Nook! Nook!

I feel like I should smash an ice cream cone against my forehead while I say that. Is that unPC? Oh well.

I got my new Nookcolor and it's charging and one hour I'll be able to use it. And read something that isn't dreadful like the library book I have to take back that is frighteningly stinky.

Marketing are Us

Pascal Fervor via Primordial Slack has a lovely contest going on to rename RINOS. I think that's a grand endeavor, since it pretty much allows those participating to lambast the status quo that is any party and make us rethink what defines a conservative/progressive/democrat/liberal/libertarian/weird offshoot. So, go make something up.

Dearth Panel

D: "So, um, Mrs."Froth," is it? Is that your "Rainbow Bridge" name? We have you listed under a different name in our records."

F: "Doc, it's a blog, it's my blog name. I've only been seeing you for what, twenty years? You know who I am."

D: "Well, okay then, "Froth," let's discuss what you have in mind for your transition to a non-corporeal being and the methods by which you achieve that status. I've been given a bit of incentive to discuss this with you in detail, and depending on how long we visit here, that villa in Mustique might just be in a certain doc's reach!"

F: "Geez, DOC, I'm only 58, so, you know, while I'm aware of taking the appropriate actions to make my loved ones have an easier time of my eventual demise, especially after dealing with elderly sorts recently, I might not QUITE BE IN THE MOOD right now. I have a headache."

D: "A headache? It's possible that might be an aggressive tumor presenting, in which case this meeting is even more timely. Now, there are graduated approaches to how we effectuate the bucket kicking process, with increasing bonuses fee structures that you might want to consider."

F: "Wouldn't a conservative approach work here? Some Excedrin? A cold cloth? Some vicodin?"

D: "Ah. Palliative care. A prudent choice depending on the severity of your death march ailment. Perhaps we could up the prescription dosage and application to self-regulated morphine and a do not resuscitate after three days of non-feeding, dehydration and pillow-sham application no extra oxygen?"

F: "What say you give me a ten percent share of your incentive and I'll move out of state for a bit and you can close your file?"

Christmas Nook

Nookcolor.  Mr. Froth bought me a Nookcolor e-reader for Christmas. We had discussed what he could get me and I said, really, nothing, some potholders. I mean, we're not into conspicuous consumption any more.However, he had thought I'd like a Kindle or something, knowing our neighbor had one and loved it. I, of course, lying, trying to be a purist, said, "Oh. No. No. I like to hold an actual book in my hands. Yada yada."

Which I do, however, I agreed he could get me some version of the e-reader.

The Nookcolor is one of the newest and it's what I got. It's tres cool. Unfortunately, my particular one didn't work...charged it all night, then proceeded to try to get past or even into the introductory video and was entertained by hours of a weird loop of crazy. It would hang up. It would flip back between screens. It would turn off and on. Pretty much it was screwed up.

So, yesterday I decided to call Barnes and Noble's tech support line. After being on hold four separate times for 30 minutes or more, during which I memorized the hold music. I gotta say, their Christmas carols were of a higher quality than your regular hold music. VERY PERKY Deck the Halls and We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Dance quality. After 35 repetitions I had some quick step dancing down pat and was ready to go on the road.

Remarkably, after the fifth attempt, during which I put my phone on speaker while doing a crossword puzzle...........a Real Person picked up. I was startled and thought "This can't be!"

Guys, I can't tell you how impressed I am with B&N customer support. The young woman, Camille, who was helping me was a pip--I think she appreciated that I wasn't hollering and cussing her out, because she thanked me for being entertaining as we were troubleshooting. After several attempts to confer with her supervisor during which they decided my particular glitches were unique, actually generating an error message and just being weird, a replacement would be necessary. But, their server was down. Well, of course.

Do you know what she said then? "I'll call you tomorrow morning when we're online again and pull up the claim and finalize it."

And she did. She called me this morning, gave me the UPS label to ship my device back with and they're shipping the new one out within two days. I am not making this up.

I was flabbergasted and will write a nice note to include to compliment Camille who was awesome.

And then, if I can get somewhere to access free wifi I'll have me a Nook and can just go crazy!

Happy Merry Belated Christmas to All Y'alls, too!

Yesterday I stumbled around in a stromboli-induced stupor. Folks, stromboli is as good as pizza, especially the stuff I made all by my ownself. Mr.Froth was aghast at my impulse buying of the ingredients for the filling, since I used NO coupons. However, the result was spectacular.

The bread part required, well, bread, the kind you thaw out, let rise, punch down and then roll out. So, I started this messmaker on Thursday so we'd be able to eat it on Christmas Eve. I bought a bag of frozen loaves, five to the bag, thinking I'd just bake the extra loaf all by itself to be what it was supposed to be, just bread. The recipe called for four loaves. So, I greased up pans and plastic wrap and shoved the gooey masses into the pans and strategically placed them on the counters, hoping for no Dot-related harassment.

Hope. Hope and change. Recipe change, since Dot did, indeed, manage to swipe off one glass pan onto the floor where the bread splatted and looked like the alien thingie that pooped out of the guy's stomach in Alien, the movie. After Dot ate a few shards of glass, really, seriously, I shooed her away and decided to make up the strombolis before she killed more bread.

If you've had stromboli you know it's just a giant Italian sandwich, pizza-ey concoction. You just throw on salami, ham, pepperoni, provolone, romano/parmesan, oregano, basil in copious amounts onto the rolled out dough. Roll it up longwise like a jellyroll, brush with egg white and bake. IT'S AWESOME. Dip in spaghetti sauce or whatever and you're good to go.

We ate these, played Trivial Pursuit and opened the minimal presents we got and solved the problems of the world. It was nice.

Ha Ha Ha

I am not the embodiment of the spirit of the Christmas season. The slide into bah-humbuggery is pretty much complete, although not despairingly so, just matter of factly so.



We’re skewered with Christmas awareness beginning in the summer so I pretty much tune it out by this stage of the game, and then realize HOLY CRAP. It’s next week. And I then realize I really should get some at least minor token of Christmas cheer/breakable/comestible/forgettable. It’s a cliché, yes, but do you remember what you gave or got last year? And it doesn’t count if it’s something totally unique/needed/altruistic/spectacularly carated and such. I’m talking about the junk you buy as filler.



Christmas used to be fun, when the kids were wee and we had energy, more money to waste and I felt like decorating, but now it’s just goofy. And, yes, I know the real reason for Christmas, blah blah blah, I played the keyboard at church for twelve years, don’t go there. Plus, we should be celebrating it around epiphany like the eastern orthodox do. Whatever.



So, to increase the odds against my nomination for sweet bearer of love and fluffy bunnies or queen of the Christmas pageant is the fact that I do not want, nor do I intend to return a phone call of a neurotic acquaintance who once again popped up after a year and a half. At work. She and I used to be in an art class together-FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. Our children were in a swim lesson together during a four week period in the summer-FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. We would then run into one another occasionally every six months or so and then finally stuff petered out.


I thought.

She visited me at our other office after Hurricane Ike since she was submitting an application for a whole house generator to covenants. She stayed 45 minutes in the reception area outside my boss’s office. Really. She’s anorexic, neurotic, whines and complains, and while she ostensibly is very sweet I’ve come to the point in my life where I am retiring my psychiatrist shingle for anyone other than immediate family. I simply cannot do it anymore. I cannot listen to her about her aches and pains when I’ve just witnessed real aches and pains suffered by my father in law. Ain’t happening.



So, I axed my boss if I was obligated to return a call to an acquaintance who couched her message as “I have a question to ask, but also wanted to say hi.” He said I did not have to do that and I told him she’ll probably call him and bitch about me. But that’s his problem. I just might be in the restroom when that happens.


In keeping with Christmas tenets revered throughout generations I bought the little kids in our spread-about families presents that I would want myself. Even now. Most of it Crayola stuff-there are some REALLY cool things out there. So, if they don’t care for the color sound studio or crayon maker or DQ Blizzard Maker (!) I’ll take them and play with them and they’ll never get shit from me again.



Everyone else is getting some underwear and a wallet. And receipts for all the stuff we’ve paid for over the years.



Oh no. I need to get a few co-workers something. And the animals.

Maybe I'll just go read a book until January 1st.

Stopping Miss Daisy Driving

So-a blessing in disguise may have happened today. The elder Froth was just at the edge of realizing his inability to drive, but hadn't quite grasped the reality of it two days ago. He said to me as I took him back to his place because he was fading, hungry and whupped, while Mr.Froth was messing with the bank people, "I'll take you to the airport."

Of course we'd arranged for a cab, and I told him it was all taken care of and I internally shuddered thinking that he actually entertained that thought in his head.

Mr. Froth received a call today from the collision place in Ft. Myers that the elder Froth had blown two rightside tires on the curb as he was driving out of the complex.

Really. Honestly. He had not reached the main road to go to WalMart to get a phone...

He was not hurt. He now has come to the agreement that he doesn't drive.

Some things are just weirdly serendipitous.

Traveling with the Froths

Don’t you love a vacation? I know I do, and I’m looking forward to having one sometime in the next decade.


Don’t you love to fly? I used to, when the flight attendants were perkier, the seats cushier and the attitude loosier. I officially disenjoy flying, although I still get a thrill on takeoff. There is a liberating and magical rush to the act of leaving the earth in a machine and FLYING. You have no control, so if you’re gonna crash there’s no use fretting. You can’t honk at anyone. You can’t get off on a feeder road if you’re nervous. You can cuss extensively or pray or puke or grab your seatmate in a stranglehold and hope you don’t kill him and then find out the plane didn’t crash but you killed him because you were a fucking wuss.


I’ve never been afraid of flying, but now I’m just tired of the discomfort and inconvenience.


Security update: A massive piece of cake. We arrived about two hours early and had plenty of time to get through security. Perhaps they felt pity for my poor shuffling, hacking self and gave us a break, but we just went through the regular metal detector and on our merry way. I had de-boobed myself and left the bits in the carryon, deciding that I had insufficient energy to engage if I had been asked to get patted down. Coming back from Ft. Myers there was no one at the airport so we whisked through in about two seconds.


The plane going was full. Jam-packed with a motley crew of just, well, motleys. Lucky me got to sit in the middle seat next to Mr. Froth and to my right, in the window seat, Bozo the Farmhand. To Bozo’s credit he was very polite, didn’t have excretions, secretions, aromas or weird sounds coming from his body. He was just LARGE. I’m sure he was uncomfortable, too, but I don’t give a shit. I kept sneaking peaks at his mop-no, really, a mop-of orange-ish/blondish curly hair.


Why do people think they—never mind, it’s a rhetorical question that will never have an answer.


He could have justifiably questioned me about my lank locks needing a cut and highlights, too, so there’s that. But, still. Mop. It must have been natural because his log-shaped arms had orange-ish hair, too. He snored.


I drifted off sort of while holding a glass of wine and almost spilled it in Mr. Froth’s crotch when I did that just-before-falling-asleep-jerk thing you do.


Then, I did it again.


It was a short flight and we finally arrived to begin our trek through the slough of despond.

Big 12 championship

We stayed at the lovely La Quinta, which really was a bargain. The room was fine, if it had been warm, the pool area would have been enticing, but it wasn't warm and we just watched the steam rise from the freezing liquids.

Mr. Froth, Mr. Froth's sis and I watched the Big 12 game on the tv in the closed bar area (closed for the season which doesn't open until after New Year's) where we set up our own bar with salami, chips, dips and libations. We were told that the only group that would be coming down during the game would be the Puerto Rican church group having their retreat at the hotel...

I'm not kidding. When the caterers started setting up trays of food and such we inquired as to whether we would be interfering with some religious something or other as we screamed, cussed and hooted and hollered. Nope. No prob. The group came down, sang a hymn, sat down, ate their food and once a really cute baby fixed his eyes on the tv, knew we were good to go to win this sucker. Everybody left before the third quarter was finished and we continued on our lonesome way.

Back to reality

Golly gosh, Florida was colder than a witch's tit. Fortunately, I packed some closed-toe shoes to tide me over along with my flipflops. Seriously, it was bullshit.

We cleaned out an apartment that had prescriptions, cake mixes, caramel corn that had turned to cement all squirrelled away amongst the dishes. The elder Froth had more dishes than we have acquired in 30 years, mainly gotten from the retirement home's resale shop. Considering that he and my m-i-l, who has been deceased two years, didn't entertain, I find it fascinating that they had cunning little wine and martini glasses and four complete, sorta, sets of china and utensils that Emeril would have loved. Plus the three George Foreman grills and an icecream maker and a reproduction Singer sewing machine in the cabinet. And financial papers from 2000 til 2010 mixed willy nilly in the armoire, kitchen, computer desk and bathroom, many unopened. 

And the prescription bottles, some full from a couple of months past to treat current ailments. Some from years ago that are no longer prescribed.

Going to doctors is a hobby, which we, hopefully, have cut off at the pass. The assisted living place now administers the meds, a doctor is seen once a week if necessary, he gets a shower and is made to get up and go eat his meals. The next big hurdle is convincing him he does not need to drive. He can hardly get in and out of bed without groaning, let alone a car. The office at this facility requires the residents to take a simulated driving test to evaluate capacity to drive. I believe when this is completed we'll be covered on this issue. It scares me shitless to think he drives. Shitless.

All in all it was a productive almost week. Poor Mr. Froth spent four hours yesterday dealing with amended trusts and corralling wayward accounts that fell through the cracks. Yessir, it was a vacation, it was.

On the mend and on the go tomorrow

All hail levaquin, antibiotic of the titans and vanquisher of the bronchitis/pneumonia hordes. Sumbitches.

That stuff starts working in hours. Which means I'm already getting cranky and want to live and stay awake for more than 20 minutes. Tuesday after visiting the doc and starting the drug and regaining some sanguininininit...sanguininene...blood back in my veins a coworker told me she had been frightened by my appearance as we rode up the elevator together. She said I was white (I mean WHITE) and thought I should have gone to an emergency room or a morgue. She was very sweet.

So, anyway, tomorrow we head out to Fort Myers to visit elder Froth and conspire and figure out stuff and laugh with Mr. Froth's sis, who is also coming down during our visit. We'll be there through Wednesday, so probably no posting. We'll eat grouper and do crossword puzzles and get bored I imagine and if a no seeum bites me even once I'm going to throw myself in one of the several alligator-infested ponds in the vicinity. And, I would win I would be that mad and energized. I'd take that gator's snout and whack it with noseeum bites and I wouldn't itch anymore.

Don't test me.

Oh, I'm assuming no weirdnesses at the airport. I'd almost forgotten about that. I will be a good drone and place my chicken cutlet and cloth cutlet in my carryon and then pop them in after we get into the concourse. Don't think so?

I know, I'll go into the bathroom. Whatever.  It's just the levaquin talking.

See yas.