



because my next tasks were: 1. to get the building permits that will make it legal for the construction people to rip out the kitchen and two of the bathrooms;

and 2. To join Weight Watchers. Where I got weighed in. Shall we see that again?



So now, I am figuring out this whole Weight Watchers Flex Plan Jargon Thing. And Tracking Points. And keeping the Supreme Dieting Icon candle lit:



All I need now are two more candles: St. Jude Pray for Me as I Oversee Homework and St. Joseph Watch Over My House as It Is Remodeled.

It's a twister! It's a twister!

Lawn Ornament
Originally uploaded by bredlo

So while we were sitting around in New Hampshire, eating lobster and swatting mosquitoes, a tornado or a microburst or some kind of weather insanity struck the Chicago area.

This house is two blocks from my house.

I called my next door neighbor and V. the turtle-sitter. (yes, we have a friend who comes to the house and takes care of Toby the turtle. So sue me.)

My neighbor walked around our yard and assured us that although the yard is a mess, and a tree is down in the back yard, nothing hit the house. The next door neighbors on the other side weren't so lucky; a huge tree fell and crushed their chimney and part of the roof.

I swear this is because they had had extensive renovations done, whereas we? Had not.

V. the turtle sitter, who has a key, let herself in. She tells me there is no flooding or leaking. All is well.

This is not true of much of the rest of the neighborhood.


That house one is pretty much across the street from my kids' school. Three blocks from my house.

The rectory of a local church--about four blocks from us.

The root ball on this tree was so big that when it fell, it brought the sidewalk up with it.

Many thanks to bredlo on Flickr for his photographs.

So many plates I need my weight in Alka-Seltzer

Yesterday That Stud Muffin I Married's cousin came by with her two adorable little girls. Also his aunt and stepfather. We sat and caught up, then went to lunch.

And after all the time I've spent waiting outside the Ice House to buy ice cream, I finally went inside to eat.




Where I discovered not only delicious clam rolls, but an eye-popping display of license plates. This made me feel, somehow, humbled. As I was so proud of some of my recent discoveries:

Clearly, being driven by the Cadillac of Bridal Wear Shoppe Owners

Here's someone who takes his state mottos seriously.

How to make it clear that you are New Hampshire's answer to Mr. Burns on The Simpsons.

Parked outside the local elementary school. Teacher? Librarian? Incredibly serious parent? Who knows?

Today's visitors will find me locked in my bedroom reading Dostoevsky

What I did on My Summer Vacation

Cinderella before the ball
Originally uploaded by PoppyBuxom

1. Did lots of laundry.

2. Became increasingly frustrated by the old dryer, which came with the house, and must be a teenager, or maybe even 22 or 23 years old, because it decided that it was only going to work when it wanted to.

3. Went to Sears. Bought new washer and dryer.

4. Waited for them to be delivered.

5. And waited.

6. Cleaned out laundry area the morning of the delivery.


This included washing dust and lint off the accumulated detergent bottles. Because I am the Anal-Rententive Housewife.

7. Sat, dreaming my little dreamy dreams, waiting for the delivery guys.

8. And sat. Hummed "Someday My Prince Will Come" from Snow White.

9. Greeted the delivery guys with sobs of joy and a can of WD-40--the traditional welcoming gesture of my tribe.

10. Licked machines all over, but allowed husband to peel off protective plastic stuff.

11. Tenderly placed a load of white sheets into the virginally-clean tub. And then put them into the handsome new dryer, where they were whirled into its hot, strong embrace.

12. Blogged about it.

Hawthorne could make a story out of this material.

Or maybe Edith Wharton. But life lately has been a round of family visits, eating, and shawpin.

And there just doesn't seem to be much to say. Not until I recover from the visits.

I mean, it's OK to have visitors. The problem with visitors isn't the extra laundry and cleaning. It's that you have to pay attention to them. You have to listen to them talk. And you have to talk to them. That's tiring enough, but you also end up changing the way you behave to adapt to their idea of what's fun. And so, because my sister is a shop-o-holic, I've been going shopping.

Now, internet, if you are interested in hearing the tale of our trip to Best Buy, WalMart, and Barnes and Nobles, let me know. It sounds dull to me, but then, my idea of big fun is taking pictures of other people's vanity license plates. (And if I'm not doing that, I'm sitting around in my pajamas drinking caffeinated beverages and reading your blogs.)

I'll tell you one thing you might not have figured out.

When I was at Barnes and Noble, I bought

some clip art.

The truth is, I'm operating under an alias.

I am a Snapdragon What Flower Are You?

More. Of. The. Same.

Today my in-laws came by. And my sister was already here--as she has been for almost a week.

We all went out to a used bookstore.

I know, I know. This is beginning to sound like a Talking Heads album: More Songs about Visitors and Shawpin.

But at least my mother-in-law asked my sister when she's leaving. And it's tomorrow. So I'll have the house back to normal soon. And my daughter will have her room back.

Anyway, we went to Drake Farm. It's a massive place--a huge old barn filled with books. Two resident cats, some antiques, old chairs to sit in and read, a couple of donkeys out back. I went a bit mental in the cookbook and interior decorating sections. After lunch my in-laws went home, and my sister and I went to Christine's Crossing in Rye to ogle antiques. And buy a few things, too. Mostly old magazines, but also a funny I Love Lucy flowered hat covered in pink roses.

Yes, I should post pictures. I took tons, you know. But honestly, people; I never get a moment. It's frowned upon to sit there using your laptop while people are visiting, did you know that?

It sucks.

More later. I need to get rid of my visitors. And get un-Simpsonized.


(Why did they give me such big hands? Who can type with these sausages? It's not fair. Marge doesn't get stuck with sausage fingers.)

More visitors

My sister is safely married. Wedding and reception went well. BUT:

My other sister is still staying here.

My in-laws have come by the for the day.

Too. Many. Visitors.

Too. Much. Family.

I just want to curl up with my laptop and have a cozy afternoon with the Internet. But it won't happen any time soon.

And now I need to go make more polite conversation. Which you, Internet, probably sense is probably not what I'm probably in the mood for. Probably.

The Hostess with the Leastest

My elder sister is getting married, remember? Well, last night was the rehearsal dinner. Eventually there will be pictures. But not now. Now I'm getting ready to host 30 out of town guests and bridal party members. Because you have to do something to fill up the time before the ceremony. So it will be lunch at Poppy's.

I'm not cooking for 30. I ordered lots of stuff from a local foodie supermarket. Like Couscous Salad with Cranberries, Walnuts, and Scallions with a blah-de-blah vinaigrette dressing.

But I have to make something, too. So I'm making Fran Drescher's Not Caesar Salad. And blackbird's summer dip.

Oh, and I found out my sister wants me to do the reading at the ceremony. Of course I said yes. "I always do the Bible reading at your weddings!" I exclaimed.

So OK, this is only the second marriage. WHATEVER. I thought it was funny.

Listy McListsalot goes shawpin and eats

1. Bought new washer and dryer at Sears. Not the sex-ay red LC HE model, but the boring white ones.

2. Went to the Kittery Outlets with my sister, who is visiting from Virginia. I needed pillows, so I suggested we go to the Cuddledown outlet. Score! They were having a big pillow sale. Which is good, because I bought eight.

3. Visited the Brooks Brothers outlet to see whether they had boys' clothing, but they don't. While my sister, who is virulently anti-prep, turned celadon green, and finally escaped to the store next door, bought two pairs of jeans for myself and handkerchiefs, underwear, and a tie for my husband.

4. While my sister browsed through the racks at the J. Jill outlet, I, who was turning a pale shade of celadon green because I am so anti-aging hippy, visited the Cosmetics Company outlet next door. Or whatever they call themselves. The Estee Lauder people. Score! My favorite moisturizer, now discontinued, was there. Also some shite you can only buy at the Duty-Free shop, because they don't sell it in the States. So I bought some miraculous anti-brown-spots potions called Cyber White. Because I'm not just white, I'm CYBER WHITE. Also? BOBBI BROWN. Bought awesome two-layer lip and eyeshadow palette; perfect for travel. Susie, Wendy, and Blackbird: spotted that awesome lip gloss palette I have. Let me know if you want one and I'll pick one up for you. It's makeup heaven in there.

5. Went to When Pigs Fly, a local bakery. Bought bread.

6. Tired. Went home. Energized briefly by changing all the pillows and throwing out the really horrible old ones.

7. Too tired to cook. Went to BG's Boat House for dinner. Too tired to deal with lobster shells; got Lazy Man's Lobster for dinner.

8. Then ice cream at the Ice House. Frozen coffee Heath Bar yogurt, to be exact. See how dietetic?

You would never believe I'm on vacation

Because yes, I'm still in New Hampshire, but I have no pretty pictures for you. I'm too busy discovering the difference between renting and owning.

Renting means that if there are problems with the septic tank, they are someone else's. Owning means you are delighted to discover that you can actually buy Septic-Aid (or whatever it's called) on Amazon.com. I didn't really know much about septic tanks, and oh, Internet, I didn't want to. But now I've discovered that I can have it delivered in 24 hours--plenty of time for the millions and millions of bacteria to convert the contents of the septic tank into sweet-smelling yogurt, or whatever it is that these bacteria turn things into--before a bunch of guests arrive on Saturday.

See, I still don't know much about septic tanks, but I beleve someone has been flushing penicillin or some substance that septic tanks don't like, and now our toilets feel mournful and sluggish. And so I will be giving them the equivalent of a spoonful of Geritol, and you don't even know what that is, Internet, because you are too young.

I will never be as young as you are, Internet.

My sister's getting married on Saturday, did I forget to tell you? Well, it's right that this is coming as something of a surprise to you, Internet, because I just found out that I have to give some kind of luncheon on Saturday. Luckily for me a couple of local catering joints have what quaint elderly types like me call An On-Line Presence, so I can shop for caterers while I drink wine and try to decide whether I'm just imagining things about the toilet.

And now, to end on a more positive note, the Plat du Jour.

I took this picture while I was on my way to Sears to buy a new dryer, as the old one is acting even older than I am, and it's time to send it off to the Bide-A-Wee Rest Home for Discarded Appliances and install the hip young trophy dryer. Naturally, I was not in a good mood. Another time when I was feeling like a home owner, and not in a good way. But then! I saw this:

It's a Ford Cobra. And check out the plate!

I did really well not to rear end him while I was trying to get close enough to take the picture.

MTV's Video Music Awards needs help

And I'm here to do it. Everyone knows that the VMAs have the stupidest categories ever. And they keep coming up with brand-new, even-stupider ones. But honestly. "Most Earth Shattering Collaboration?" Talk about pretentious ... does anyone care? Earth-shattering my ass. Which--actually--it could. Shatter the earth, I mean.

The simple truth is this: no matter how hard MTV tries to invent stupid new categories, I can think of even stupider ones. All by myself. No focus group needed. Such as:

1. Best Song not recorded by a Female Pop Star because she's in Rehab
2. Best Old Song that always Sucked Big Time getting a new lease on life by being Covered by a half-way decent Band--and actually sounding kind of OK
   
3. Best Collaboration between one Pop star who is fading, and one who is Dead
4. Best Song that may never be released to Video because the Singer shaved all her hair off and can't stop Sucking down Frappuccinos
   
5. Best Song designed to spark Sales of what is obviously just another Greatest Hits collection with 1 new track added
6. Best Song by a former Child Star--now completely clapped out and scary
   
7. Best Song by an Artist who has decided to end our suspense and admit to being Gay-- color us Surprised!
8. Best Video by Anyone who used to boink Heather Locklear, Helena Christensen, Kate Hudson, or Cher.
9. Best Video by a group whose members are now--or could easily be--members of AARP.
10. Best Video by a group None of whose members ever did Drugs. Not even prescription.

Does it count if you were bombed when you took the test?

You Don't Drink Too Much

Looks like you're a social drinker, at worst! Keep partying, but as always, know when you've hit your limit.

Are You a Drunk Diva or a Crunk Chick?

Getting ready to embark

This was one of many pictures I took of the kids at the beach today.

Believe it or not, we've been here for a week and we hadn't gone to the beach. Because ... for a variety of reasons, we're not such enthusiastic beach goers.

For one thing, they're 12 and 10, but the kids only learned to swim this summer. This was the natural byproduct of Asperger's stubbornness on their parts, and throw-in-the-towel pick-your-battles slacker parenting on mine. There, I said it. My kids have neuro-behavioral problems, and sometimes I don't deal with them as thoroughly or as promptly as I should.

Their not being able to swim meant that "constant vigilance!" was the byword whenever we went anywhere where they could drown. And that's not very relaxing.

Then there's the whole pack the car with the towels, sunscreen, snacks, water toys, reading material, sand chairs, and it seems to go on and on and on. And then finding a place to park, and trudging on and on in the blazing sun.

And then when we get there, my husband and I feel fat and pale, as though someone had moved a rock and exposed us to the sun, while we wriggled feebly in protest.

(it's paragraphs like that that make me realize all the money that was spent on my many degrees in English literature was, in fact, completely wasted.)

So let's move away from the extremely hideous verbal picture I painted, and on to the actual real life digital picture I posted.

This is my kids getting ready to get into the water with their boogie boards. I decided I wanted to take a picture of them, so my daughter is walking towards me to pose, whereas my son is still doing something or other to his board.

And far away in the water, so tiny that you can hardly see her, is my niece.

My niece is a normal 12-year-old girl. She can swim, she has friends, she goes on sleepovers.

My sister pretty much had to drag her out of the house today. She was sullen. She didn't want to go out. She wanted to stay indoors and watch television.

But we went out, and my kids were in the water for a while. They didn't get into the water as quickly, and they didn't go as far out as their cousin, but they went in. And they had a good time.

This isn't just a vacation snapshot. It's their life. And you know what? It really isn't that bad.

Things to do when you can't seem to get off your lazy fat ass

Start by not waking up until 11:00. And then let it go downhill from there.

1. When you're a lame-o, the laptop always beckons. With a cup of tea at your side, and still wearing a pair of cornea-searing hot pink Lilly Pulitzer pajamas, get straight to work.

2. Check Bloglines for updated blogs. Head over to Badger's. Read and enjoy.

3. Methodically go through Badger's links. Add everything promising to your Bloglines feeds.

4. Worry that so many people are dealing with cancer.

5. Upload pictures from camera to laptop and from laptop to Flickr.

6. Answer telephone. Find out sister wants to bring the kids to the beach.

7. Go to beach.

8. On the way to the beach, try to decide whether you're more of a lame-o for giving up a thriving career as a pajamas blogger, for spending so much time on the computer, or for doing what your big sister wants you to do.

New semi-daily feature: the Plat du Jour

Did you know that EITHER New Hampshire OR Illinois has the highest per capita occurence of vanity license plates? You didn't?

Well, I order you to be grateful that I called your attention to this fascinating fact. And for your amusement or at least edification, I'm going to be posting pictures.

I call this new feature the Plat du Jour because I'm hilarious that way, what with the word play and the French and all.

And so ... voila. The first plate.



It's tuna.

As it turns out, I don't actually like long walks in the rain.

My pal L. came and visited with her daughter--even though they were here last year. A vote of confidence, yay! I'm not the world's worst hostess!

L. likes to go for walks. We always brought our cameras. L. has a fine eye for the picturesque.
So from time to time she ordered me to take a picture.


Above: a window filled with cranberry glass. Below: part of a headstone from a local cemetery.
It was lovely. But the clouds looked threatening.


Just after I took this picture


of the oldest house I've seen yet, the rain clouds burst open and we scurried to hide under a tree. We ended up under a little place that was sticking out over someone's garage door.

A few vans passed. I wondered what was wrong that these people didn't ask us if we needed help, but I figured it was because they were commercial vans and didn't have time. I decided to flag down the next car. The driver might have a cell phone.

A car came by. A van, but a passenger van. It was That Stud Muffin I Married come to rescue us. He'd driven all over the island looking for us.

He took us to the lobster place where we bought half a dozen lobsters.


All ended well.

Three words

House guests.

Mamarazzi.

In which Poppy risks death for her art

I was thinking of taking the kids to the beach, going on another photo safari, and maybe getting the car washed. And so, of course, it rained.

Then I decided to run a couple of errands and take the kids for lunch--fried calamari for them, and a lobster roll for me. I'd take awesome foodie pictures of the local clam shack and ice cream joint--I'd show off my mad food photography skillz for my blogging audience, and they would leave me all kinds of comments about how awesome I am! And so, of course, my camera battery was dead.

Therefore, you'll just have to take my word about how awesome lunch was. My son and I shared an order of steamers that were so good we moaned aloud and thrashed about orgasmically, and we'll never be allowed in the restaurant again. Then my children ate their fried squids, and I had the first lobster roll of the summer.

That damned lobster roll was so good that when a blob of lobster salad fell on the deck, I did what we all spend years teaching our children not to do. I mean, how disgusting to pick your food off THE FLOOR and eat it, but I did. I sure hope nobody saw me do this. It would be so embarrassing to have anyone except the entire internet know how I wallow in filth.

OK, maybe not filth. After all, we were outside, so my salad didn't fall on a creepy restaurant carpet; it fell on some weathered deck planks. We were overlooking a marina, listening to the cries of the gulls, and admiring the boats. So I think I'm safe from everything except cholera, e. coli, and tapeworms.

You did realize that I'm disgusting, right? OK.

Then I came home and found a working camera.



See? It really was raining. And just look at that gutter. It's practically falling off the house. And now you know why this house--if it actually had a name, a la "Windy Acres," or "Upson Downs" or some such folderol--would be named



I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around Deferred Maintenance taking pictures of the sublime



and the ridiculous.