Friday! Friday! Last Day of NaBloPoMo Woohooday!

Ok.

So it doesn't rhyme.

What of it?


I can't believe it. I can't believe I made it all the way through ... well, except for the day I got sick. But, regardless, this is the longest string of writing I think I've ever done.

For whatever effect it may have on the world.


Ok, so Geek of the Week.

I am going to defer to my dear hubby on this one. He's all riled up.

Attention Mr. Dennis C. Wolff? Pennsylvania Secretary of Agriculture?

You are Geek of the Week.

And NOT in the traditional sense of the word either.

You are a bad, bad man.

You who would ban the labeling of dairy products as to whether or not they contain antibiotics, pesticides or rBST (an artificial growth hormone).

Just why was that again? Oooohhhhh yeah. We don't want to confuse the consumer.

Thaaaaat's it. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting how discombobulated my little ol' mommy brain gets in the dairy aisle when I see the tried and true milk suffering the wild postulating of that radical hippie milk.

Organic.

Hormone Free.

No antibiotics.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEEEEAAAAANNN?


Oh! MAKE IT STOP ALREADY AND GIVE ME AN ICE CREAM SANDWICH!



Mr. Wolff, give me a freaking break and give me the option to choose. I don't want you and all your cronies - who are making waaaaaaaayyyy more than any dairy farmer is - to put a warm, wet cloth on my forehead and pat my hand and tell me to "Just relax ... they ain't no harm in chemeeculs an such." I wan't to be able to choose. I don't care if I am paying more for it - that's my business.

EVEN! Even if you have NO PROOF WHATSOEVER of any harmful effects of any of this stuff - EVEN THEN! - I still want the option to choose to buy my milk from someone who doesn't roid their cows all up. Just because.

At least until I can get my own cow.

So, in conclusion, Mr. Wolff, you suck.



SOAPBOX TIME!!!

If you, as a Pennsylvania dairy consumer care about this little issue, you can send along a little note to that effect to our Governor.
Governor Edward G. Rendell
225 Main Capitol Building
Harrisburg, PA 17120

Or, you can email him.

Email the Governor of PA here.


*****

Now, I have to back up to yesterday's post because my daughterchild pointed out to me that I never answered the "fun part of being my children" part of the question. Which I shall do forthwith.

The best part about being my kids, I think, would be having me as a mom. The end.

Hee.

Ok, really now. One of the fun parts about being sonnyboy, I think, would be having the ability to ride a dirt bike pretty well. And actually having a dirt bike. That runs.

Because I? Have a dirt bike. But it? Does not run.

It doesn't even walk. Or roll.

All of a sudden I just came up with a crazy idea for a pimped out walker - you know, for people who need them to get around. And it can be called, you might have guessed, The Walk-n-Roll!

Guitar!

But I digress.

Yeah, I think having the ability, and lack of fear, to go over jumps and stuff like that would be pretty cool.

Maybe I'm just getting all nostalgic because that Master of the Moto, Evil Knievel, died today.





I remeber watching his stunts on TV as a child. EVERYONE wanted to be Evil Knievel.

God rest his crazy soul.

So, yeah, that would be cool. And apparently sonnyboy thinks so too because he spends an awful lot of his free time doing it.

As for daughterchild, she has so much going on I'm not sure where to begin. She can pretty much do whatever she sets her mind to. For instance, I just popped in the living room for a moment and she was watching a movie and knitting.

KNITTING.

I can't knit. I wish I could knit.

I also wish I could make it through an entire kick-boxing class. Which she can. There's a lot to be said for youth.

But, if I had to pick a particular thing, I might pick working on the yearbook. It was one of the things I kind of always wanted to do in high school but just never did - mainly because of the moderator. It is a little know fact that Kim Jong Il was a member of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary and acting moderator of the Cardinal Brennan yearbook club. That was way before North Korea.

Fortunately for daughterchild, she gets to work with a hip (Hip? Did I just say hip?) moderator and staff. It's a lot of hard work but I really think she enjoys it. And, more importantly, I think I would enjoy it.


But in the end, I think I would enjoy a whole lot of what they do. I don't mean to brag or anything but I pretty much have the best kids in the world.

No. I do.

No, really. I do.

Ok, ok. I know. That's what every mom says.


Except I'm right.

Anyway, I just have to say that I really like hanging out with my kids. I so wish we weren't all going in ten different directions at once and could actually do more things together. Because they are cool people.

It's so amazing to see the young adults they have grown into. I look at them and cannot believe I even had a hand in anything so wonderful.

And it's REALLY amazing to think my hubby had a hand in it. (Hi Hon! Just kidding!)

I think one of the things that I am most proud of - even though I have no idea how much I've actually had to do with it - is that they are thinkers. I love thinker kids. They are a joy to be around because it is so interesting to see their take on the world. It's neat to see what makes them laugh, what moves them, what riles them ...

Here's a for instance ...

(Ha! Boy am I rambling now!)

In the summer of 2000, daughterchild's Girl Scout troop made a day trip to New York City. I went along and had the opportunity to take sonnyboy as well. It was nice because there were some general stops but we were able to break off into our own little groups.

One of the stops was Ellis Island. None of us were ever there before. If you've never been to Ellis Island, I highly recommend it. It is just amazing. And not just the Statue of Liberty.

While she certainly commands attention it was the museum that was really moving. The stories of the people who passed through there were just incredible. I could easily spend a whole day there. And, as corny as it sounds, walking around there, looking at the photographs, reading the snippets of people's lives, one really gets a sense of what is special about our country.

And I could sense that my children felt it too - as much as a child could in their limited understanding of the world. They wantered around the museum, a quick glance at this photo but staring at that one, reading this item but skipping that one, the whole time showing a sort of childish reverence for everything.

At one particular moment I was lucky enough to snap a quick photo of the two of them together. It is a moving photo that I will always treasure. It's a perfect snippet of siblings, sharing a day, a moment ...

















... and a sense of humor.


My little snots of liberty. I love 'em!




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Thursday! Thursday! One Less Goat in the Herdday!

Hi.

So, today we had our first goat fatality.

I say "first" because I'm realistic. These things happen.

Remember the little comment in yesterday's post about the goat in the utility tub and the tapeworm? Yes, well, that's the one.

It was one of the twin goats that I brought home from Massachusets back in ... I think July.

You know, I never had a good feeling about this goat. She just never seemed to keep up with her sibling and waivered between perky and not-so-perky healthwise. But she'd throw in just enough perk to let you think "Well, I guess she'll do fine."

Ah, she was tricky that way.

So, to make a long story short and mercifully less disgusting, I found some sort of worms in her poop about three weeks ago.

Oh... you're reminding me that I said "Less disgusting"? Right. Well, believe me, that was the pleasant version.

Anyway, I followed the worming routine and she went into one of her perky phases. Now it is generally recommended to do a follow up in about 21 days because that will then take care of eggs left behind and whatnot. So this time I decided to use an herbal wormer, you know, less harsh and good for you ... er, good for goats and all that.

This herbal wormer has a lot of garlic in it. (Makes a great seasoning for spaghetti sauce too!) These wormers act as a bit of a laxative to help flush the system.

Remember, this is pleasant.

So things get a bit more ... aqueous, if you will.

Then, on Monday, I noticed a change in the ...uh, flotsam. It looked like pieces of what could be a tapeworm.

Good. This is good. Because it's coming out. And the goat is still eating and is still perky.

Everybody is happy.

Until ...

this morning.

The goat had become decidedly less perky.

She was getting lethargic and no longer showed interest in eating. Not a good sign. I had to leave for work first so it was left up to my hubby to go get Gatorade and try to get some into her. Which he did with some success. Then he got her set up in a nice little area of her own where she could rest and not be bothered by the other goats. After that he had to leave for work.

When I got home she was even more lethargic and things did not look good. I put a call into the vet's answering service and tried more Gatorade. No interest.

I really knew in my heart that she was not going to make it. So I just kind of sat there with her until she died.

Then the vet called.

Funny how things happen like that.

I told her what happened and she said everything points to tapeworm. And! Here's the kicker. The wormer we initially treated her with will kill just about any internal parasite except tapeworms. That's a fine how do you do.

So she told me a different wormer to get and recommended treating all the other goats just as a precaution.

The one thing I have learned in dealing with goats is that internal parasites are the bane of every goat farmer. There are so many different kinds. And! You just can't worm willy nilly because they build up a tolerance to the medicine and it won't work any more. And! The wormer that says kills internal parasites does not, in fact, kill all internal parasites. And it's a cattle wormer anyway but still used on goats but not technically approved for it in the US and blah, blah, blah enough with the freaking worms already!

The vet also did tell me that we were on the right track with what we were doing but, with the first wormer not even making a dent, it probably just got too bad by the time she was given the herbal wormer. And as long as the goat was active and eating, it would be hard to tell that anything was wrong. That was encouraging - at least our instincts were heading us in the right direction.

So.

I called hubby at work to give him the news that "Guess what? You get to bury a goat in the morning."

So, while it sucks and all that, I have to say that I'm not emotionally devastated or anything. I mean I liked her and all, but having the nagging suspicion that she was a little on the frail side to begin with, I didn't really get too attached to her. But it still sucks.

And along with the we-really-didn't-want-her-to-die-because-we-liked-her kind of sucking, there is the whole part that it also represents a lost investment as well. Not just what we paid for her (she actually was a cheap goat - the yellow CLEARANCE sticker should have served as a warning), but the lost income from fiber and off-spring. While it completely lacks emotion, that part of it sucks as well - especially when you are trying to get a fledgling farm up and running. Not many people get that part of it.

That's the news from the Farmfront.

On the bright side, we did manage to get the leaking roof patched and Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic is back on track. So that's good news.

***

Now, I think I am actually supposed to post something specific toady. Oh yes - question from my sister. Let me check on that.

Ok, here we go.

Question: If you had to change places with each of your kids for a day, what do you think would be the most fun and most challenging parts of being them?

Hoo boy. This is a tough one. You know, even though I don't feel old (usually) or think of myself as old, it really is hard to remember what it was like at that time of life. Or, picture myself at that time of life in today's world.

Both sonnyboy and daughterchild are kind of on the cusp of a new part of life. Sonnyboy will be finished with his college program in one more year and on the brink of the brave new world. And daughterchild is in her last year of high shcool and currently in the process of trying to choose the next phase of her education.

What exciting - and yet scary - places to be in life. I think that would be the hardest part for me - trying to choose my path. Because, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm a bit of a meanderer. For me, to try to look into the future and think "This is where I am definitely headed" is not easy. It never has been.

I completely admire those people who, in high school, knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives and planned accordingly. Imagine having everything mapped out - knowing exactly where you are headed and what you need to do to get there. How ... organized!

But I also feel a bit sorry for them. I'm not sure why. I guess I have this romantic notion of life as being a perpetual reel of "On the Road" with Charles Kuralt. That is probably a job I could do and love. I am such a sucker for the wonderful thing thats waits just around the next bend. Probably to a fault.

So those points in life where I have to make a "big decision" that will affect things for the foreseeable future always rankle me a bit. And it's not a matter of change, it's a matter of choice. I'm more of a jumper-in type than a let's-sit-down-and-analyze-the-crap-out-of-this-so-we-are-sure-we-are-making-the-right-decision type.

College? Sure! Which one? GAAAAHHHHHH!



One of the other hard things, I think, would be not wanting to bring friends over to our freakishly cold house. That sucks because I'm an adult and I still don't want to bring people into my freakishly cold house. But I have the benefit of being married to my best friend so, he's stuck here with me.



And this is why Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic is so important - so my kids can inch a bit closer to a normal social life. It's not about the warm, baby, it's about the par-tay!


Ok, that's a wrap for today.



Oh, one more item regarding the goat.

We are planning a private service for family only. If friends so desire, memorial tributes may be made to Project Insulate The Back Part Of The Attic, a charity near and dear to Lilly's heart. No flowers please. Unless it's bales of timothy or alfalfa.


This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Wednesday! Wednesday! Find A Home For Our Dead Feathered Friendsday!

So.

About the little owl that I recently acquired.

I did a bit of research and I am pretty sure that it is a Saw-whet owl.

Looky here...





Isn't that just about the cutest little raptor you ever did see?

Now, that's not the actual owl. Mine is more ... frosty.


And!


Notice what a nice accessory it is for a Christmas trees.

Well, I am sad to say that I am not going to be able to keep the owl after all.

After giving it some thought I figured I should heed the warnings in the comments and check into this a bit more. So, I called the Game Commission and found out that, unless I am an educator or the representative of a museum, I would not be able to obtain the proper permit to keep a carcass that I found along the side of the road. And, just because I have a lot of old things in my house - like knob and tube wiring - it doesn't necessarily qualify as a museum.

I get the jist of why and all that but, really, I think if you're lucky enough to find a dead owl you should be able to get it mounted for your Christmas tree.

But! Because I am a law abiding citizen (and because taxidermy is not a hobby I can afford to divert my time into right now), I am giving the owl to a teacher friend of mine. I emailed her today when I got off the phone with the Commission and she called me back right away. Apparently it was her planning period.

Anyway, I told her about how I came to be in possession of wildlife contraband and asked if she would be interested in it. She was, as I expected, pretty excited about it.

I asked her if she wanted to stop by on her way home from school but she had a whole lot of errands to run and figured she'd be too tired to stop. Then I asked her if she had a freezer at school and she told me that she has one in her classroom. So I said I would just send it in with my daughter.

Here's how that conversation went...

Me: Do you have much time between when you get to school and when you have to get to homeroom?
Daughter: Well, I usually pick up my friend so not really. Why?
Me: Well, can you call your friend and see if maybe you could leave a little earlier tomorrow? I was wondering if you could take a dead owl in for Mrs. W. and give it to her before homeroom.
Daughter: Ok, just remind me in the morning.

That's it.

I'm not sure if I should worry that my asking my daughter to deliver a dead owl doesn't even raise an eyebrow. It seems as though my children have become completely immune to the bizarre.

For instance, if one of them would have come home at about 2 o'clock this afternoon, they would have found a goat in the utility tub of our laundry room. (Don't ask - it's a long story and it involves tapeworms.)

These are the kinds of things they are subjected to on a daily basis.

So ... I don't know. Hopefully it will help them deal with the big ol' world.


***

Now! For my Best Of _____ Award!

I am going to give two.

First.

Best Teacher Award goes to my friend, Roseann, who has so graciously agreed to give my little owl a loving home. She is also going to name it after my husband.

While discussing the owl, she offered to name it after me. Or hubby. I asked her if there was an easy way to tell you know, gender-wise, what it should be named. She said it's pretty diffucult and got into the whole description as to why.

Then I suggested that since I found him dead along the side of the road, one might conjecture that it was a bit of a reckless owl.

So hubby's name it is.

And I'm hoping that maybe some year he can come "visit" our Christmas tree.


Second.

The Best Big Sister A Gal Could Ever Want Award goes to ...

My big sister. Because she is the coolest. She's smart and witty and one heck of a writer. She's a great mom. She's got a kick-butt sense of humor and one of the few people who will go into hysterics with me just by letting those balloon-animal balloons go flying around a room. She can finish my sentences and vice versa, even though we don't get to see each other very often.

She is the best!

So read her blog! Clean her house! Buy her Frangelico!

Give it up for ma sistuh'!

Woot! Woot! Hoot!


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Tuesday! Tuesday! Read the Post From Yesterday!

Ok, so I just now, at 11:50 Tuesday evening, finished the post for Monday.

It's a long story that involved Computer Bubonic Plague.

So, today you get the second half of yesterday.

Go there. Read it.


This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo, Perrier and Computer Bubonic Plague.

Monday! Monday! Some Randomandomandomandom Funday!

Hi.

It's raining (again) and cold. Lots of mud. Lots and lots of mud, mud, mud.

Today is the first day of the hunting season where you can shoot a deer with a rifle. You can use the rifle to shoot the deer. Not shoot the deer that has a rifle. Because they generally don't carry them.

Anyway, I did not go hunting today. Rather, I chose to try to get some stuff done around the house. Which, more or less, is what happened. Lots of little odds and ends.

I have recently decided to take on a new project. I am going to put insulation on the attic floor over the two back bedrooms of our house.

These are two rooms that really don't get used at all. They are just total dead storage. When we first bought the house, I made a concerted effot to fix one of the rooms up as a play room for the chillernts. I painted it, got a cute border of cats wearing cowboy hats, and I bought a nice big carpet remnant and had a carpet place put an edge around it.


***
Crap. I have to stop and do a virus scan on my computer. Hopefully I will be back to finish this later tonight.


***

... crawling back from the tech-trenches ...

I hate viruses. I hate the people that make viruses.

However, I love the folks at Technibble.com as well as the folks at Geekstogo.com because they? Rule. They are all about the free help for computer buffoons like myself.

So the Very Bad Virus has gone away.

The End.

Remind me to add those sites to my sidebar. Props to my geekstas!

*****

Boy, talk about your random posts.

So ... where was I?

Oh yeah, the insulation project.

So anyway, the not oft used toy room is now going to be my daughter's art room. Because I ask you, what can be more inspiring to a young painter than cats in cowboy hats? Hmm?

But, as with everything, there is the pre-project kick-off that involves ... well, usually a lot.

In this case the going out and purchasing insulation part is probably going to be the easiest. Along with the purchasing of the materials, this pre-project kick-off also involves some minor things like patching two 5 foot long leaky areas in the roof - pish! - and removing and replacing the knob-and-tube wiring that currently sort of services the lights (yes, only lights - no outlets in these rooms, baby) while threatening to burn the whole shebang down with the push of a switch. Because the swithches? Are the old push button ones.

Let's see ... is there anything I missed? Oh yeah, picking the ceiling up off of the floor of the once-toy-room-soon-to-be-art-room and replacing that.

And...

there's something else...

Oh. Yes.

Getting rid of the dead bird. Which I think somehow entered through the used-to-be ceiling but I'm not quite sure of that.


*****

And now for something not so completely different.

*****


So, this past weekend I was showing a home to a young professional, his wife and their lovely children

They were looking at a modest house in a not-so-modest price range (yay for big commissions!). While walking through the house, we talked all about some plans they have going on and some plans they would like to have going on.

They have big plans.

I mean really big plans.

Big bankroll type plans.

We chatted back and forth and, as we were wrapping things up, I happened to glance down at the wife's hand.

Other than the Hope Diamond, this was probably the biggest I've ever seen in my life. And, just talking to the people, you know it's not a fake. The rock on her finger probably cost more than all my goats. And my house. Together. Based on that potential dowry, my daughter better get reeeaaaaal inspired by those cats.

Of course I didn't let on that I was mentally calculating just how many goats equal a bazillion karat diamond. I continued on with our pleasant conversation and avoided looking at the hand again - as if it were the Monkey's Paw.



But still, I couldn't help but think ... What would these people think of me if they knew I had a dead owl in the trunk of my car?

Because I did.


This little treasure was something that I had picked up off the road after showing a house earlier that day. Oddly enough, it wasn't far from the end of my drive-way.

I made a quick stop at home after showing properties to my first client and, as I was pulling out of the drive-way, I noticed a furry little lump on the side of the road. At first I thought it was a grouse but after giving it some thought, decided it wasn't. Curiosity got the better of me and I whipped the car around at the next possible spot.

As I approached the little lump, I pulled off to the side, grateful that there were no cars coming in either direction to witness my checking out the road kill.

I walked up to it and, imagine my surprise when I discovered it was a perfect little owl. It must have gotten bopped on the head by a car or something during the night. It wasn't all mangled and it was frozen.

So, I went back to my car to get a pair of leather gloves I keep for occasions such as this, and retrieved my owl. I took him back to the car, respectfully placed him on a sheet in the trunk, slammed the lid and sped away.

The whole rest of the day, this owl occupied my mind. Like the Tell-tale Owl. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

"Doesn't this home have a lovely view?"

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

"And this is the master suite with full bath..."

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

"The lot size ... GAH! STOP THAT HOOTING ALREADY!!!!!"


Ok, so I didn't actually freak out in front of the clients. Because I am a professional and I don't do things like that.


Anyway, when I made it back home after my long work-a-day, I got a gallon sized freezer bag, put the owl in it, and put it in the freezer. Between the green beans and the pierogies.

I went into the kitchen to deposit my other things and my hubby entered the room.

Me: Guess what?

Hubby: What ... now?

Me: I know what you can get me for Christmas.

Hubby: Oh really? What is that?

Me: Come here.


... walk to freezer ...

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

... open door ...

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot.

... grab bag from freezer ...

Me: "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear open the bag! -- here, here! -- it is the hooting of his hideous owl!"


Actually what I really said was, "I want you to get this taxidermied for me."

Hubby: What is it?

Me: A little owl! Isn't it cute!


So, hopefully by next year, I will have an owl to put on my Christmas tree.





Um ...

I understand that this could very well be the post that cements my weirdness and leads some of you to vow never to read my blog again.

Be that as it may, I have an owl!

Hoot!

This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Sunday! Sunday! Havin' Some Family Funday!

So, again.

No advice-seeking questions.

Well, it's great to know the world is on track because, frankly, I need a break.

So, tonight. FINALLY! We are going to have a fire in the living room fireplace and sit around and eat bowls of ice cream.

We have been trying to do this for forty years and it just seems like something or other always gets in the way.

But not tonight! NO!

So, dear readers, I will leave you with ... um, I will find some kind of music quick. Hold on ...

Ok, here we go. This song pretty much occupies my head ALL. THE. TIME.


I give you The Be Good Tanyas with Scattered Leaves.

Enjoy. You have no other choice.





This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Saturday! Saturyday! Sisterly Smackdownsmatterday!

Hi.

Don't get excited.

I am just throwing a quick post up to get my NaBloPoMo credits.

I will be back later with the actual post but, there is a good chance that it might be past the magic hour since guess who's going to see Ween tonight?

That would be me.

I really thought my husband was going to take one of the brothers but ... well, no.

So, in case I don't make it back in time, rest assured that I will post a picture to avenge my pride so mortally wounded in last week's smackdown. Let's just say the ol' kitchen table wasn't the only bountiful thing at mom's house this Thanksgiving.


MuuuuuAaaaaaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!


In the mean time, enjoy some Ween.








*******UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!*******


Ok, so I'm back.

Ween was a very fun time. I'm glad I got to go.

And! They played Voodoo Lady and The Mollusk!

Woot!


Ok. Back to the business at hand.

I see my sister has pulled out all the stops for the end of the Smackdown.

As will I.

It was so hard to choose this time. What would be a proper culmination of
The Ugly Sister Saturday Smackdown?

Well, a chronology of sorts would seem to fit the bill for this.



So,to start off, since you already have shared in one of my religious sacrements, you may as well get to share in another.




First Communion



Who is that person to the left? I don't know. Not Amy. Definitely not Amy.




And next we have a little photo of us on vacation.






I would probably be about nine in that photo. Similar time period as the photobooth pictures on my sister's blog.




Next we move on to the night of my little league dinner. Look at the sisterly love!




It looks as though I still have the same plastic frame glasses as the last picture. And if they aren't the same as those, perhaps they are the same ones I am wearing in this photo.



My big sister's graduation day.



Oh my. The hair, the hair, the hair.




Had enough yet? No?

Good.


Because I wouldn't want you to miss coming along to the airport when we bid my big sister Au revoir and send her off to Europe.










And that, my friends, is a wrap. But, like my sister said, rather than scaring you away from talking to us anymore, these photos should serve as proof that even the ... oddest ... among us can turn out ok. Yes, there is hope. For you, and you, and, yes, even you.




And here is one last photo to prove it.











Or ... not.



Thank you! Thank you! And thank you sister for a fun little exercise and an easy Saturday topic during this most grueling of months.


This Post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Friday! Friday! I'm Very Full of Pumpkin Pieday!

Good evening. I trust you all had a splendid holdiay.

Me? Oh mine was just fine, thank you. Dinner was deeelish. Then we relaxed and watched a bunch of episodes of this ... I guess new show called "The Big Bang".

If you haven't seen it, it's actually pretty funny. It's the first sit-com I've seen in a long time that had some interesting humor. It mentions things like String Theory and Quantum Mechanics and our friend, Archimedes. The jist is that there are these two extremely intelligent lads - physicists - that share an apartment. The other lead characters are their two equally geeky and intelligent pals and the bomb-shell next door who also happens to be the unrequitd love interest of one of the lead geeks.

In all actuality, it is the first show I've seen in a long time period. Because, you know, the whole not having TV and all that.

But, I really enjoyed this one. I think because it really hits home for me. What with being married into the family that I am and all that.

Here's a for instance. Today I came home from work and I was about to get changed so I could go feed the animals. I heard someone clomping around downstairs and thought it might be hubby home from Black Friday shopping. (True! I sent him out to buy two of the down comfoters that were on sale for super cheap. Alas, no deal. They were all sold out.) I leaned over the upstairs banister and hollered "Haloo..?" The responding "Hello" told me that it was not, in fact, my hubby but one of his many brothers.

So I went downstairs to chat with him a bit and learned that he was having problems with some piping on his well pump and stopped by to see if we might have a piece of 1 1/2" black plastic pipe. Because, you never know. We just might and probably do.

See how easily I explained that to you?





That's not how easily it was explained to me. I got the version with the pressure this and whatever valve that and, I'm sorry, but I'm really not a plumber and understanding all of this but I'm pretty sure I know what black plastic pipe looks like and I might be able to help you even though I don't really understand.

I'd be good at Lowes.

"No, I have no idea what you use it for but it's in aisle 14."

Or...

"I don't know if this is going to solve your problem but it seems to fit the description you gave me."

I'm good at things like that. But, really, my wonderful brother in-law, God love him, talks to me while forgetting that he is not talking to a fellow engineer or one of his brothers. Which is redundant.

On one hand, it's kind of flattering. I am seen as an intellectual equal fully able to comprehend this plumbing-pressure-with-a-leak-twist dilemma. Or whatever other item is the project/problem du jour with the guys in this family.

On the other hand ...

I think they would just talk to anyone like that. Because that's how their minds work. The whole lot of them. They've got those "crazy brains".

Here's another for instance. The whole family - all eight siblings and their assorted spouses and children - got together this summer to take Mother and Father out to dinner for their anniversary. I was coming to the restaurant drectly from work and I arrived just before dinner actually started. As a result of my fashionably (perpetually) late arrival, the only chair available happened to be at the kid table. Which was fine by me because I didn't get to see my nieces and nephew in a while. All through dinner there was quite an animated conversation going on at the adult table. I couldn't really catch what was being discussed but it was being debated enthusiastically.

When dinner was wrapping up and we started to wander back and forth between tables, I worked my way over to the adult table. Upon arriving, I was immediately summoned for my opinion. "A. says that the design of a race car is such that the air flow over the body makes it actually stick to the road..." The ending tone implying What do you make of that nonsense?

To which I replied what any sensible person who made it through high school physics would, "Um...I thought that was gravity."

A round of hearty chuckles at my obviously flip humor.

"No ..." says A. "They would stick to the road even if they were driving upsidedown."

They all look at me again, awaiting my decision of which intellectual camp I would ally my mind with.

"Are we talking Hot Wheels? Because they can go upsidedown in the loop. And they stick to the track. But I don't think it has anything to do with the design of the Hot Wheels per se..."


Silence. And then ...

Another hearty round of chuckles and, hey, more wine!


So, you see, this show speaks to me.



Now, I am supposed to pick a Geek of the Week. And I am happy to report that, again, no one has bothered me much this week. So, I am going to deviate from the usual plan and pick an actual Geek of the Week - with geek being the more traditional definition. And, not only am I going to pick one Geek of the Week, I am going to pick several.

Drum roll please ...


Geek(s) of the Week is/are ...

My hubby and his bros.




Although, I have to admit, I almost bought a t-shirt this week that said "There are 10 types of people in the world: Those who understand binary and those who don't."

AaaaaaaaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!

It kills me every time!



So I guess we're made for each other.



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Thursday! Thursday! Eats Those Roasted Birdsday!

Today is a day that I answer a question from my sister. Let me find one.

Here we go. This is a kind of easy one, which I picked on purpose because I don't have too much time to write and I don't know if I will get back to the computer tonight.

Question: What are all the rock/pop concerts you've seen?


I don't know if I can actually do this chronologically or not, but I'll try.

Here we go.

Soon.

I promise.


...

No, really.


Sigh.

Ok , I guess you can sense that I am stalling. It's true. I am stalling because I hesitate to type the first one.


...


Sigh.


Ok, let's be brave about this.



All (or most) of the Rock/Pop Concerts I Have Seen

1. Night Ranger

Thaaaaat's right. My first concert was Night Ranger.


Alright! Let's stop right here and I will try to explain. I was home sick from school - in 7th grade! - and they had a contest on the radio and I was whatever number caller I needed to be so I won the tickets. It was free and that's all I'm going to say about that.

Moving right along.

2. The Stray Cats
3. The Grateful Dead - several times.
4. Bob Dylan
5. Lou Reed - um, sort of
6. Neil Young
7. David Bowie
8. Sade
9. The Violent Femmes
10. Three really hard core bands in Boston of which I can't remember any names. I think because they probably never really got big. And it was a long time ago.
11. The Ink Spots
12. Bon Jovi with Skid Row opeing

Um. I think I need to do some more explaining. About 3 weeks after my son was born, a friend called and asked if I wanted to go to a concert. I jumped at the chance. I didn't care who it was - obviously - I just needed to go have fun for a night. It was the first time I squoze myself into regular jeans in months.

And it was actually ok.

13. The Monkeys - don't ask
14. The Spice Girls - I am a good mother
15. Brittany Spears - I am a good mother

Actually, again, I have to say that even though these gals aren't the ones I would pick to throw in the ol' cd player, I had fun at the concerts.

16. Patty Griffin
17. The Dead - I took my mom. This is when she learned what pot smells like. Hee.

And then there are the festivals. I can't even think of how many different groups/performers I saw at festivals. When you are camped out at a place for several days that has music going on at 4 different places almost on a 24 hour basis, well, it gets to be a bit much to remember.

But, some of the names are Donna the Buffalo, Jim Lauderdale, Old Crow Medicine Show, Snake Oil Medicine Show, Ricki Lee Jones, Peter Rowan, Jerry Douglas, Dr. Ralph Stanley (and co.), Tony Rice, Jennie Stearns (I heart her), Richie Stearns, Mary Lorsen and Saint Low, The Waifs, The Hix, Occulus, Abigail Washburn, The Hackensaw Boys, Frog Holler, The Horse Flies, The Flying Clouds, The Sim Redmond Band, Paso Fino, Del McCoury, Dry Branch Fire Squad ... um ... I'm running out. There are so many others that I can't remember. Forgive me other bands, I can't help it.

There might be a few other "big names" as well, but... oh well.


So there it is. My musical experience.


Now.

For a little bit of a holiday thing.


I just want to jot down a some things I am thankful for. By all means, this list is not all inclusive. Just a few things ...

My husband and children. There is nothing I can put into words that can even begin to cover it. I love you all.

My family. Immediate and extended, including my in-laws. I come from good people and married into good people. They are the collective bomb.

My friends. I have to say that, when it comes to friends, I must have stepped in a whole lot of poop because I am the luckiest dawg. Friends, you all rock!

My relatively good health.

My farm. Love, hate, love, hate, love!

Our animals. They keep me steady.

My co-workers. Even though we are an eclectic bunch, it works. Like a disfunctional family.

Garlic.

... and last but not least ...

Music.

You all know how I am with that. Why just today, as I was starting to make a squash casserole, a song came on that just stopped me in my tracks. I had to put everything down and just sit an listen to it.

This might be a possible reason why I don't always get things done quickly.

I have a problem.

Hi, my name is Anne. I like music. A lot.



Ok, I have to actually get back to the squash as I think it is done cooking and ready for the next phase of the recipe.

Let's casseroll!


Oh, and one more person I saw.

I'll leave you with this.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!




This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Wednesday! Wednesday! Give An Award To My Friendsday!

So!

As you all know, Wednesday is award day here at Almost Quintessence and Halushki.

I would like to start off today's ceremony by giving the Most Righteous Woman This Side of the Vulcan Award to my friend Kathy.

This past Sunday I received a call from her while I was grocery shopping at Giant in Hazleton. She was on her way to get some spring water ...

Um. Ok, I think I might have to explain something.

Here in the coal region you will often find people pulled over on the side of the road filling up plastic jugs with water flowing from natural springs. They are all over the place. Two of the more popular springs I know of are in impossible spots on the road - the one being along the stretch of RT 61 between Frackville and Saint Clair (also known as the Schuylkill County Autobahn where you are taking your life in your hands by stopping along the side to fill jugs), and the second on a hairpin turn along RT 339 coming down the mountain into Brandonville (also probably not the best place to sort of pull your car off the road to fill jugs). These springs are almost always flowing unless there is a super severe drought. People who live "in town" and people who live in areas where there are known septic issues and, consequently, known well issues are the ones who frequent theses spots.

I grew up on the RT 61 spring water, thankyouverymuch.

Back to our shceduled post.

... and she called me to a.) tell me she had a big roll of plastic in her car that she was going to drop off at my house, and b.) it is snowing a whole lot and the roads are getting bad and you might want to get your crazy self home from Hazleton.

Kathy lives in a big old school house with big old windows so she has a unique appreciation for the value of large rolls of plastic. She is my kind of woman. She knows what turns me on.

I think I might have mentioned before my total failure at girlyness. I really stink at it. Really. Here's a not-so-ironic factoid for you. When I was in 6th grade, I was in a sort of regional spelling bee. I came in second place. The word that tripped me up? Femenine. I mean, feminine.

So, if you tell me you have a big roll of plastic, you are my hero. If you tell me you have a multi fuel outdoor furnace and all the piping and heat exchangers to make an old farm house feel as toasty as a mother's womb, I am yours. If you tell me you have an F350 Dually 4x4 diesel dump truck with a plow, ... well ... this is a family blog so I'll just have to stop here.

By the way, if you do have the F350 Dually 4x4 diesel dump truck with plow, look me up on AOL - my screen name is HotLuv2onRearDumpxxxx. I'd loooooove to get to know you(r truck).

Ahem.

I can't wait to see the search hits after this post.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah.

So, when I came home, sure enough there was a nice big roll of plastic in front of my garage, and I have been busying myself with it ever since. Although, I am now wondering if, rather than making all these plastic window inserts, it might just be easier to wrap myself in the plastic. I admit it sounds a bit selfish, leaving my hubby and children kind of literally out in the cold. But! Desperate times and all that rot.

In conclusion, for seeing a need and filling that need with plastic, I award my friend Kathy with this most prestigious award. I don't even know if she reads this blog so Kenny, Amy, if you see her before I get to talk to her, give her the good news.

And now for my second award.

The Most Helpful at the Home Improvement Store award goes to Pete at Lowe's.

This past week I had to get yet another roll of fence for the evil ... I mean, my charming 4 legged, two horned spawns of Sat... I mean, ... the goats. I went to Lowes and bought the last roll of 4 foot woven wire fence because, why not? We bought pretty much every other roll they stocked this year. So, that and 10 (more) steel posts. All of this amounted to Very Heavy.

I had the load on one of those kooky carts they have where the middle wheels are on the ground but you can only have the wheels from either one end or the other on the ground at a time. So you can never just roll it. You kind of have to rock-and-roll it. I guess it's for leverage (Remember, Archimedes is your friend!) or something. ROCK AND ROLL! AT LOWES! YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAH!

So, I paid for the stuff (first at the store in cash, later with my soul and sanity) and wheel-bump-wheel-bumpity-bumped it out into the parking lot. I had our Subaru station wagon which we pretty much use to transport everything but coal, and that's probably not too far off as well. (Hi! Dump truck!) I was wheel-bump-wheel-bumpity-bumping the cart through the lot and, as I came up to my car, I noticed one of the Lowe's people gathering carts from one of the parking lot depots. I glanced at him and, even though I believe in my heart he tried not to make eye contact, it was too late. He looked at me and saw me. And I saw him see me. And he saw me see him see me. It was a veritable see saw. The tension mounted.

But. Being the independent woman I am, I looked away and thought "Meh, I can load this into the car. I've done it before."

So I wheel-bump-wheel-bumpity-bumped the cart next to my car and opened the back hatch. As I was clearing a space for my purchase, I caught site of the Lowes dude in my peripheral vision. Approaching. Me.

I pretended not to notice.

I clambered out of the car and there he was. Pete.

"Um. Do you want some help with this?" he politely asked.

"YES! YES! Oh, God, YES!" I might have also grabbed him by his red vest lapels and shaken him until his teeth rattled, I can't quite remember.

After we had everything loaded into the car, I turned to him and with all sincerity said, "Pete, today you are my hero."

And he said, "Well, at least I get to be somebody's hero..."


And we lived happily ever after. At least, I'm hoping for the best for Pete.

So, Pete, if you're out there reading this, YOU ROCK! AT LOWES! YEEEEEAAAAAAHAAAAHHHAAAAAHHHHAAAAAA! GUITAR!


This post was brought you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Tuesday! Tuesday! I Have A Bunch Of Wet Shoesday!

The wet shoes referenced in the title would be from trying to do a whole bunch of outside chores today while the drizzle melted the snow from Sunday/Monday.

This is a challenging time of year on the farm. These are the Mud Days. Everything is just ... mud. The hardest part about this time of year is that it is so diffucult to keep the animals comfortable. Everything is just soaked.

I made an attempt to build up the bedding in the horses' stall with some woodchips. The problem is that the pile of woodchips isn't exactly right near the stall. And with the ground being as muddy as it was, it was impossible to move a wheelbarrow through it.

Here's a little math problem - with two parts.

a) How many Tidy Cat buckets of woodchips does it take to make a 4 inch deep bed in a 12 x 15 horse stall where x = the melting rate of 10 inches of snow and y = the precipitation rate of rain?
b) How many bottles of wine will it take to get the job done?


The answer to both a and b is: a lot. I was going to email this little math problem off to my daughter's calculus teacher but ... I'm not sure what he would think.

So anyway, wet shoes.

Aside from dealing with the wetness, today was a pretty productive day. I was home all day and I managed to get some little projects done - installing a dog door for the beagles, putting plastic over a screen door, fixing a screen and getting it ready for plasic, cutting son's hair.

That's it?

Well, it felt more productive. The thing with the plastic is this - we have a lot of windows. When I say a lot I mean A. Lot. Like if I told you, you wouldn't even believe me.

80.

It's 80 windows.

I crap you not.

Remember that picture of the house from the snow day? That particular room alone has 26. Fortunately, that's more of a 3 season type room that we don't heat so I'm not too worried about that. But, that still leaves a whole boat load of windows. Some have aluminum storm windows with screens and that is all well and good.

But some don't

Some have the old wood storm windows and some just have the old wood frames with screen. The latter group is the one I am currently trying to address with the plastic. I have no idea how many there are. I just kind of take it one window at a time. A friend of mine who is also living in a big ol' drafty house gave me a huge roll of plastic. It's awesome! I can't express just how wonderful it is.

So, plastic on windows. Yay for heat retention!


But back to the business at hand which would be "The Ugly Sisters Remember When".

We didn't really plan a specific topic for today but I thoght what with this being Thanksgiving week and all, maybe something along those lines would be good.

So ... Thanksgiving.

When I was growing up, my parents were pretty much always the ones to host Thanksgiving. My dad's dad was there - because he lived with us - and usually my mom's parents and sometimes aunts, uncles and cousins.

When there were a lot of people there, we were one of those families that had a kid table and a grown-up table. The kid table was the round oak table in our kitchen and the adults got to eat in the actual dining room. It was always kind of fun sitting at the kid table. We were always silly and laughing and, once in a while, boisterous enough to get a warning from one of the adults.

I can still picture my mom making dinner. She always wore one of those full aprons while she bustled around the kitchen. Turkey, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, butter beans, salad, cranberry sauce, gravy, kielbasy (smoked and fresh!), string beans, stuffing (oh heart's delight!) and several types of pies.

My dad was always in charge of the mashed potatoes. I'm not sure how he ever came to be the Potato Engineer but, once they were ready, it was his job to mash them. Which he did with a hand masher and his tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of his mouth. When they reached fluffy perfection, he would pile them in a serving bowl and then embellish the heap with pats of butter.

My dad's other job was to carve the turkey - a job he took very seriously. He would come to the table with the big carving knife and one of those knife sharpeners that looked like a sword. He would take his place at the head of the table and start the Thanksgiving pageantry, criss-crossing the knife over the sharpener, elaborate arm swooping motions, until it was just right. Whatever that was. Who knew? Then he would poke the two prong fork into the turkey and begin to carve while we all waited anxiously. When he was done, we would all pile our plates, say grace and dig in.

After dinner, the adults would clean up and retire to the living room for beers, wine, sometimes a shot of something, and coffee for the ladies. Except my grandmother - she would have a beer or shot. Or both. Rest her soul.

The kids would go outside and play. Probably tag or some make believe game. In a little while we would come back in and have dessert.

I know there are people out there that dread holiday get-togethers - something I can't even imagine. My holiday memories are nothing but wonderful and happy. I don't remember anyone ever fighting or arguing - just a lot of eating, talking and laughing. As the years went on, the number or guests dwindled until it was just my parents, grandmother my and my sister's families.

And now it is just my mom.

Who very graciously agreed to cook the 24 pound turkey I got from Giant.

Because, hey, free turkey! Plus her house is warmer.

So this year, my hubby, kids and I will have Thanksgiving dinner with my mom. And so it goes.


I don't really think about Thanksgiving Past very often so I'm glad I wrote this post. It gave me a chance to look back, almost like I was standing outside and looking in the dining room windows of my parents' house. I see a room full of people, sitting around a bountiful table, enjoying each other's company. I can hear the animated conversations and laugher. As I step back into the evening, the lights glow warmly and I can still catch the sound of an extra hearty laugh.

I step a little further back still and, even though I can no longer hear the people inside, the cheerful lights spill into the yard.

Snow flurries start to fall and I start to float up into the sky. Down below I can see the houses of our neighbors, where they are also sitting down to their holdiay meals.

Floating a higher still I can see over my whole home town and the twinkling lights of all the little houses. A beautiful peace alights on the earth, and I think to myself...



"Holy Crap! I'm flying!"



This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Monday! Monday! Pretty Much Like Sunday!

So, Monday. That random, crazy Monday day.

I have nothing.

No. Thing.

I am spent. Written out.

Drained.

And it's late.



I had to go to work today. And, what? Nothing. The internet was out.

Did you know it is impossible to conduct real estate business now a days without the internet?

It is.

Or ... mostly is.

Today work day consisted of sending two faxes.

That's it.

I couldn't even check email. Of course. Because that would be one of those internet necessary things.


So.

I am going to bed now.

Sorry about the nothingness of this post.

I'll do better tomorrow.



This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Sunday! Sunday! No One Sent Us A Questionday!

Thaaaat's right.

Here we are, ready, willing and able to doll out good, sound advice and what?
No one can be bothered to ask.

Not a one.

Well, fine.

You know what that means, don't you? Now I get to ramble.

Iiiiiiii'm a ramblin'. Ramble, amble, amble, amble, abmlin'.

Ok, so after my sister's post yesterday I bet you thought I'd never come back to the internet. Well, here I am. Because, well, I don't know ... I guess because I just don't learn.

So anyway...

Guess what happened to me today! Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words so I'll just go ahead and babble for a little bit...





That's my eye.

Or ... what could have been what's left of my eye.

Yes, another tragic farming accident. Farming is ranked in the top 10 for Most Dangerous Jobs, don'cha know. And well deserved is that place.

You know, just this morning, I was getting ready to go out and start feeding the animals and I happened to glance down at my leg while I was putting my pants on. Black and blue. Everywhere. I had no less than 8 black an blue marks on one half of one leg. Eight! Where do they come from? Darned if I know. It would seem that I am always battering myself about.

A little while ago, hubby suggested in a very concerned voice that I might want to get all this black and bluedness checked out by a doctor. I think he was worried about what people might think when, say, I am walking about in a short sleeved top and look like I was just beaten in a back alley. So, when I had my regular tune up with the doctor, I had him check into it. As it turns out, I have Chronic Clumsy. I just happen to be one of those people that ... bruise. Like a fine, ripe apple I am.

So anyway, I was feeding the animals this morning and I had to lean way in under the roof part of the one feeder to put the grain in for this certain pack of evil goats. I leaned down and started to pour the grain into the trough and they all started swarming like they usually do.

Let me tell you, piranhas have nothing on goats when it comes to feeding frenzies.

Well, the long and short of it is that one of the goats stuck me in the eyeball with the tip of her horn.

In my eye.

A goat horn.

In my eye.



"OW!" said I. Because it hurt like a mother.


So now I am going to be forced to get some crazy make up to match my other eye to this one and spike my hair for work tomorrow because I am the warrior. Shootin' at the walls of heartache.

Bang. Bang.

I can't believe I got gored in the eye.

You know, with getting my eye almost taken out, slogging around doing farmwork, freezing my patootie off every winter, one might ask "Crazy Woman, why do you do this?"

Because, really, some days it is just a big ol' pain in the butt. As well as a pain in many other places.

Like today it happens to be a pain in the eye.

But, whatever the case, I could most indeedily lead a much easier life than this. So why, then, don't I?


I am going to blame Robert Frost.

Robert Frost is probably my most favorite poet. (Ok, him and Billy Collins.) I would guess that among some literary circles, saying Robert Frost is your favorite poet would be akin to saying McDonald's is your favorite restaurant. I mean, he's the guy that shows up in the fourth grade reader, introducing the masses to Poetry. He is like the grilled cheese sandwich of poetry - unassuming, comforting and familiar. Everyone knows Robert Frost.


But I love Robert Frost.

I love his talk of apples and stone walls and snow and bowed birches and cords of maple and yellow woods. I love all the beautiful, sad and nostalgic things they are.

And I have since the fourth grade. Since "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening".

And this is why I lug bales of hay ...




... and carry water buckets ...




... and shovel poop ...




... and wear three layers of clothes inside ...




... and shear goats ...





... and put up miles and miles of fence ...




... and black and blue myself ...




... and all the other stuff that seems so hard some days.


So I can go outside on a day like today and stop by my snowy woods.






For all the difficulty, challenge, sacrifices and everything else ... in the end it's worth it.


So, a day that started out with my eyeball almost getting run through on a goat horn turned out not so bad after all.


Dust of Snow
by: Robert Frost

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.






This post was brought you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Saturday! Saturday! Wore My Scooby-doo Hatterday!

So.

Here it is once again.

The Saturday Sisterly Smackdown!

For today's photo, I reached waaaaaaay back into the Ugly Sisters' past. Waaaay back to a special holiday. Waaaaay back to the time of polyester blazers.


I bring you...


Easter.


1984.






Dig those photogray glasses.

Yeah.


By the way, it was about 2 degrees. Typical Pennsylvania Easter.




This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Friday! Friday! I Could Just Pluck Out My Eyeday!

Ok, this is going to be very short.

Geek of the Week?

It's a tie between...

My Computer!

Because it keeps freezing up and I can't get anything done.

And...

My Head!

Because it won't stop hurting.

Computer and Head? You both suck.

I am going to quick post this now while I still can.



This post was brought to you by NaBloPoMo and Perrier.

Thursday! Thursday! My Sister Got Her Post Up Firstday!

I'm running out of rhymey titles. It's hard to begin with but when you have to come up with something new every week, well...

So, anyway, I am going to quick post this bit here so I can technically have a post up but I am going to then actually finish the post and repost it so I will post what I am suppost (hee) to be posting.

That's more posts than a dressage event.

*************

I'm back.

Ok, so as you all know by now, Thursday is where I answer a question from my sister and vice versa.

Let's see what we've got in the line of sisterly questions...

Question: If you were queen for a day, what three laws would you enact (worldwide or local).

Oh, how often have I lolled away the hours dreaming up the answer to this question. I'm talking answers that are years in the making here. And yet, this is going to be hard. Mainly because my Queenly Precepts are pages long and it's going to be hard to pick just three.

Not that I have it actually written out.

Because I wouldn't really do that.

Really.


...


Anyway...


Queenly Precept #1: NO LITTERING! DAMMIT!

And I mean it, too. I HATE HATE HATE litter. Every spring (except for this year, unfortunately) I spend a whole day walking along the road that runs through our property picking up litter. It is so disgusting. I mean come. On. People. The world is not your garbage can. Not your ashtray. Not your compost pile. Not your whatever else people put garbage in.

The other day I heard a bit on public radio about trash and the terrible awful amounts of it that we conspicuously consuming Americans churn out in a day. And, living in the state that is the number one importer of trash (how's that for a claim to fame?) I take umbrage to the carelessness of the natives who have to treat the whole damn place like a landfill.

Umbrage. I don't think I have actually used that word since vocabulary class in school. I don't even know from where I pulled it. Umbrage. It's a good word ... I think I'll keep it.

One of the items mentioned in the broadcast was a challenge someone made to carry around with your bad self all the trash you personally produced in a week. Instead of pitching it in a garbage can, you had to put it in a bag and carry it with you. I think you were allowed to recycle but you had to make the effort to do it at the moment you were done with the item. You couldn't, say, put a glass bottle in your bag and then later, when you "remembered", throw it in a recycling bin. No, if you would originally put it in the garabage, you had to carry it with you for the week.

I think this is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. So, that would be a sub-law of the NO LITTERING! DAMMIT! Law. Everyone would have to carry their trash for that day.

The very day after hearing the NPR story, I was at work listening to two of my co-workers lamenting the fact that the office was out of plastic cups again for the water cooler. "I just brought in two packs of 50 cups!" says one. "I don't know how we go through them so fast!" says the other.

People, we don't have a lot of folks working at my office. There is no reason we should be going through plastic cups so fast. As a matter of fact, we shouldn't be going through any plastic cups because we have regular cups. And a kitchen. With a sink. Where they can be washed.

So, I listened to these two ladies go back and forth about the rapid use of the disposable plastic cups, while my inner Jiminy Cricket with the voice of an NPR correspondant whispered in my ear about "all that garbage", and it was all I could do not to scream at them to "Just use the damn cups in the kitchen and wash them!!!!"

Because they just don't get it. They don't even want to get it. Because getting it would involve effort. And, when it comes to office relations, you have to be discriminating about which hill you want to run around and rave like a lunatic on while the enemy rolls their eyes and whispers under their breath "Oh, brother. Here she goes again."


If any of you are experienced at deep sea fishing now would be a good time to try to start reeling me in. Because I will take this topic and break the surface like a glimmering Blue Marlin, dive back under, surface again another 150 feet out, flip flop like a cesium atom and break the line.

Stop. Now. Ok.

So, garbage = bad.

Let it go.


Ok, I just had to scroll back up to see what question I was trying to answer.


Queenly Precept #2: EVERYONE MUST COMPLETE 5 RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS BY THE END OF THE DAY

And it can't be carrying someone else's garbage for them.

And it can't be for someone you know.

Like, if a stranger wanted to come insulate my house, that would be awesome.

Although, they don't have to be such grand acts. You know, like a stranger suddenly coming up to me and giving me flowers. That's Impulse.

Do you remember those commercials? Now it would be "That's Creepy" or "That's a Good Reason to Run Away Fast". As for me, I'd be glad to get the flowers even if they did come from a crazy impulsive stranger. Because I'm not proud.

As long as he was hot.

Ahem.


What's the question again?


Oh. Right.


Queenly Precept #3: NO TELEVISION, TELEPHONE, RADIO OR COMPUTER

Although I have to make the exception for computers that run things. You know, like power plants and hospital stuff.

So here's my thinking on this. One day isn't going to kill anyone. Maybe we could take the time and play a game or visit a neighbor or walk the dog or write a letter or paint a picture. Maybe we could all hold hands and dance in a circle and sing a song about what a good queen I was for the day.

Maybe we would just notice each other and the world around us a little bit more.


Is it any wonder people think I'm a freak?

No, it is not.




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And the Envelope Please...

So, it's Best of Wednesday.

Time to recognize those people that make my life on this planet a little easier. Something you could all shoot for.

I have to make this post a quickie today because I have a LOT of homey type stuff that I desperately need to catch up on. Like laundry, grocery shopping, paying bills. (If you don't see a post here tomorrow it might be a good indication that I didn't get around to paying the internet people.)

So, without further ado...

Best Movie Reiviews goes to... drum roll please ...

my Brudder-In-Law's Blog. I know, my sister just gave him this award last week. But! He really deserves it.

An example of my movie review would be like this:

Two nights ago I watched Live Free or Die. Last night I watched Cash Back. I liked Cash Back better because the lead character's voice was more soothing than the lead in Live Free or Die. So much so, that I was able to fall fast asleep within the first 15 minutes whereas it took at least 30 minutes with LFoD. Also, Cash Back was funnier because my hubby's laughing woke me up more often.

See? Not quite as good or technically involved. So, Best Movie Reviews goes to him.

Now for another award.

Best Thing of Chocolatey Goodness goes to the Club Sandwich by Costa Foods. It is ooooohhhhhhh so delicious. I could probably eat a whole box in one day. Ok, I just checked - 24 in a box - I could definitely do that. I don't know if you can get these outside the coal region other than internet ordering. But it is sooooooo worth it. Treat yourself to a box for Christmas. Let me know how it goes.

One more award.

Best Wife Award goes to me.

Really?! Little ol' moi? Oh! I'm so surprized! No, really ... oh my Gosh!

- Wipes tear away while accepting bouquet of roses and crown. -

Oh! I always wanted this award! Thank you! Thank you!



So, how did I manage this you might ask? By getting my dear hubby two tickets for the Ween concert in Phila. this Nov. 20somethingIforget. He doesn't know it yet. Let's see how long it takes him to read my blog and find out.



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A Little Tuesday Trip Down Memory Lane

First, I must apologize for the crybaby post yesterday.

It's probably a good thing that Blogger self-edited my post to about one third the original size because the rest of it was just a big whiny rant. The kind I would have re-read today and thought "Oh, just shut up already."

So, anyway, I think my sister caught the not so subtle hint that I was dangling on the rocky cliffs of despair because she sent me a very nice email assuring me that the rescue chopper was on the way and here's a topic that shouldn't require a whole lot of effort.

See how she is all cool like that? That's what I'm talkin' about.

But, today is a newish day and I'm in a little bit of a better mental place, so I am going to attack this post with some gutso! And even gusto!

Question: What was the name of your favorite doll?


Anne.

I didn't have a whole lot of dolls as a little girl but I do remember this one doll that one of my dad's friends gave to me at Christmas when I was about 6 or 7. She was about 10 inches or so and she had blonde hair in a kind of boy-ish cut. She actually looked like me. So I named her Anne. She had a white dress with little flowers on it and she really kind of looked out of her element in it. She always seemed like she would be more comfortable in corduroys and a sweat shirt. Like me.

I always felt a little bit bad for her because, here she was ... a doll ... and she wasn't at all like the other dolls, all frilly and pretty. She was very plain. And I think that's why I liked her so much.

I didn't carry her all around like some girls do with dolls. I took her some places with me but, for the most part, she was a pretty independent doll. We had an understanding, Anne and I. We were content to just let each other be.

I'm pretty sure she's still around somewhere.

Question: Is there a Christmas present, Hanukkah present, or a birthday present that sticks out in your mind? Who gave it to you? Was it a surprise, or something you'd been wanting and wanting?

As a child, one of the things that I wanted most of all, and persistently badgered Santa about, was a burro.

Yes, a burro.

Not a burrito.

A burro.

Like one of these...





In the days leading up to Christmas I would sometimes visit Santa at the mall. I would sit upon his lap and gaze into his face with my suppliant eyes and make my plea: "I would like a burro."

Santa never quite knew what to say.

Poor Santa.

My poor parents.

How many years they were persecuted for their unfortunate decision to live in town! "You can't keep a burro in town!" And they would get it on the other side from my sister - "You can't keep a horse in town!" "We hate living in town!" The horror we poor children had to suffer! Living in toooooowwwwwnnn!

Again, my poor parents.

So, one Christmas Santa mangaged to find - and I still to this day can't imagine where he found it - a stuffed burro.

This burro - Grizzy - went to Christmas Mass that morning. And pretty much everywhere else I went. For years. In fact, Grizzy moved with me to my first house and, again to the house I live in now.

Although, I have outgrown the habit of carrying him around. I don't take him to work.


Most days.



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Monday - The Most Randomest Day...of the Week!

So, here it is...8:28 Monday evening.

It's cold and raining in my little neck of the woods.

It feels cold and rainy. It would have been a nice day to stay home and bake stuff. I like to bake on these kinds of days. These days are best spent with good music in floating through air warm and heavy with baking things.

But, I didn't spend the day like that. I had to go to work. Sometimes - most times - my job really interferes with my life.

*************

I have to get myself to Giant and pick up my free turkey. Just what I'm going to do with that turkey I don't know. Stick it in the freezer I suppose. I guess this year I should be thankful for freezer space. I always have visions of a nice dinner at home with my family but it just never works out.

*************

I just tried to post quite a longer post but, for some reason,the last 2/3 of it wasn't saved and so, now I have lost the ... whatever it is that makes me want to do this.

Besides, winter is coming and I have a lot to do.


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Sunday! Sunday! Sisterly Advice So Fun Day!

Wecome, dear readers!

I trust you all had a grand laugh at the Ugly Sister Smackdown yesterday? The material is just too rich! No chocolate sauce needed.

Anyway, back to the business at hand which is guiding the misdirectable. Or misdirecting the gullible.

Let's see what we have today...

Should you ever Google search people you used to know after getting a mild anxiety attack after writing a blog post? And if you do, and feel slowly but surely a big L popping out on your forehead when you find them, what should you do? Moreover, if your own sister is funny and even started a blog but keeps forgetting to write in it, what do you do? start your own Wyrd Sisters competition?

Dear Wyrd Sister,

Ah...the old Post Traumatic Google Search Post Mild Anxiety Attack Post Blog Post Syndrom, more commonly known as PTGSPMAAPBP. It is referred to as the "Syndrom that is sweeping the nation" in the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine and, luckily for you, the article was written by yours truly. So, you have indeed, come to the right place.

We are going to have to approach this like learning to dance to Cajun music and take it one step at a time. Although, unlike Cajun dancing, there are more than just two steps.

Let's first look at the post blogging anxiety attack. I've never had an anxiety attack so I'm going to have to be a bit imaginative here. I am going to assume for the sake of Pete that the anxiety attack was somehow related to the blog post in question. Perhaps you were posting some supersecret information...like...um...your...your, um...your 14 year old fantasy about Scott Baio, with all the cheesey parts. ACK! Enough to give anyone a panic attack! Here are some questions to keep in mind before clicking on that shiny orange "Publish Post" button.

1 - Will this post possibly cause irreparable damage to my reputation/marriage/family/career/brain/etc.?

2 - Will this post cause irreparable damage to someone else's reputation/marriage/family/careet/brain/etc.?

3 - How much money do I stand to make if I do/don't publish this?

4 - On a scale of 1 - 10, how entertaining would the average Joe find this post?

5 - Am I using my blog as a confessional? If so, did I make sure to include all the bad parts?

6 - What would my mom think if she read this post?

7 - More importantly, what would the Ugly Sisters' mom think if she read this post?


Once you have looked deep inside yourself and answered those questions - with a heartfelt and honest answer - once you can say "Oh my God, yes!" or "It can never be!", once you are sure - Sure! - of each and every potential outcome of this post, once you have slowly and deliberately analyzed the crap out of it... yell "Bombs away!" and click on the orange button. Because if your gonna write it, you may as well put it out there damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead. Then drink a big bottle of wine to calm your nerves.

Now, about the Googling part. You should always Google people you used to know right after you have blogged something potentially volatile and drinking a bottle of wine. Always.

The best first place to start is with old boy friends, but first, get another bottle or three of wine to sip on. As you slowly but surely feel the capital L creeping out on your forehead, drink some wine. Nothing dulls an L like a lot of wine.

Then look for guys that you wanted to be your boyfriend. After that you can move on to those people that were always so awesome and popular and you envied so much. Google them. Then Google the guys that you would probably still consider having as a boyfriend if you weren't all growed up and married.

After about the third bottle of wine, you will be ready for step three: try to find phone numbers or email addresses of these people. And when you do? Give them a call! Send them and email! They would probably LOVE to hear from you!

I do this All. The. Time. And I can't tell you how surprized people are to hear from me! They are always like "Who?" and "Why are you calling me?"

Oh, it's boat loads of fun.

The next morning when the wine fog starts to lift and the memories of the previous night come Cajun dancing back into your brain, the anxiety causing blog post will suddenly seem not all that big a deal anymore.


Now, about your sister, by all means use whatever tactics you have at your disposal to get her writing. Maybe you might want to pick themed topics ala the Ugly Sisters' example. Maybe work her into it slowly, say, picking a theme for a week - one post a week. That doesn't seem like too much.

If that doesn't work, guilt and embarrassment are mighty tools as well.

And that, folks, is a wrap.

Good luck, and good luck. Now go get 'em!


Love,

Ugly Sister 2



NEXT!




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Saturday Smackdown!

Mm.

This probably isn't the best effort.

I had every intention of finding a REALLY GOOD PHOTO at my mom's house this week but, with being practially dying and everything...

Well, anyway...


this photo is brought to you from the Longwood Gardens Christmas Extraveganza! About 1997 or so.










Next week I vow to do better!!!!




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Friday! Friday! Geek of the Week Day!

Ain't it just a pickle when you are supposed to pick someone to give a verbal spanking to and you can't come up with anyone?

That's a good thing, yes?

I mean, ok there are all the monsters in the national news and all but I have to admit that I haven't been keeping tabs on them this week. I honestly have to say...I wasn't paying attention.

Not much.

Not enough, anyway.

No one is sticking out.

So, for lack of an obvious choice, I will have to go with the default Geek of the Week...

George W. Bush.

No, I'm kidding. I don't want to pick him just because he's easy fodder.


This is terrible. But good. You know, this means that nobody has managed to ruffle my feathers.

Although, now that I just typed that, I have decided that I will pick for this week's geek, Killer - our terrible, rotten rooster.

Because he chases me daily to and from my car. And he's a sneaky bastard, too. He won't actually start to chase me until I am pretty far on my way down the sidewalk -having already nervously glanced over my shoulder several times, thus falling into the false sense of security that he is somewhere else. When, in fact, he is hiding behind a bush or a plastic pumpkin or something, biding his time until the perfect moment to strike.

Usually, if I hear him in time, I can turn around and stop him in his tracks by staring him down and continuously yelling "Knock it off!" or "Not today!" And then he'll stop...until I start walking again and then he'll begin the chase again. Until I stop. And yell at him.

The other day, however, I was in too much of a hurry to play his little game and I just jogged right to my car without stopping...or even looking. I got in the driver's side and, shortly after I closed the door, I heard a "Womp!" on the side of the car. He ATTACKED MY CAR. A CAR. This rooster weighs all of about 6 pounds and he attacked a freaking Toyota Camry.

He is so notorious that my mother carries a stick in her car to beat him off when she comes to visit. Nothing says "Idyllic farm" like a psychotic rooster.

Maybe it's just a desperate cry for attention.

Well, he got it. He's Geek of the Week.






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Thursday! Thursday! Question From My Sistersday!

Hello, dear readers.

Welcome back.

Have a sit down.

Have a cupa.

Have some Airborne.


Things are gonna be ooooooookay.



So, how was your day? Mine? Oh, it was alright. It's the first day I've felt human since The Illness set in. I actually made it to work today - which is niether cause for celebration or mourning but, at the same time, both. You know how it is.

And how it is right now is a bit strange. I am sitting here at my computer desk, my fingers tap-tap-tapping away like so many little Jack Frostcicles, and I look as though I am about to give birth to a 12 pound gray cat. Because our 12 pound gray cat? Has climbed INTO my shirt. From the bottom. So he's on my lap, in my shirt.

And quite warm, too. So I'll let him stay. For now.


Back on task!


So, if you all remember, Thursday is when I get to answer a question(s) from my sister. Since I didn't really even make a dent in the list she sent last week, I am going to steal another one from there. Here we go...


Question: If you could tell your 13 year-old self anything, what would it be?

Wow. What a question. Most of you know me long enough to also know the 13 year old me but, for those of you who don't, Welcome to the Dollhouse might be a good jumping off point.

Let's see what magic we can work with this...


Dear 13 Year Old Me,

I know it must be strange getting a letter from yourself from the future. I just want you to know up front that I am going to do my best not to make any big revelations about our life because I don't want to take the excitement out of it for you. Us. I mainly want to point out a few things that might be nice to know along the way.

Regarding your sister. Hang in there for a little while longer. In a short while you won't have the challenge of cohabitation to deal with and a whole new sisterly world is going to open up to you. Your relationship will be ramped up to a new level, better than ever before. Most of what you argue about is petty nonsense. You are on the brink of forming deep, strong bonds - the beginnings of which you experienced when chasing down Brian K. from Spencer St. and giving him the Double-Crosby Whallop for having the lack of sense for messing with one of the sisters.
Make the most of the last days you will all be together under one roof as The Crosby family because, once your sister leaves for college, those days are gone forever.

Your mom and dad are two of the finest people you will ever have the privilege of knowing. You will never know all the sacrifices they made for you but one day you will begin to understand. Be patient with them, because as much as you don't want to believe it, they aren't always right. They are always guided by love but they are only human. Take time to learn about the people they are, the people they were, the people they want to be. Take time, take time.
You are about to run headlong into Life and they are scared and excited for you - probably mostly scared. They want you to be happy and safe and won't realize that sometimes the two are, in fact, mutually exclusive. Don't misinterpret their fear.

Talk to them. Tell them you love them - they really want to hear it.

Ditto all of that for your extended family as well. These "crazy old folks" are going to be a lot more interesting as you get older so try to spend some time and pay attention to what they have to say. This is your heritage. All of that wacky screwball power has been honed and funnelled into the person that is you. Learn about it and use it wisely.

You are pretty smart about your friends. Trust your judgement - it will rarely mislead you. But try to pay more attention to the ones cast off by society - even by you. You never know if a kind word or a smile will make a difference in someone's life. The world can be a cruel and ugly place - don't contribute to that. A lot of times, people are just looking for someone to listen. Look for them - you never know if you are the last person they will reach out to. It doesn't hurt to be kind. Take time, take time.

The things that seem important to you now will be small potatoes in the future and that will hold true for every single stage of your life. But you are smart and resourceful and you will manage.

You have an exciting and wonderful life in store. You will be terrified, thrilled, elated, miserable, stressed, depressed, anxious, exhausted, challenged, victorious, defeated, and so many other things, over and over again. But that is what life is all about! Enjoy every bit of it!

You will be surrounded by people who love you and you, in turn, will love them more than you ever thought possible.

The most important thing to remember is that you are the master of your own life. Your success lies in your hands. There is nothing to stop you from achieving whatever it is that you want - you just have to decide what that is.

There will come a day when you don't have to wear plastic frame glasses.

And just because we share a twisted sense of humor, one of the following things will come to pass by the time you are 37:
- You will have a job in a foreign country.
- You will win the lottery in a big way.
- You will have a farm.
- You will hold a relatively high political office.

Good luck figuring that one out. Pretty exciting, whatever the case.

Finally, I just want to tell you that are a good kid. A little kooky but that's ok. Everyone is a little kooky in their own way. Stick by what you believe. I like who you are and, even though there's always room for improvement, I think you'll be pretty happy with who we become.

I'll let you know if I hear from the 61 year old us.

Love,
The Older You



That was a bit harder than I expected. It was hard not to put spoilers in the letter. Like, at 13, being the...less...ok, fine... least experienced when it came to boys, it would probably be nice to hear that in the future it all pans out and we get to be married to a wonderful, wacky, loving, crazy, HOTTIE! and we are absolutely mad about each other. Because it would make the next 4 year so much more bearable. But, alas! What fun would that be?

So, there you have it. Yet another post.



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Day Six - One day late; Day Seven - Back on Schedule

I AM A FAILURE!

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!



Ok. I'm over it.


I totally missed yesterday. Totally. The last time I made it out of bed was around 11am - yesterday - for a quick trip in the interest of...well, we don't need to get into it.

Then, I remember my sister calling, I think around 4 or 5. I remember talking about Thanksgiving, Jordan crackers and what question to write about on the blog later. Because I was sure - SURE! - that I would be able to write a post later on. No problem!

12 hours later I woke up again and realized I blew it. So I went back to sleep. What's a girl to do?

So I am going to try to address both yesterday's and today's topics in this post. Because I'm not too delusional.

I already read my sister's post about her bedroom and it brought back all kinds of warm fuzzy feelings about being warm and fuzzy. Which, I think, is probably what my life is lacking right now - feelings of warmth and fuzz. Because, you know, they just don't make footie one-piece pajamas with a snap at the collar for adults. And if they did, I think the world would be a whole lot better place than it is now a days. I mean, how can you scuff scuffle to you bathroom in the morning, look at your self in the mirror in your fuzzy pj's and think "I will cut my competitor DOWN today! No holds barred!" You would be much more inclined, I think, to play fair and nice.

I'm sorry...am I digressing? No, really, because it's probably going to happen a lot. I just can't get over the crazy head things a fever can do you. I mean, if they could bottle it, they would make a killing on the streets.

Here's a little for instance...today I rolled myself out of bed and thought, "Hey, I'm feeling pretty good. I'll surprize hubby and feed the animals so he doesn't have to do it and then I'll get ready for work."

Yeah.

Well it went alright for a bit - up until the part where I put the leads on the horses and walked them up the hill to the little temporary pasture we have set up in the back field. I had to take two breaks on my way up the hill. By the time I was at the top of the hill, I had that...you know the opening scene of "The Sound of Music" where Maria is twirling about on a hilltop while the helicopter with the camera flies all around? Remember? Ok, so I had that effect but I wasn't in a helicopter. Or musical. But everything was spinning. And I could hear Julie Andrews singing. I managed to get the horses into the fence and then took an apparent mandatory nap on the ground.

Suffice to say, I didn't make it into work today.

So, yeah, fuzzy pajamas. I'm there.



Good luck following me today, folks.



So, in the interest of writing about a topic that I can keep straight in my head, I will tackle my childhood bedroom.

There are two words to describe my bedroom. The first would be "pink".

It's somewhat odd that I would have ended up with a pink bedroom because I don't think you could find much less of a girly-type daughter than I was. The room used to be my grandmother's so it might have been a hold over from her. Every once in a while it griped me that I had to suffer through child hood with this insufferable pink on the walls of my bedroom but, really, it wasn't that bad. Although it was that bad. The shade of pink was like...like...Hot Island Mambo. I'm sorry...I can't do any better than that. The last time I had cause to read the shade of a pink was probably on the bottom of a tube of lipstick. Which, thankfully, I had sense enough not to buy.

I think there was a pink-ish type rug too. And the shade on the ceiling light was pink.

The second word to describe my bedroom would also be "pink".

I remember that I had wanted a canopy bed for the longest time. Finally, my parents broke down and granted my wish - which they pretty much did with everything but the horse, pony and burro. When I had mentioned "canopy bed", I kind of had in mind the type that Ebeneezer Scrooge took shelter in when the various Christmas ghosts came to visit. You know, squarish, dark, lots of big, heavy curtains for hiding. From what? I don't know. Kid things. Monsters, liver, etc. The bed that arrived was a charming double (so I could fit my sister) in maple with a full set of pink sheets, shams, bedcover, canopy and curtains.

Oh well.

The other thing about my room was that the closet door never stayed shut. Probably because the zombies inside were always trying to get out. After a while it didn't bother me but it did always bother a certain cousin of mine. And we always shamelessly exploited that bother.

Even for all the pink, there was nothing like my childhood bedroom. I remember once, after smashing my head on a coffee table...not many good memory stories probably start out that way...laying in my bed, surrounded in pink, and Dr. Hale COMING TO OUR HOUSE AT NIGHT in his houndstooth coat, with his black doctor bag and smelling like alcohol, rubbing alcohol, and I guess recommending stitches. But, oddly enough, it's not a bad memory. I think because of my room. I bet if I had been at Dr. Hale's office, in the Sea Foam room, it would have been scads worse.

Can I have some more Ny-Quil now?

No?

Another question?


Oh...ok.


Wednesday Best Of.

I'm feeling generous today so I might just give out two awards.

The first is for Best Portrayal of an Asthmatic in a Movie

The award goes to the asthmatic criminal guy in The Lookout. Which I have only made it through 38 minutes of so far. But! I grant this award based on the asthmatic character not being the typical fat, dorky bubblehead that is always trailing around after the other criminals, puffing on his inhaler.

It's about time.

Now, this award may be a bit premature based on the fact that I am currently only 38 minutes into the movie, but I've seen enough of the typical Hollywood asthmatics to say "Here ya go, The Lookout! You earned it!"

My second best of is for Best Meat Type Thing to Eat That Isn't A Regular Hunk of Meat.

That would go to Kowalonek's Kielbasy Shop in Shenandoah, PA for their hot kielbasy sticks. Mmm, mmm, good. And a little spicey too. You go git you some now!