Alex

I hope Alex isn't the reason for my spidey-sensey angst earlier. While tropical storms/hurricanes don't pay attention to models and have their own minds and such, it's a bit disconcerting to notice the GFS outlier that brings Alex up towards Galveston. Quite often the models veer to the right rather than left of originally forecast.

Of course, it may just totally dissipate once over the Gulf. Not so sure about that what with water temps, low shear and ridges not helping.

Guess we'll know in a couple of days. Not like we don't have water, batteries, candles, matches, doot doot doot. After Ike I realized that one of the worst parts of hurricanes is the preceding days. And even though we're 70 miles inland from the actual coast, that doesn't mean squat when a storm heads inland. At the least we'll get rain from it on the periphery which is a good thing. Drought is a bad thing.

Poodleman

So, Al, there, he's almost in the news again. This is a story that I really don't want to see the denouement of. Of which I don't want to see the denouement. However grammatically soothing you'd like to read that. I mean. Really.

It's like your crazy Uncle Orval who wears his pants hiked up to his armpits with the fly open MISTAKENLY and wants you to grab him a co-cola but, here, lemme help you open the refrigerator and I'll lean over and OOPS! Heh heh heh, see what your uncle has for you sweetie?

Except, you're 50+ years old and doing massages for Al Gore.

Poor guy. Pinkeye and all he would seem to think he would be attractive to, well, any sex at all. Bless his heart.

I originally thought, and still kind of do, viscerally, that I don't honestly care about this.

But, then I thought-wait a minute. This is the guy who has successfully derailed economies, curriculums and voting processes, and fostered untold mountains of bullshit, not to mention garnering a Nobel manure prize for said bullshit, whilst extending his greasy carbon footprint over this great nation of ours.

This all goes to his, IF IT'S TRUE, character, credibility and potential abuse of his perceived personal power and sway and would, therefore, bolster arguments that might just add another nail in the ragged coffin of AGW and future bad movies that we would have to watch. Youngsters of the next generations, you can thank Ms. Portland Masseuse.

Why, yes, yes. I can make any shit up I want and do any shit I wanna, because I am UNCLE ORVAL!

If it's true.

Skeeve factor-7 ish. Pathetic factor-25 on a humor scale.

Wash your hands now.

Yo. Week of meetings. Birthday. Did toenails,

So. It's my birthday and, no, I'm not soliciting for birthday wishes. Really. I'm closer to 60 than 50 which is metaphysically weird to me. 60 is better than 50 because 50 was the year of hell. Worst ever. Bar none. Flush in the toilet. Fuhgedaboudit. Mentally I feel closer to 45.

I always wonder about peeps who say they feel the same as they do at 50+ as when they were 19.
I don't. I feel LOTS different. I know a whole lot more. I'm glad I don't have to put up with all that crap from then. The 20's were rough. The 30's were learning/experiencing. The 40's were a sort of resurgence. I've always been pretty content with whatever age I am at the time and never want to go back. Especially before 50. But, I have regressed to a younger mindset than I was at, say, 35 or 50. I like that. At 35 I was in the throes of toddlerhood with a husband traveling a lot. Since then,  I regained my sense of humor. I have less patience and don't internalize a whole lot of shit I used to, which is quite fabulous. People can kiss my ass if I feel they should. Like that. And, my kids are just too much fun to talk to. They're adults and I REALLY REALLY like them. Even if they are expensive.

Anyway, we had potstickers, seaweed salad and #1 Frothlet visited. #2 Frothlet is en route to New Orleans. One car is incapacitated, but under warranty. Merv's ears are bumpy but medicated. Dot has eaten the encyclopedia. Mr. Froth bought me a set of 12 MATCHING wine glasses so we look like real normal people now. #1 Frothlet got me a huge discount at his store for some really expensive jeans and some jewelry.
And, my toes and nails look quite marvelous.

I was up from 7 a.m. til 10 p.m. last night for workshops and board meetings. It was, well, what it was.
Monday, we attended a retirement party for an institution in the community, a gentleman with whom I've worked for years, and it was quite excellent.
Tuesday I worked til 7:30 assembling binders for last night's meeting. Most of which were either not read or thrown away. Big why. Why? Rhetorical question.

Now, I'm drinking a glass of actual really nice wine and trying to stay awake to converse until I can crash in twenty minutes when the thunderstorms will start.

Real life vuvuzelas

As I sat cogitating last night thinking tilty crap I noticed, not for the first time, mind you, just because it was extremely loud, the ululations, nay, buzzations of the tree frogs and whatall that live in the trees at night.

The first time I heard the blaring I really honestly thought we had orangs or maybe some smaller monkeys or something living in our yard. It's like cicadas only with rhythm. Pulse, throb, pulse, throb-ZZZZZZ ssss ZZZZZZ ssss in a bit of an atonal, definitely minor key.

Last night they were partaying HAHD. And if they'd stopped I would have known a predator of largish dimensions would be in the yard. Noise is good sometimes.

Atilt

If I were Alice in Wonderland I might be feeling at home. For some reason, lately, things have seemed askew.

Oh, not just the political landscape, which is pretty much regularly askew.And not real life, wherein we deal with the daily aches and pains, work and play, debts and responsibilities, uncertainties and hopes.

Just, like there's a hovering filmy filter just waiting to straighten out and refract out of its prism something either really astoundingly wonderful or really astoundingly bad.

I'm not psychic, but intuitive. Perhaps I'm just worrying about another hurricane or another... whatever. Sometimes worry blindsides the blindsiding which enables you to prepare for whatever it is that has or hasn't happened. I constantly pray about the protection and harbor for those I love and even those I just like. I stew about finances and peoples' futures. I aspire to renew creative things that I used to do.

It's not that. It's some sort of metaphysical discomfort that seems to be scuttling around the edges.

Maybe it's the heat. Or the potato salad. Ya never know.

Say a prayer

A friend's son, Army, will soon be deployed to the Iran/Iraq border. He and his wife and their brand new baby have been in Hawaii for a short time. Twill be what it will be. And the Lord will prevail.

Obama's speech

Stop taking up airspace. Stop campaigning. We know you can't personally stop the leak. Stop lying about the resources you've given to help. You're the fucking national government. Stop penalizing those companies who aren't BP, a company that sucks a bigger hose than needed to clean up the oilspill. Stop pretending that any energy source you may deem better and happier won't have its inherent hazards. I can't wait for your happy windmills to not be built on the Texas coast, you fool. And put out of work every federal worker you have that happens to toodle to work in a gas-driven car.

What a lightweight.

Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.

It might be DEET haze or what...Hello? I don't know

It's several hundred Crazy Joan Heads today. I forgot what I posted elsewhere. The DEET and mosquito bits are clogging my typing hands and it's just really really       hottish.

Hotdish! That's what we need! Hotdish! With creamed peas on toast!

And maybe dry ice to wash it down with.

sizzle sizzlesizzle  DEETsquish

Semi-pleasant walk semi-early in the morning

Since it was only three crazy Joan heads hot at 9 a.m. we took the Dot for a walk. Imagine wearing a damp, microwaved snuggie tightly affixed to your body, strolling through a sauna and that's pretty much the atmosphere. My own personal sweat was so frightened it refused to blossom.

"No. No. You aren't getting me out in this. Un unh." sweat said.

So now I'm full of unrequited sweat. Guess I'll go read.

The heat. It's not just for our dinner

Oh my. The June bugs are logy and somnolent, even. Somnolent. On the front porch. Just halfways buzzing around and unaware of the translucent gecko that's lying in wait on the wall. It's very cool. That gecko is gonna have a juicy entree tonight.

Unless Merv decides not to beat up on Shadow, the neighbor cat, who is his friend, in which case the gecko may be dessert.

I have erred

It's Crazy Joan Heads, not Joan Crawford Heads. Jeez. Pay attention. Sorry. Crap. It's the FUCKING HEAT. SO beat me with a hanger.

I do apologize for the lack of correct head identification. I realized it when I went back to figure out the numerical rating.

It's the humidity. No. It's the heat. Maybe it's the potato salad or the caterpillars.

Loofah Pundit

HONK! HONK! HONK! I think I'm gonna die. It hurts bad. Dot was working the ass end of the Loofah Dog with the clown car honk during some speech by Obama.

Seriously. It hurts.

Loofah Dog!

We went to the grocery store, Mr. Froth's domain. I'm impeded, somewhat, because I can't do impulse buying. He's the coupon king and I'm the toady.

But. But. Compare and contrast eating the carpet as opposed to being diverted with the:

Loofah Dog

 This puppy is too cool for school. It's mouth has one squeak sound and its butt has another.

The butt squeak sound is just exactly like a clown car. Identical.

We started collapsing in laughter with this before the crossword fun. Honestly. All we can see is Dot driving a little bitty clown car filled with chihuahuas with clown hats and noses piling in and out while peoples think it's the ice cream truck.

I love the loofah dog. And, it's pink because she's a girl. It's our only nod to her girliness since her collar is blue and she barks like a big dog. 

Now she has a pink girlie loofah dog that sounds like a clown car.

This is a good day.

I just realized that the link doesn't link to anything other than the pic, but that's okay because you can buy it at the grocery store. Hello.

Crossword Fun!

So, we're sitting on the front porch like the Beverly Hillbillies because it's FIVE JOAN CRAWFORD HEADS hot and will sear a bitch and we like to drink and smoke and giggle and look like bums. The back deck is just too fucking hot.

We'd been doing the crossword and came upon "Send again, as a package" which took us awhile as we worked our way through. The usual didn't work with Wellpoint competitor and you know how it goes. Like that.

Finally, I say "reship" and ta da! it works.

Mr. Froth: "I'm gonna slap the shit outta you."

Me: "I'm gonna poke this cigarette on your balls."

Mr. Froth: "I'm gonna shove this pencil up your butt."

And we collapsed in laughter, hoping that someone was recording this conversation. I mean. Really. It would have been epic, or at least blackmailable.

Then I sang the whole Toreador aria, without words, in perfect tune, because it had been the next answer.

Then we died again.

Crosswords are intense, people!

DISCLAIMER: NO. NO. Never have either one of us hit or been hit. NO. We are not violent people. We don't condone it in any form.
Unless you're trying to kill us or something.
That's why we were laughing.

Sheesh. Sometimes you had to be there.

We were and we were not square. Possibly slightly rhomboidal, but not square.

Then Frothlet #2 stopped by on break from work and I had to make the potato salad and we had to be appropriate.

I suck

I have everybody's birthdays on the calendar. Then I forget to look at the calendar. Thusly, the birthdays go by unremarked upon by me.

Dr. Fooms and FrothSis both have had birthdays this month.Did I send them cards? No. I did not. Because I didn't look at the calendar, since as how it was still turned to April.

They are both OLDER THAN I. MUCH MUCH OLDER THAN I. CONSIDERABLY OLDER THAN I.

But, still.

I'm sending belated cards because I surely can find some that are amusing or noisy or irritating.
Presents, well, that's another thing. Unless they want a plant from our backyard...

Clarity

Today I received a call from a former board member who gave me a task. This gentleman was one who was always to the point, absent of bullshit, and funnier than all get out.

He's also been dealing with small cell carcinoma of the lungs for the last couple of years. He underwent chemo and radiation of the brain as a preventive measure. He continued to attend board meetings after his initial treatment and looked as sleek and fit as he always did, albeit maybe a little balder. One wouldn't know since he always wore some sort of hat. He's been involved in various community organizations that actively affect what's going on. I have always liked him, appreciated his sense of humor and just goodwill and common sense. He would be the one to "call the question" after too many people decided to repeat themselves, well, repeatedly.

This morning he called me and asked if I still had the email lists of various boards and I explained that those had been pared down with the consolidation...

What he asked of me was to be one of the point people for his daughter to contact when he dies. To inform appropriate people of that happening.

His cancer is back-apparently small cell carcinoma is very crafty and it morphs and acclimates to whatever tissue/organs it resides in and makes it difficult to treat. He is on four weeks of chemo, again. After that the scanning for return is normally three months,which is what he went through the last time, but, after being clean, but then having breathing problems return, his doc explained that if he didn't undergo chemo again he had, maybe, three weeks or something.

We had a wonderful discussion about common sense, as in, WHOA, gimme another four months to really get things in place, and then, with a reduced scanning period of two months, if it's back, then, no more chemo. He can't be radiated again since he's been zapped to the limit.

He expressly stated, before we got into the discussion of all other stuff, that he was looking at end of the year, first quarter of next.

My brain, at 8:30 a.m., went...oh my. Oh my. I thought I'd had a rough night with no sleep due to the storm and Dot's barking. No. Really. I hadn't. Not by any stretch of anybody's imagination.

He asked me if I could let people know when the time came. The people with whom he'd worked on the board and all.

Well, yeah, of course.

Of course.

He proceeded to regale me with tales of his chemo brain and discussions with his brother, wherein he'd forget, totally, in the middle of the discussion, what was being discussed. Then, a week later, wake up with the completed thought and think, "I need to tape record this or email him my replies so we can continue." Or, driving somewhere to do something and not knowing what the hell he was there for. And then realizing, "Oh yeah. I needed to pick up my driving glasses."

This guy is the bomb. Just funnier than shit. He's gotten tan, gained weight which they don't know why he has-maybe the radiation blew away his thyroid, because he doesn't eat that much, his hair had just started growing back and he just sounds great.

And, he is methodically and graciously putting things into place.

He also asked for the number of a coworker of mine and I talked with her maybe an hour after I talked to him.

He asked her to speak at his funeral. He didn't want a dang board member up there yammering away. He always, always appreciated that staff were the people who got stuff done. On any of the boards he was an officer, he knows this. He said this to her. She's nonplussed and not a speaker sort of person, but she will dredge up the strength to do this. I popped into her office and we both were shellshocked.

She suggested we get t-shirts made saying "Call the question" and I think it's brilliant.

In the meantime, I need to construct a distribution list of emails for future reference, and keep this in the back of my mind, and I can't stop weeping today. The fact that he asked me to do this, and her, is just verklempt making.

He has faith and knows where he's going, but also can joke about how, so, you have three weeks without chemo or four months with, whattya wanna do?He's taking the four months, and realizes that four months on chemo with two months questionable is not a longterm lifestyle. And he's putting all those fuzzy ducks in a row and he's honored me with a small task.

There you go.

Sheiiiiite

Dot, Dot, Dot, Dot, Dot. Dot. DOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTT. Dot.

Little turd.

That kitchen fake-sisal carpet is preeetty tasty, it appears. Yessir. Got a  nice bouquet, a little al dente action going, flosses your teeth as you eat. Yep. It's good eating.

Also, please stop barking at nothing in the middle of the night. We KNOW you're not frightened of thunderstorms. You were asleep until Merv came in. That's just bogus barking.