Earthquakes, Aborigines, and The Coloneling

I spent my weekend in a little place I like to call, The Hills. Laguna Hills, that is. It was a fabulous weekend filled with friends/family (I'm that crazy "auntie" from a far away land who is not really related but shows up in family photos and on the couch from time to time), adventure, and intrigue.

1. The Coloneling
The main event was the celebration of the Colonel, well, becoming a Colonel. Apparently this involved a grueling and intense series of mazes and Sudoku puzzles. Or something. But however he got there, we chose to celebrate with tacos and flan.

It also involved this shirt:


And this button:


And yes, I made both. They sold like hotcakes. Whatever that means.

2. Earthquake
There was a 4.something earthquake yesterday. We sat at the table the day before talking about how there are no earthquakes anymore. Then, we went and had one. It was my first earthquake. Ever.

Of course, I was in the shower and did not feel a thing. I had no idea the earth had quaked until they told me later.

I was hoping for a bit more drama than that. I did, however, go sit in the doorway for awhile after I found out that we'd had an earthquake. Just to be safe. And a little dramatic.

3. Aborigines
The Colonel family comes with two tiny Aborigine children of the ages of four-and-three-quarters, and almost two. True to the nature of Aborigine children, these children run wild and naked a lot. Which we are all okay with. It's in their nature.

Aborigine children activities included:
-Shooting Crazy Auntie T-Dawg with water guns and the water hose while chasing her through the water sprinklers (she was fully clothed - don't worry).
-Watching excerpts from all children-intentioned movies made in the past 10 years, plus Veggie Tales . . . twice. For me, it was like one long movie filled with Tarzan, Mulan, Wallace and Grommit, tiny Fern Gullies, and talking vegetables.
-Chalk outlines of big people and little people in the neighbor's driveway. It was a veritable Who's Who of crime scenes.
-Hot Wheels a-go-go. I always got stuck with the non-fast car. I think it was a conspiracy.
-Blowing bubbles in the front yard (I totally had the biggest bubbles. I'm amazing.).
-Poop and poop-related stories.

I am also (apparently) a very good Etcher Sketcher. My etchie-sketches consist of straight lines and little creativity, but by channeling my energy into making amazing mazes (all straight lines and right angles), I won the title of Very Good Etcher Sketcher. It's a rare, but valuable talent.

I also make a pretty good horse and/or jungle gym. You know you're family when two naked children are hanging off of you at the same time and everyone is okay with that.

My crowning glory and achievement was teaching the Aborigines the usefulness of the Wet Willy. You know, sticking your finger in your own mouth to get it nice and slobbery, then planting said slobbery finger into the ear of someone else. Oh, the fun that was had with the Wet Willies! I hope they continue to use this valuable knowlege often, especially when certain grown-ups least expect it.

4. The Conversation
I had a ridiculously early flight home this morning. But, I am thankful for this flight because had I been on a different flight, I would have missed 1) two twin 2-year-olds sitting in front of me who were trying to set the Guiness World Record for screaming the loudest and the longest on a flight . . . EVER, and b) the following conversation between the two Cher-from-Clueless lookalikes-soundalikes/aged-out sorority sisters sitting next to me on the plane:

Pilot: Please turn off and put away all cellphones and electronic devices at this time.
(Meanwhile, Cher #1 and Cher #2 are looking at photos on their digital camera from their wacky LA weekend that apparently ended at a tattoo parlor.)
Male Flight Attendant: Um, yeah. I'm going to need you to go ahead and turn that off now. All electronic devices need to be turned off at this time.
Cher #1: (to Cher#2) Um, what? Why do we have to turn this off??
Cher #2: (to Cher #1) Like, yeah. It's not like this is an electronic device or anything. It's just a digital camera. Like, totally unfair.

Then Cher #2 proceeded to give, like, marriage advice to Cher #1 for the rest of the 3-hour flight home.

And.... scene.

Finally, we all learned a valuable lesson this weekend. And that is, when you sit in the grass while wearing no pants, a bee will sting you in your butt. Then everyone will call you Bee Butt for the rest of the weekend, even though you are only four-and-three-quarters years old.

I got home and there were no naked children and no Disney movies. I don't really know what to do with that.

C.T.

P.S.

New brown towels

I've discovered that new choocoate brown towels leave new chocolate brown lint everywhere.

Including on me.

Even after washing them twice.

I'm just saying.

C.T.

Education Reform

I've had it. And it's time that we all took a stand against the atrocity known as our education system.

I'm not concerned about how our children are educated. They learn stuff eventually. What they can't learn, they probably don't really need to know anyway. It's fine.

No, what I am concerned about is the TRAFFIC.

School starts and suddenly I can't get to work on time. One day I have a peaceful 20-minute drive to work. A time to prepare myself for the day. A time to think, find peace . . . and also to sing in the car.

Then out of nowhere, there are cars everywhere. I can't think. I can't even sing. I'm sitting at a light for 10 minutes, stuck staring at some idiots World Peace bumper stickers from 1991 until I am pretty sure I was never in favor of World Peace, where yesterday I sailed right through the same intersection without a problem.

Now, I am not exactly sure why this phenomenon happens. But it is most disturbing. It's like when school starts, people in cars multiply on the same roads that I've been using everyday without hassle. It's like people are sitting at home for three months, then all of a sudden on the first day of school they decide they need to drive around in morning rush hour traffic . . . . just for kicks.

They don't have kids. They just decide it's time to drive around and get in my way.

So, I ask you. Where are our priorities? WE, the working folks of America (and the world), are the people who keep the world running. WE are the ones who have places to be, things to do, jobs to do, money to make, and children to feed and clean so that they can even go to school in the first place. When you hinder how I do what I do, my quality of life suffers. And consequently, when my quality of life suffers, the quality of life of everyone around me suffers, too.

I blame our education system for anytime that I yell at someone while I'm at work from now until next May.

What I propose is this: Children should only be in school when I am not at work.

The summer months are fantastic. No school = No traffic. I have no problems getting to work when the children are not learning. Therefore, I am much happier and much more productive at work when I don't have to spend extra time in the morning being angry at cars. And children.

So, chlldren should only be in school for three months at a time. Three months on, three months off. Likewise, grown-ups should only work for three months at a time. Three months on, three months off. Of course, the months at work are the same three months that the children are not in school. And vice-versa.

Next, children should go to school starting after 5:00pm. When I go home from work, the kids can be in school. That way I am not competing for the road with crazy parents trying to get their children to school. Kids stay up late anyway, and from what I hear, it is a beating to get children to go to bed at a decent hour. So, if they're up and running around, why not make that time into productive time?

Put them in school so they can work our their energy and maybe learn something. Then when they get home at one or two o'clock in the morning, they'll be too pooped to terrorize you at home. They'll go right to sleep, then sleep most of the day while you are at work.

It's also a money saver for the schools. It is cooler at night. You won't have to run the a/c as much if the kids are in school at night.

I really think this plan will work if we can rise up, infiltrate our local school systems with this plan, and keep after it until we begin to see change in our communities.

It's time that we took a stand. It's time that we take the roads back. It's time that the children are not in charge of my days.

I don't even have kids. So right now, I am blaming your children for the past four days of ridiculous traffic, being late to work, and being angry when I get there.

I know you don't want me mad at your kids. But only you can fix this.

C.T.

Dear Auggie and Tessa,

COMING SOON





Love,
Crazy Auntie T-Dawg

Another commercial that doesn't make sense

You know the commercial with the cartoon giraffe Mom and the Airwick air-freshener? Does anyone else find it weird that her two children are warthogs?

Um, how does that even happen? Seriously.

Are we supposed to believe that this girl giraffe did it with a dude warthog, and now she's got warthog babies? And that's the reason why her house is stinky?

This teaches children that giraffes and warthogs can . . . um . . . well, there are birds and bees and . . . . well, you know.

Warthog babies.

I'm sorry, but if this is truly the situation, Mom Giraffe's biggest problem isn't really the stink of the house.

It's that she has illegitimate warthog babies. Why are we not focusing on that, people??

Ain't no Airwick that can fix that situation.

C.T.

A new frog

I have a new frog. He has taken up residence near my water spigot.

I know he is a new frog because he has all four of his legs . . . unlike the frog I unintentionally weed-whacked a couple of years ago.

He was down to three legs. And he didn't like me very much.

I plan not to weed-whack this new frog. I am trying to make friends with him. And to go over the rules with him. The rules are very important.

Rule #1: If you take a vacation over to the air-conditioner, tell me before I get out the weed-whacker. If I know where you are, I have a better chance of not whacking you.

That's pretty much the only rule.

Part of me wants to name him. You know, to help our friendship. But part of me doesn't want that connection with him. I'm not sure I can handle losing another frog friend.

Perhaps I will just call him Legs.

C.T.

Big Salad

Circa Seinfeld, 1990s.

One of my favorie things to do is go to the grocery store, raid the vegetable department, then I go home and make a giant salad that I will then proceed to eat for the next day or so. It's kind of a race to eat all of the salad before it goes bad. So I will tend to eat nothing but salad until either I win, or the salad wins.

I call this event, Big Salad.

I am pretty particular about my salads. I do not like any of those crazy veggies that have unidentified origins, that get tangled up on the way down, or that I can't pronounce. You will not catch me with any bokchoy in my salad.

I stick to the basics: lettuce (and not the kind that looks like something you pulled off of a tree, or found in the yard), tomatoes, carrots, green bell pepper, cucumber, mushrooms. And of course, cheese.

Everything is better with cheese.

Since I have started my Big Salad ritual, I've discovered that I am just too busy (or possibly too lazy) to be bothered with chopping things. This is sometimes a problem when it comes to salad, since the very essence of the salad is in the bite-sized pieces of a variety of vegetables.

So, I buy as many veggies as I can that do not require any work from me. I have perfected this down to only needing to slice the cucumber and the bell pepper. Cherub tomatoes are genius. I even buy a bag of carrots that is already sliced into carrot chips.

It is also important to have the right ratio of veggies to other veggies in each Big Salad. It's a delicate balance of both color and flavor. Too much green is not a good salad. That's where the carrots and tomatoes come in. If I buy a large cucumber, there will be more cucumber than other veggies, and that's not good, either. It best to go with a smaller cucumber.

Then comes the salad dressing predicament. I don't usually have a variety of salad dressing on hand because they will tend to go bad before I can finish them. I am, after all, just one person. I prefer my refrigerator space to be used for more important things, like more cheese.

So, when I choose my salad dressing for a particular Big Salad event, it has to be something I am sure I will want to eat for the better part of the next two days.

Now, I recently tried one of those Salad Spritzers. And I'm here to tell you that this is just about the dumbest idea for salad dressing EVER. It's great if, say..., you want salad dressing on this one particular piece of lettuce right here. But if you want dressing, say.... on the WHOLE salad, your squirting finger will likely not last long enough to spray enough dressing to cover an entire Big Salad.

All of that is to say, I do enjoy a good salad. And a bad salad has been known to send me into a depression spiral. So be careful before you offer me a substandard salad. It could be weeks before I come out of the aftermath of a bad salad.

However, I also enjoy a big slab of meat just as often as I enjoy a Big Salad. Burgers, steak, jerky, sausage, ham sandwich, sometimes chicken.

In fact, sometimes after a Big Salad event, I chase it with a Big Meat event. A day or two of nothing but meat, then more meat. This almost always involves Whataburger.

It's all about the salad to meat ratio.

It's a delicate balance. But one I like to think I've perfected.

C.T.

I may have reached my movie threshold

Starz was free on my tv this weekend, y'all. And it turns out that there are like, 10 Starz channels.

And you should all know by now that I really, really enjoy free stuff.

So, I've had my tv on ALL of the Starz channels pretty much nonstop all weekend. You know, so that I don't miss any of the free-ness. And the movies I couldn't catch while the tv was on, I recorded to my DVR.

It's possible that I've caught some or all of at least 97 movies this weekend.

And 97 might be the number of movies that pushes me over my limit of reasonable amounts of consumable media for a 48-hour stretch of time.

I don't really have any idea what I've watched. They all kind of run together into one big, long movie.

Right now I'm watching Buffy get eaten by The Grudge 2. That creepy little boy is far less scary than he was the first time, but I guess he's still angry about something. Now I just want him to put some clothes on and stop making that ridiculous noise.

Enough, already.

In other news, who knew that Marky Mark played for the Philadelphia Eagles? He's so multi-talented.

C.T.

Dear Netflix,

I love you.

However....

Why can't I watch "Watch Now" movies on my Mac?

I pay the same fee every month as the people with PCs. Yet, I can't benefit from the "Watch Now" feature as they do.

I feel this is discriminiation. I mean, the Mac is a far superior machine to the PC. Yet, we are not treated as equals in your world.

What if I am in a movie emergency, and I need to watch Cocoon: The Return RIGHT NOW?

You can't help me.

This makes me feel sad, and alone. And betrayed. And then alone again.

I try to watch as many movies as possible, all the time. But because I can't get to the Watch Nows, there are movies left on the table that I've already paid for, but that I can't see at a moment's notice.

Forget the fact that the Watch Now selection is terrible. If I wake up in the middle of the night and I need to watch Bring it On Again, there is nothing I can do about it.

Please see what you can do about this matter right away.

Your biggest fan,
C.T.

Tyrant Thoughts

wwww.tyrantsthoughts.gov/http\\\:tyrantsthoughts.com.org/index

- It makes me physically angry when people drive the wrong way down the aisle in the parking lot at the grocery store. People, it is clearly marked which way to drive. You are literally driving on top of the bright yellow arrow that points the opposite direction of the way you are driving. Why can't you just do it right?

- Pizza, followed by thrift stores with a good friend, followed by Starbucks, followed by a nap = a good Saturday. The nap is still to come. I'm all hopped up on Starbucks right now.

- It makes me physically angry when the birds eat all of my figs. I've watched the figs almost daily for over a month. And now they are gone. I hope they were poisonous figs this year. Or at least laced with laxatives. Although excessive amounts of figgy bird poo might be bad. I probably won't drive the Jeep anywhere for a few days, just in case.

- Oscar winner Cuba Gooding Jr. now stars in a Hanes commercial. This makes me not want to win an Oscar anymore. In fact, I think I'll stop trying.

- It's only a matter of time before I get a speeding ticket. I've lost the ability not to speed when I drive. But that might come in handy if a cop catches me speeding.

- I think Coke tastes better coming out of those tiny 8 oz bottles than it does coming out of the 12 oz bottles. I don't know why. But don't argue about it with me. I still haven't had my nap, yet.

- How do tiny little cicadas make so much noise? I can barely hear my Tyrant thoughts over all of the cicada screaming in my backyard.

- Apparently scientists have recently discovered that a T-Rex could have outrun David Beckham, had the two of them ever had an opportunity to, say.... have a foot race. But didn't we already know that back when Jurassic Park came out? Or was it really a question in anyone's mind that needed to be scientifically researched by professional scientists? Why can't they spend more time curing cancer, or something.

- I'd like to be the first to go on record to say that ancient horse-drawn chariots could not outrun a race car, if they ever had the opportunity to, say.... have a foot race. Please don't spend time researching that one.

- I don't know why bugs that are near death have to crawl out from where they hide to die in the middle of my floor. They come out, twitch around for awhile, then make a big scene about being dead for all to see. I could really do without all the bug drama.

And.... scene.

C.T.

Militant Dragonflies

I'm just gonna go ahead and say it. I don't know squat about dragonflies.

But one thing I think I know is that they usually hover around water. Right? So then, what is up with what happened in my front yard this afternoon?

I was in my front yard--a reportedly pond-free, lake-free, river-free, ocean-free piece of land--when I'm suddenly confronted by a swarm of dragonflies.

And they were BIG, y'all.

There were about four of them, flying all around me. I was just minding my own business, trying to mow my yard. But they kept coming right at me.

Soon, they brought friends. The swarm grew to about 20, all of them taking turns dive-bombing my face.

I kid you not. And I did not like it.

I do not know where they came from. I do not know what they wanted from me. I do not know why they would not let me mow in peace.

My weekly yard mow is a calming time of peace and reflection for me. But this week, I quickly became angry and flustered because I was under attack the whole time.

I do not like large winged creatures flying at my face. And there is no good way to swat away a dragonfly attack.

Believe me, I tried. And I'm sure I looked fantastic in my front yard doing my Anti-Dragonfly Swatting Dance.

There are now TWO things that annoy me on mowing day:

1. The 100 yards of orange extension cord that I use for my weed whacker.
I don't know how I do it every single week, but I am tangled in that thing about 10 seconds after I uncoil it, no matter what I do. But I can usually work past this first annoyance and still find peace in the straight lines and the neat edges of a clean yard.

2. Militant Dragonflies.

I do not like Millitant Dragonflies.

C.T.

I smell strongly of eucalyptus.

Periodically at work, we are rewarded with free chair massages. I guess they figure that since we sit hunched over our computers all day, toiling our posture away, the least they can do is keep us relaxed while our ability to sit ergonomically fades away.

This massage guy goes all out with the weird, "relaxy" music, the funky chair, and of course, the scented oils. Usually by the end of the day, the whole office smells of lavender.

I came out of the room yesterday smelling of lavender like everyone else. Then, I scored another one today. A coworker was out today and she missed her appointed time. So, I made the sacrifice of 20 minutes of my time in my busy day so that the open time slot did not got to waste.

I know. Taking one for the team and all. I do what I can to help.

In theory, this was a great thing. Two free massages in two days = awesome. But today, I guess the guy thought I needed a little something special. He went NUTS with the eucalyptus oil.

Usually it's just the lavender. But today he broke out the Extra Strength Eucalyptus Oil, smearing several layers of it all over my arms.

It didn't really bother me until I came out of the room, but from that point on, I was essentially a eucalytus bomb. Everywhere I went, I stunk up the place.

Sitting at my desk, I started getting a headache from smelling myself.

I eventually started sneezing. I think I became allergic to myself.

I didn't want to move. Every time I reached for a pen or for my golden hole punch, I got a fresh wave of overwhelming eucalyptus.

People could smell me coming before they could hear my footsteps. I won't lie, they ran. Screaming. Just a little.

People refused to sit in a closed room with me. It's hard to have meetings when you're the only one in the room and everyone else is standing outside the door, peering in.

I was shunned. People would just yell things at me from across the room so they wouldn't have to come near me.

They would throw papers at me that I needed to review, some of them tied to large rocks. Those hurt.

I came back from the bathroom and found words scrawled on a yellow post-it note on my desk. It's possible I left the note for myself, but with the eucaplytus-induced haze I was in (it has possibly eaten a hole in my brain), I'm pretty sure it said "You Stink, Stinky!". I can't really be sure.

Someone rudely yelled at me to go home and take a shower.

I guess I can't blame them. I couldn't even escape myself on the way home, closed up in the Jeep. I'm afraid when I get back in the Jeep tomorrow it will still smell of the remnants of Extra Strength Eucalyptus.

I did take a shower immediately after walking in the door. But I'm not sure that helped. My shower gel is citrus and ginger root. I think I just made it all worse by adding the citrus and ginger root on top of the eucalyptus.

I also stood outside for about five minutes, hoping the smell would drift away. A bird fell out of the sky, but I don't think that was related to how I smell. I think it was just tired.

I can only hope it fades by tomorrow. Maybe a few more showers will do it.

C.T.

Amish school zones are unecessary

I don't know of any Amish school zones anywhere near where I live. But today (while I was hard at work) I decided that the Amish don't need school zones.

Here's why.

School zones are designed to slow traffic for the safety of children making their way to school. But those horse buggies probably top out at about 4 to 5 miles an hour. So, do the Amish need to slow down to say, 2 or 3 miles an hour to keep the kids safe on the way to school? Plus school is probably across the street from home.

I think that if the kids can't outrun a buggy going 3 miles an hour, they probably should be out working the fields, anyway.

I also think that the Amish should be exempt from regular school zones. The zones around here are 20 mph. So that means that the buggies would have to actually speed up to go that fast. This could actually cause injury to the Amish, and the horses. And probably some children who are frightened by fast-moving, stampeding horse buggies.

So I say, no school zones for the Amish.

Glad we settled that.

C.T.

No one called me indignant today.

It was nice.

Also, no one yelled at me in a fake polite tone today.

No one belittled me or talked to me like I'm a 2-yr-old today.

No one started at the beginning of time or talked in convaluted circles to explain at great length why I am wrong yet again.

No one accused me of substandard work, or of being okay with substandard work today.

No one called me into the conference room to lecture me behind closed doors about something I could never quite figure out.

No one pulled a chair up to my desk and fake-apologized to me with a secret passive-aggressive agenda to blame more stuff on me . . . in front of other people.

I did not receive four e-mails criticizing a word choice in one of my e-mails today.

I did not receive criticism today that was just for the sake of criticizing . . . me.

Today, I asked questions. And I got answers . . . today.

Today, there was peace in my workspace.

It is nice to work in an environment where truth comes to light, where the peons can find support amongst the non-peons, and . . . where I can make up a ridiculous excuse for Cupcake's cupcakes . . . and I get them.

Lemon goo.

C.T.

Anything before noon on Saturday is too much, too early.

I was wide awake this morning at 7:30am. And I was pretty stinkin' mad about it.

A major Stressor (capital S because it was a capital S) was taken care of this week, so things will slowly begin to get better in my wonderful world of stress and anxiety. But for quite some time now, I've been, well, stressed about it. It's kept me up nights. At this point, I'm in that place where I'm so tired and so drained that I'm pretty much too tired to sleep and I can't relax. It will take awhile for me to readjust.

I had high hopes today to sleep at least until 9:30. But . . . not so much.

Seven-stinkin'-thirty

Then, the bug guy came at 10:00. This was on the schedule for today. But, by 10:00 I was already ready for a nap. And I'm not so much ready for people before, like, noon on most days. Much less on a Saturday.

After the bug guy left, I got myself in gear to go stock up on tax-free pants. On a normal Saturday, my rule is that if I have to go to a mall, I have to go before noon. After the noon witching hour, malls are ridiculously full of people. And since I hate malls and all of the people in malls, I want to run into as few people in a mall as possible if I am forced to go there.

But before I could get out the door, the doorbell rang. It was 10:45 in the morning. And I wasn't expecting anyone.

Jehovah's Witnesses

I open the door and there are two ladies who start talking to me about faith of some sort, and I see that she is holding a copy of The Watchtower in her hand.

Even after I mention that I'm a Christian, she keeps going. It didn't faze her AT ALL. Plus, now that I've gone ahead and confessed that I'm a Christian, I have to stand there and be polite and wait for her to finish. Because I assume this is what Jesus would do.

They finally finished and left me with The Watchtower (which is somewhere over there on the floor right now . . . right at the top of my To Read pile). But Jehovah's Witnesses? Here's a tip for your recruitment method. It's never a good idea to ring doorbells of strangers before AT LEAST noon. Even if I was interested, I would turn you down just because you came to my door before noon.

Had I been able to abide by my plan to sleep later than 7:30 this morning, if I had been asleep when you rang my bell, I probably would have left that whole "I'm a Christian" thing out of my yellling at you to get away from door this early in the morning on a Saturday.

Anyway, I finally get to the mall (which . . . yep. I still hate it). And I head to Gap, where I can replenish my pants inventory with brand new, tax-free pants . . . only to find that, um, someone STOLE the Gap right out of the mall!

Um, that Gap has been there at least since I was in highschool, maybe longer. And who in their right minds doesn't have a Gap where I can get to it on Tax-Free Weekend?

Seriously, they are losing serious pants money from me, y'all.

Anyway, turns out that the mall has other stores with pants. So I still managed to find some pants. Although I'm not sure of a world where I don't have new Gap pants. This is all very new and frightening.

It's quite possible that this lack of Gap pants might actually add to my stress and anxiety where I am hoping that stuff will go away with the recent removal of the Stressor (capital S).

I need a nap. Actually I needed a nap by like, 11:30 this morning.

C.T.

I feel like I need to address a few things

Perhaps my blog has been misleading to some of you in some way. So let me clear up a few things that might help you if you are searching for something that somehow led you here but when you got here you did not find what you want.

1. Pizza Hut Pizza Mia
Dear People of Phoenix and Georgia-
I do not actually have any information on the Pizza Mia, nor can I get one for you. However, I sense that the Pizza Mia has recently come to your area, due to the influx of Pizza Mia search hits to my blog.

Yes, I did blog about it. But that's all I've got.

I can tell you that the Pizza Mia is decent for a Pizza Hut pizza and you should get one if you order from Pizza Hut.

Otherwise, there is nothing more for you here.

2. Censored or Uncensored Porn
I do not have it now.
I have never had it before.
I will never have it.

I have no idea how that search brought you here, but there is nothing more for you here.

Now get off of my blog.

3. Brook Pemberton from The Bachelorette Season 1
Yes, I have met him.
Yes, he bandaged my friend's toe when I took her to the ER.
No, he's not really all that exciting.

But if you need more Bachelors, I have a nice piece about when I met Aaron from The Bachelor. It's a much better story. It's over there on the right somewhere.

That's all I've got.

There's nothing more for you here.

However, if you have come here because you are a fan of delicious flavor . . . please. Stay. Look around. You are welcome here.

C.T.

Yes, I am on Myspace

I was reminded of that today when I apparently got a new message from that random Tom guy who is everyone's Myspace friend.

He's apparently stalking me now.

There's nothing on my Myspace page, so if you look for it, you will be disappointed. I am anti-Myspace in every sense of the word "anti".

But don't worry, I still have the lifelong dream of creating the world's worst and most gawdy Myspace page.

I just have to figure how to get actual glitter onto the page that falls off every time you click on something.

Not computer-generated glitter.

REAL glitter.

And possibly some sort of fragrance. Maybe new car smell.

C.T.

Public Service Announcement to All People of the World

The Tyrant watches the news everyday, and she also enjoys keeping the world safe. In light of recent headlines, The Tyrant would like to help spread the word to her international audience with the following Public Service Announcement:

***********************************PSA***********************************************

"All toys in the world (except for extra-large Nerf footballs) are recalled IMMEDIATELY.

If you have purchased, played with, looked at, glanced toward, touched, sniffed, brushed up against, licked, or come within a 25 foot radius of ANY toy in the past 10 years, you must return this toy to the manufacturer RIGHT NOW.

If you have recently given a toy of any kind to any children at any time since they were born (including Hilary Duff or Harry Potter action figures), please immediately collect all of their toys, right in front of them (including whatever they are holding and playing with RIGHT NOW), and call in a HazMat team to descend upon your house in their bright yellow uniforms, fumigate your house and torch your child's toys where they can watch.

The goal here is to scare the living daylights out of your already upset children, and leave them utterly toyless, and alone.

ALL TOYS (except extra-large Nerf footballs) may or may not be contaminated with lead paint, anthrax, pollen, and/or various types of pulverized cereals, included Froot Loops and Captain Crunch, and MAY be hazardous to your health and to the health of all human persons under the height of 12 inches tall.

(NOTE: All domestic cats are NOT at risk and should be encouraged to play with any and all toys that fall into the categories above.)

For your safety and for the safety of everyone else in the world, please IMMEDIATELY cease and desist all handling, ogling, and coexistence with all toys purchased between the dates of January 4, 1997 and August 14, 2007 (with the exception of pink My Little Ponies with serial numbers 19756473-2095748993884949878366285). All other colors of My Little Ponies should be blown to pieces immediately.

If you have concerns that you might be ill as a result of ALL toys in the universe, please call 911 right now and tell them you have Toy Poisoning. They might hang up on you the first time, but just continue to call back until they finally relent and come get you."

*******************************END***************************************************

Thank you for listening.

Safety First.

C.T.

THIS JUST IN: All extra-large Nerf footballs have now been recalled. They contain dangerous levels of asbestos and toxic lint.

Also, the pink My Little Ponies with serial numbers 19756473-2095748993884949878366285 are actually made of strawberries. It is okay for your children to eat these ponies.

All the pretty horses

So, I got a new debit card a couple of weeks ago. Actually, it's my very first debit card.

Shut up.

I went to the bank one day to deposit a MASSIVE check (you know, because I tend to come into massive checks a lot and all), and the teller started telling me about a new kind of checking account. It sounded fabulous, I haven't changed my checking in probably . . . 10-ish years. And it comes with a new debit card.

I thought, what the heck! Sign me up!

But before we finished the process (which basically consisted of me saying "yes"), I remembered that I didn't actually have an old debit card. After college, I walked into the first local bank I saw and signed up for all of my banking needs. Luckily, it's been a good experience. They take good care of me, it's small, it's free. It's all I really need in a bank.

Plus, they give me free Cokes when I take the time to get out of the car and come inside for stuff, rather then going through the drive through. Um, totally worth a free Coke, y'all.

At the time that I opened the account, however, they didn't offer debit cards. Which was no big deal. That was back in the days when people wrote checks and carried cash. Who needed a debit card? Just give me one of those new-fangled ATM cards and I'll be on my way.

Anyway, when the teller offered me a new debit card to replace my old one, I mentioned that I didn't have an old debit card. I just had my original ATM card.

I pulled the card out of the wallet to show her the sad state of my card. It's literally the one and only ATM card I've ever had - the original card from the day of yore when I opened my account at this bank. The teller looked at me as though I had just shown her the world's first ATM card ever, from a prehistoric era of banking millions of years ago.

It's probably safe to say this woman didn't work for this bank 10-ish years ago, and it was highly likely that she had never seen a card like mine before. I'm not gonna lie. She stared at the card, and then at me.

This card had a bank logo on it from about three or four logos ago. It had been through the wash in my back pants pocket probably no less than 10 times over the years. It had melted and unmelted to other cards in various wallets that I've left in a hot car time after time. And the laminate was peeling from the edges so badly that in order to use the card, I had to work on mashing down the edges for a good five minutes before even thinking about approaching an ATM machine.

All this to say, I needed no convincing. Hand over the new debit card!

But, the teller (for some odd reason) seemed to think that I still needed to be convinced to relinquish my old, battered card to be replaced by a shiny new card. Her selling point was this:

"Well, you'll love these new cards! They are so pretty! They are so nicely done with a beautiful picture of some horses running through the countryside. . . . "

Huh? Since when are Debit cards art?

I could care less what the card looks like. I don't care if it's pretty, or if it's the ugliest card that has ever existed out of all of the cards in the world that have ever existed . . . ever. As long as it works, give it to me.

But this teller was so excited to tell me about the pretty new card that I just smiled and nodded and acted like I might be so impressed by the beauty of my new card that I might not even use it. I might just frame it and hang it on my wall so that people can come over and admire my new debit card . . . with all the pretty horses on it.

And then I'll go back to writing checks and carrying cash.

The card just might be too pretty.

C.T.

I have the world's tannest rabbit.

Yesterday, I noticed that I have a brand new tiny rabbit in the yard.

Well, either it's a new baby rabbit, or the big one shrunk. It has rained a lot. Maybe rabbits shrink when they get wet.

Anyway, he caught my eye yesterday because he kept hanging out by my shed in the backyard. He seemed fine. But then later in the day, he wasn't moving much. He was all sprawled out in the shade and the dirt in front of the shed.

I got worried. It was really hot outside and I feared roasted rabbit.

I went out to check on him. I thought maybe he was dead and I would have to figure out what to do with a tiny dead rabbit. I only have experience with large dead squirrels . . . in the house. Not so much with tiny dead rabbits outside of the house.

I walked slowly towards him and he saw me. He jumped up and scurried underneath the shed.

He was fine.

I saw him again today, doing the same exact thing. Sprawled out with his white belly to the sun.

I figured out that he's . . . tanning.

I have a tiny metrosexual rabbit in my yard.

C.T.

Adventures in home owning

I tried to plan my weekend so that today would be my day of rest. Per Jesus.

But, my house had other plans. It's pretty much a brand new house now.

Appliances
The dryer broke. Got a new one. We've already covered that.

I cleaned out my refrigerator and freezer yesterday. It might be the oldest fridge in the world. The ice maker doesn't work anymore. I hoped the cleaning would magically revive the ice maker. But, it didn't. At least now the whole thing sparkles.

Plumbing
I replaced my shower heads. My made-to-retire home came equipped with your standard-issue old-folks-ready hospital-type therapeutic shower, um, wands? They are off-white and they don't match anything. And over the course of the past few years, they leak and whatnot. They're not pretty.

In fact, I'd call them grody.

Had I known, however, how easy it is to replace shower heads, I would have done this the second day I lived here. The new ones are amazing. And they don't leak.

I am a master plumber.

Yard
My crepe myrtles have the scale, y'all.

I sprayed them with some stuff a couple of weeks ago. It didn't work. So I went back to the store for more stuff.

I found a helper at the store. "My crepe myrtles have . . . the scale." It was all very dramatic. I felt ashamed.

It's kinda like they have leprosy and they are outkasts from the other crepes, and I have failed them as they're keeper.

Store Helper hooked me up with more anti-scale stuff, so I sprayed the trees again yesterday.

I still love them. The trees. Not the scales.

Garage Door
This one was unexpected.

So, I get back from Target today and my garage door decided not to open, or close, or be nice at all. It had been acting a little weird lately, but today it decided to just kinda freak out completely.

As a homeowner, I like to take it upon myself to fix everything myself. So, I grabbed some tools and gloves and dug into the finer points of Automatic Garage Door 101.

I have no idea how a garage door opener works or how to fix one.

I looked, I messed around, I applied my tools, I got really dirty and sweaty.

Nothing was better.

I did determine the problem, but by the time I figured it out and started hardcore "fixing" it, I apparently angered it and made it worse.

Turns out, when those wheels come out of the track, they are really hard to get back in there. And my garage door weighs about 108,000 pounds.

So, I was forced to admit defeat and call my handyman (aka: my dad). I woke him from a nap with my tale of woe.

He came over to rescue me and we reassessed the door situation. I had successfully pinpointed the problems, but he brought the know-how to rig it enough to where it works again, and I don't have to replace anything for now.

However, if you don't see me for an extended period of time, I am likely trapped in the house because my garage door is mad at me again and holding me hostage.

At least I have new shower heads and a clean fridge. If I'm trapped in here for months, I'll have good showers and cold water.

C.T.

Before and After

It's amazing how far dryers have come in the last 22 years.

Before

Circa 1985

Old
Faithful
Retired



After

Circa 2007

New
Shiny
Working



And it comes with a signal buzz . . . almost identical to Old Faithful.

All is well.

C.T.

I wonder . . .

I wonder what the mailman thinks when I'm inside dancing around to Janet Jackson Rhythm Nation, loud enough to where it can be heard outside of the house.

C.T.

I think the Cheetos Cheetah and the Mini Focusizer are working together.

Has anyone seen the Cheetos commercial where the Cheetos Cheetah is at some sort of (what appears to be) rave with a bunch of pre-teens? They are all jumping up and down to loud music, like, 50 kids in there. Then the Cheetah eats a spicy Cheeto and the floor melts below him. He falls through the floor to another pre-teen rave, this time to the tune of heavy metal music.

It's obviously some sort of apartment complex housed by mobs of pre-teens who do nothing but dance around to loud music with a cartoon cheetah.

Where are the parents?

Where are the wholesome snacks?

Where are the police to enforce noise violations?

Clearly, what has happened is that the Miniature Focusizer has infiltrated home after home, stealing young children away by taking the place of the parents in these homes. The Miniature Focusizer befriends the munchkins, gradually gaining their trust day by day while riding in their backpacks and whispering anti-parent propaganda in their ears all day.

Then, the Miniature Focusizer lures the children away to this mysterious apartment complex where the children are brainwashed by loud music and rhythmic dancing . . . and Cheetos.

Clearly, the only way to avoid a mass epidemic of dancing, orange-fingered youth (after all, the chidren are our future), is to IMMEDIATELY bring ALL Cheetos to my front door, step away from the offending Cheetos, and leave them for me to dispose of in whatever way I see fit.

And, NEVER listen to talking cereal. But we've already covered that.

C.T.

The Angst

I am feeling considerable angst today. And I feel like you would like to hear about three reasons for the angst.

1.



You all should know what this face means by now. Let's just say, I am glad for the weekend.

And I did a lot of therapeutic yardwork tonight.

2. Figs
About a month ago, I thought it was about to be fig time. The plan this year is to harvest the fig crop from my giant fig tree, then my mom and I would make another batch of world-famous Tyrant Family Fig Preserves. It's an age-old tradtion from my mom's mom, to my mom, to me.

Also, my uncle has eaten the figs and he has spent a lot of time in China and Germany, therefore the claim of world-famous is perfectly legal and legit.

My mom and I also planned to enter a jar of this year's fig preserves in the State Fair. Last year, there seemed to be only one entry that swept the Fig category. Which makes sense, if only one person entered figs. So, we figure we've got a pretty good shot at a ribbon, and possibly the coveted blue ribbon.

We play to win.

We made fig preserves the second year that I was in my house that came with a giant fig tree. Somewhere around 50 jars of figs. That's a lot.

The next year, all the droughtedness did not yield a good fig crop. So, one year without figs.

This year, we are back on the fig bandwagon. So when I saw that the figs were getting close to pickin' time, I sent out the alert to my mom to get ready for figs. After you pick them, you have to preserve them pretty much by the next day or they're just not any good.

We are serious about quality figs in our preserves.

Well, the first few figs got ripe, but it wasn't very many. Not worth my time to get dirty in the tree. So, I let the birds have them. They were gone pretty quick, anyway. I figure if I extend the first fig branch, if you will, to the birds and give them first dibs on the figs, the rest of the figs are mine, fair and square.

Then it rained for 108 days. The figs need sun to ripen. So, I watched the figs. And the rain. And I waited. Every day I checked on the figs. But . . . no more ripe figs, yet.

Now I've got a tree full of smallish to medium-sized green figs and I am obsessed with watching them every single day. I'm afraid that if I take my eye off of them for one day, I'll miss the window of opportunity to pick them for our State Fair Fig Plan '07.

I take my fig farming job very seriously.

It happens fast. One day they are green, then they start turning yellow, then in a day or so they are brown and ready to pick . . . and the birds know it. They are quick, like the figs.

It is possible that I could check on the figs one day, see that they are close to being ready, go to work the next day, then get home to like, three ripe figs and a whole lot of fig shrapnel from where the birds had a fig feast.

Figs are stressful.

I have to be ready to jump into action at a moment's notice. My mom has to be ready to fire up the stove and giant pots of water to start cooking figs.

Basically, the figs are in charge. Indefinitely. And I'm stressed out.

3. A scary movie
I've had a scary movie sitting on my coffee table for over a week, and I am too scared to watch it.

The house rule is no scary movie watching at home, alone, in the dark, at night. Because watching a scary movie at home, alone, in the dark, at night is an open invitation for whatever I am watching in the movie . . . to eat me later when I least expect it.

If I watch a scary movie at night, at home, alone, in the dark, there's a good chance I'll spend my first few hours in bed that night . . . listening. With angst. I suddenly develop amazing hearing after a bout with a scary movie. I can suddenly hear everycreak, moan, rattle, knock, whisper, potential footsteps . . . that might be going on in the house. In the dark. At night.

But, I still like scary movies. And they are better in the dark. You know, for ambience. You don't really get the full scary movie affect if you watch a scary movie in broad daylight.

So, I have angst because I really want to watch this movie, but I'm home, alone, and it's dark. Outside. And I am scared of this whole situation.

I had to wait until I was finished moving the waterhose around the yard before I could even consider the possiblity of watching the movie. If I started the movie, then had to go outside in the dark to shut off the hose, I would quite possibly simply blow up from the angst that would be involved in that predicament.

There's nothing stopping me from watching it now.

Except for . . . The Angst.

C.T.

The Worst Dog Walker . . . EVER

So, there's this guy in my neighborhood who walks his dog regularly. I see him a few mornings a week on my way to work.

He's the worst dog walker ever.

He never puts his dog on a leash. But the dog never runs off.

No, this dog is the slowest dog in the world. I don't think it would ever occur to this dog that he could escape. Or . . . maybe he IS escaping, he's just so slow that it takes him . . . years.

And he doesn't walk straight. No, he V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y wanders from one side of the street to the other, in front of the Worst Dog Walker Ever.

The guy just let's the dog do this. He stands in front of cars if a car is coming . . . to allow his dog to safely wander across the street, or down the middle of the street, or wherever he feels like going. There's no plan. There's no route. The dog just wanders, and the guy follows.

And he's not an old guy. He's young. Perhaps my age-ish. (Shut up)

Maybe his dog is a million years old, too old to walk fast, and the guy figures "Hey, my dog is a million years old. The fact that he can still walk is a medical miracle. Therefore, he has earned the right to wander wherever he pleases, slowly poo wherever he wants to poo, and to take as long as he damn well pleases to get nowhere in particular while stopping traffic and annoying the neighbors. After all, he has wandered the earth for a million years. During his last few decades, he deserves to rule the world one slow step at a time."

I just really don't know.

This week, there is a new twist. I pulled around the corner earlier this week and I saw a Honda CRV sitting cockeyed in the middle of the street so that I couldn't get by. At first, I thought maybe something was wrong . . . and I was concerned.

But THEN I was quickly annoyed. The CRV V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y turned and pulled across to the other side, landing (again) cockeyed on the opposite curb. I just had to sit there and wait for him to V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y get out of the way.

As I finally was able to pass him, I saw why he was doing what he was doing. That V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W DOG was wandering down the middle of the street, from side to side, V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y. And the guy in the car was . . . The Worst Dog Walker Ever.

But this time, the guy wasn't walking along behind him. He was DRIVING . . . along . . . behind . . . the dog.

Um . . . WHAT???

It's not like he is corraling the dog, or herding it, perhaps. Or even trying to control the dog's path in the least bit. No . . . this guy was herding ME and trying to control MY path so that the dog could safely, I don't know . . . hog the middle of the road.

Yep. A dog walking down the middle of the street. Guy in a CAR behind him, blocking traffic and watching his dog . . . walk down the middle of the street.

I'm sorry . . . but does this make even the least bit of sense?

First, how does anyone have time to V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y wander down the street watching a dog everyday? I mean, is this his dog? Because that's a terrible way to, well, own a dog.

Or, is this his job? Is he really employed as a dog walker, and does this dog's owner know that he is the WORST DOG WALKER EVER, and that he lets their dog wander down the middle of the street without a leash?

And second, it's just the dumbest thing I've ever seen.

I don't want to have to plan a new route to work just because this dog has taken over most of the direct routes out of my neighborhood.

C.T.

I . . . need . . . hazelnut . . .

I am a fan of hazelnut in my coffee.

We've been out of hazelnut creamer at work for about a week. It's been a rough week.

I start every morning when I get to work with my cup of coffee. Depending on the quality and time spent with my coffee, this will dictate the kind of day that I have for the rest of the day.

Bad coffee = bad day. It's a fairly simple equation.

This week, being forced to drink my coffee with plain, substandard creamer, I realized that I need hazelnut in my coffee. The regular creamer at work just isn't doing it for me.

I can't possibly have a good day without my hazelnut.

A couple of days ago, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I put on my best whiney face and my best whiney demeanor, and I pleaded for more hazelnut creamer.

I probably didn't need to do that. I probably could have just asked. But since I had already had a bad cup of coffee that morning, the best I could do was whine about it. Intensely whine about it.

Today I got the word that the hazelnut is back. I can have it in my coffee tomorrow.

The lesson we can learn from this is that whining works.

And, if you take away my hazelnut, I will certainly whine.

C.T.

We had a good run, you and me

Some time over the weekend, while I was visiting my ailing grandma in the hospital, my dryer lost the will to live.



R.I.P Dryer: 1985-2007

I don't know if my dryer heard that my grandma was not doing well and it just saw no more reason to live. It has been in the family for 22 years, so maybe it felt a certain kinship to my grandma.

Or, if after 22 years of drying the Tyrant Family clothing, it just had no more hot air to give.

Whatever happened, I got home from Oklahoma last night and I needed to crank out three loads of laundry before bed. But when I got to the drying part, the dryer just wouldn't dry. At all.

It made noises like it was drying. And it threw the clothes around . . . as though it was drying. But after about an hour when my clothes were still wet, I determined that it was, in fact, NOT drying.

So, I had to haul all of my wet laundry over to my parents' house and mooch off of their dryer so that I wouldn't have to go to work naked today.

I was so tired. I did not want to leave the house. But, I ran out of places to hang my clothes in the house to air dry. So, the clothes and I took a short trip to the only other free dryer that I knew was available on a Sunday night.

I'll miss my dryer. It has dried my clothes for the better part of it's 22 years in the family. In middle school, I first learned how to do laundry using this dryer.

In highschool, I complained about having to do many loads of laundry using this dryer.

In college, I brought my clothes home from school with me to use this dryer. For free.

And then about five or six years ago, my parents bequeathed the dryer (along with its accompanying washer) to me when they got a new, fancy set to replace the old set.

They were new to me. And I loved them.

A friend of mine picked them up in his truck, then hauled them up three flights of stairs to my apartment at the time. They took a bit of a beating, but they were otherwise fine, never missing a beat in drying my clothes.

Then, when I moved into my house, my dad hauled the washer and dryer back down the three flights of stairs from the old apartment, then into my laundry room where they live today.

I'll miss the buzz. The dryer has a buzz that buzzes out lloud when a load of laundry is finished drying. It's a terrible sound. But it's a sound that has brought comfort for many, many years.

I went to Sears tonight to buy a new dryer. I wonder what sound it will make, and if I will be okay with it. And if I'm not okay with it, I wonder if I will still be able to embrace the new dryer for the next 22 years.

I don't so much like change.

The Old Faithful dryer was a Maytag. It lasted 22 years and through several moves. So, I wanted to buy the exact same thing, only new, to last another 22 years.

I don't need any of those fancy new-fangled dryers that, like, dry, fold, and hang up your clothes for you, while it makes dinner and waters the yard. I just want a basic, long-lasting, affordable dryer that does ONE thing:

DRY CLOTHES

This was my first major appliance purchase. The house came with a refrigerator, and I already had the bequeathed washer and dryer. So until yesterday, I had no need to buy any major appliances. And . . . I wasn't really excited to buy a new dryer today. But, I made my peace with it before I went to Sears.

Since the last one was free for me, I can definitely say that I've gotten my money's worth out of it. So, in order for the universe and my life-shui to balance out, I reasoned with myself that it is only fair and just to have to buy the next one. Even if unexpectedly.

In fact, I already researched the dryer I wanted and I knew where to find it and how much to pay for it. And I think this disappointed the sales lady when I got there.

I walked in and said, "I want that." And I pointed to the Maytag that was on sale.

This seemed to throw her off of her appliance-selling pitch. She asked if I wanted a washer, too. Or if I wanted to look at some other dryers.

I said, "No. I want that."

For her big finale, she showed me where the lint trap was. She pulled it out and everything.

Then she asked if I would need a cord. Um, dryers don't come with electric cords? She said, "No. You have to buy that separate. Dryers don't come with cords anymore."

"Um, yes. I'll need a cord then."

I guess that has changed in the past 22 years in the wide world of dryers. Apparently they used to come with the cord.

I was in and out in 15 minutes, complete with free delivery and free removal and disposal of the old, dead dryer.

And a cord.

Anyone wants to come have a clothes drying party, the new dryer arrives on Saturday.

C.T.

I wish hospitals were actually like Scrubs

My dad and I drove four hours north this morning to see my Grandma. She had a heart attack this week and she's in the ICU.

This is definitely NOT what she looks like today.



She's in a brand spanking new (one can only assume state-of-the-art) hospital. We could tell this because when we walked in, the deli/gift shop was not open and actually it's still under construction. The ER entrance was lost somewhere behind scaffolding.

AND, they seem to still be building the ROOM NEXT DOOR to my grandma's room. On the ICU floor, no less, where there should be peace and quiet . . . and not so much banging and drilling. The room had a sign on it: "Under Contstruction".

New is nice, yes. I've been in plenty of old, stinky, germ-infested hospitals. It's nice to be in a clean one, without that grody hospital smell.

But . . . incomplete? That raises some concerns for me regarding the care of my loved ones in emergency situations.

Are we sure we have plenty of bandaids, hypodermic needles, crash carts, oxygen tanks . . . you know . . . VITAL, working hospital essentials???

And yes, it was comforting to see that the Instruction/Quick Start Guide that was still attached to one of the monitors in her room. I hope someone read that before they put my grandma in there.

And . . . the bathroom door in my grandma's room sticks when you close it. I almost got trapped in there . . . twice.

There also seemed to be some confusion among the orderlies in the hall about the dinner tray pick-up process. I'm sorry, but if they can't manage the picking up of the trays after dinner, can they handle such things as making sure my grandma gets her meds on time?

I kinda just wanted to grab her chart, make an Excel spreadsheet (on my Macbook, of course) and help them plan out the proper care of my grandma.

Not that they aren't doing a good job. I'm sure everything is fine. As long as the people working there aren't brand new. Like, this is their first gig out of medical school . . .

We asked the nurse if she could give my grandma something for pain. Some orderlies came in to help my grandma shift around in her bed a bit since she can't do it herself, but they actually just managed to rough her up a bit. So then she was in a lot of pain.

Maybe it was the orderlies' first day on the job or something, and they hadn't gotten to the part of learning to be gentle with elderly ICU patients . . .

The nurse said she'd check on the pain meds, and then she was gone for half an hour. By the time she got back, I was in pain, too. And I was considering stealing the pain meds from the patient across the hall, because from what I could overhear as I paced in front of my grandma's door, they had already given the lady across the hall one dose of pain meds and it didn't work and they were about to try a second pain med chaser. Why should she get two when my grandma still needed one?

Maybe the pharmacy or drug closet is still under construction, much like the room next door. Maybe the nurse had to go down to CVS for a pain pill for my grandma, then come all the way back.

Where is Dr. Cox when you need him? And a hug from J.D. would do nicely.

This is all a bit unsettling.

C.T.

I got a jury summons today . . .

. . . except it's not addressed to me.

It was in my mailbox, with my correct address. But, it has someone else's name on it.

So . . . what does that mean?

Do I go? It's not for me, but it's at my house.

Am I required to assume a new identity and report to jury duty? Is the government telling me they'd rather that I be this other person and they want me to be on a jury? I don't really know all of the rules, but I assume that if you get a summons, you have to go, right? Even if it isn't technically yours . . .

But technically, it is illegal to open someone else's mail. So if I am truly supposed to assume this new identity, I will have to do it before I open the envelope, so that I can find out when to show up for jury duty.

I'm not really sure how to do that.

But what if this is a trap? What if the government is watching me to see if I will open this piece of mail, to then arrest me and haul me off to Illegal Mail Opening Jail? Worse, what if the envelope itself is rigged, and it sets off some sort of alarm which triggers a SWAT team to descend upon my house from air and from sea?

They'd have to come a long way from the sea, I guess. But the rest of it could happen.

But then, what if I don't open the envelope, and I don't show up for jury duty. Will they track me down by my address and come arrest me to send me to Jury Duty Absentee Jail?

OR, what if this other person gets in trouble because neither one of us show up? Or if I show up instead of him (or her)?

Why is this guy's (or girl's) name on my jury duty summons at my address, anyway? That's kinda rude.

Jury duty stresses me out. Good thing I've never actually had to go before.

I don't think I'll go this time, either. It's not really for me.

C.T.

9:18 pm

It might be one of those nights when I go to bed at 9:18 pm.

I'm worn out, y'all.

Or maybe I'm old?

Bored?

Lazy.

Sleepy?

Sneezy?

Dopey.

Ok, now I'm just saying dwarves.

Time for bed.

C.T.

Water Restrictions Lifted, y'all

And there's nothing I like more on a hot summer day than getting outside in my daisy dukes and a white tank top to hose off the side of the house in my bare feet.

WT C.T.

I hate the Miniature Focusizer

Is anyone else completely disturbed by the Frosted Mini Wheats commercial where the kid is talking to a talking Mini Wheat while she is getting ready for school?



The more I see this commercial, the more questions come up for me about this situation.

Like, the girl's mom is in the background busy doing something, but she is clearly within earshot of her child. So, is she okay with the fact that her daughter is having a conversation with a talking piece of cereal?

And why is the Mini Wheat the one helping the kid pack for school, and not the mother? Clearly the mother is too busy with something else more important, and she has left her child in the care of a tiny piece of wheat and sugar.

How responsible is that?

Then, the Mini Wheat gets all obsessive and insists that the girl takes her new "miniature focusizer" to school with her. Next we see the Mini Wheat in the girl's backpack, talking to her on the way to school.

So not only is the kid taking advice from cereal, she has formed an unhealthy relationship with a controlling piece of food.

And, not only has the mom neglected her child to the point that the girl has turned to cereal as a secondary caregiver, the mom has let her child go off to school . . . carrying on a conversation with sugary wheat.

I mean, does the mom not understand that her child is going to get beaten silly by her friends the first time she opens her backpack to ask her "miniature focusizer" for help to focus on a worksheet during math hour? She's going to be known as the Cereal Whisperer for her entire school career, unless she can find someone who cares enough to get her into therapy, remove her from a neglectful home situation, and quite possibly put her into the Witness Protection Program so she can find a new family who actually cares about her, move to a new school, and assume a new completely cereal-free identity.

Parents, I see this commercial as a wake-up call for all of the deadbeat parents out there . . . NOT as an advertisement for a tasty cereal. In fact, this commercial really paints Frosted Mini Wheats in a bad light, and just a little bit crazy. Is it a hallucinogenic? Is it trying to warp the minds of our children, trying to control the kids to rise up and eventually take over the world??

We need to wake-up and take notice of when our children are so neglected that they are hallucinating love and support from the foods that we eat.

I implore all of the parents all over the world, the minute you notice that your child is interacting with cereal, or with any other food for that matter, we need to step in and take action. We need to teach our children that food is not people.

Cereal is not your friend.

No matter how convincing your Mini Wheats may be, a tiny piece of cereal cannot actually help you get through your school day, or learn anything, or even guide you through a healthy or happy life. And it especially cannot take the place of proper parenting, or healthy friendships.

We have imaginary friends for that sort of thing.

C.T.

Better than Feng Shui

It's Tyrant Shui.

I don't believe in all that feng shui crap. But what I do believe in is making spaces work for me.

As one with a tendency towards anxiety and a tad bit of OCD, I can be particular about the spaces where I spend my time. I have to be, if I am ever going to be comfortable.

When I am uncomfortable in a certain space, I tend to be withdrawn and fidgety (more so than usual). When the feeling of comfort is abundant, I am more likely to engage, to entertain, and to fidget just a little less.

I think that's why I enjoy being home so much. I have complete control over the space, and it's perfect for me. Always safe and comfortable. And I am hardly ever fidgety around here.

In places other than my house, I'll tend to sit in the same chair in a room every time, choosing the chair that puts me in the spot I deem as most comfortable for me. Not that it's necessarily the most comfortable chair, or the best spot in the room. It's all about my comfort level in the room.

Don't worry, I'm not going to freak out if I don't get my chair, or if a room isn't entirely to my liking, or if I have to sit in a spot that isn't the most comfortable for me. Although . . . I might. So it's probably safest for everyone if you just give me my chair.

You just never know what might make me snap.

And yes, I pretty much sit in one of the two same spots every day in my house, too. Even though I do have more than two places to sit.

Anyway, I recently decided that Cupcake's office just wasn't working for me. And if I have to keep going in there to escape . . . . I mean, to seek counsel and direction on very serious work stuff, the room just really needs to be workable for me. As a protege, I need my protoger? protogette? protogee? to have an office that is comfortable place for me to . . . learn.

Since I have just a cube, there's really only one place for everything to go, and everything is usually covered in a substantial layer of paper anyway. So, even if I wanted to Tyrant Shui it, there's not much I could do.

The first cube I had at my office was a constant source of anxiety for me. I felt like I was out in the middle of the room, on display, all the time. My back was to everyone, which meant I was a prime target for sneak attacks from, you know, bad guys. There was nothing safe about that space. And consequently, it was a fairly unproductive year for me, I think for the sole reason that I was uncomfortable and on edge every day, just by being at me desk.

Who can work in those conditions?

The cube I have now is ideal for me (as far as cubes go, that is) because it's in the corner, I face the room (which makes me safe from surprise attacks from behind), and I'm by the window, so I get the natural light and the illusion of more space than I really have in my tiny cube.

But Cupcake's office is a completely different story. It was a shui nightmare. The furniture was all weirdly configured and arranged oddly, wasting space and just giving out bad vibes. It was dark because the furniture covered the window. And there was just no flow. No sensible way to be in the room and have a conversation without feeling just a bit on edge, or being obstructed by other objects in the room.

There was just little to no shui. And I just can't work like that.

So today, we Tyrant Shui-ed it. To make the room work better . . . for me.

And for Cupcake. Of course.

And I have decided that this Tyrant Shui is my new hobby. I need your spaces to work for me if I am to spend time in your spaces at any time.

Tyrant Shui is not based on any sort of logic or mystic spirit or spiritual mystery or really on anything deep at all. It is simply based on how I need the room to be to be comfortable for me. In reality, I have been doing this for years in my own home. I'm constantly identifying things in the house that I can move, or paint, or rearrange, or cover with a picture that will add a bit more peace into this space.

It can be as simple as moving a chair or swapping one vase for another to be the centerpiece on my dining table, or it can be more complicated like staining all of the doors in my hallway to get rid of more of the light-colored wood paneling that plagues my house (which incidentally, might be my next house project).

Last night, I worked up some schematics of possible arrangements for Cupcake's office. I came up with two very Tyrant Shui options, then a blank page and some furniture cutouts so that we could rearrange in ways other than my two options.

It was all drawn to scale, of course.

Today, we picked an arrangement based off of Option #2 (my personal preference) and we moved all of the furniture around the room.

At long last, I feel comfortable in that space. My angst lifted almost immediately . . . almost immediately after I lifted that ridiculously heavy printer and put it back on the Other Desk.

The key was to redirect the flow into the room, and to provide an arrangment that shifted focus to make full use of an unobstructed view to the window (for daydreaming, or hardcore strategic thinking). I optimized the space and I arranged the table and chairs for maximum cheeriness and peace when I have to be in there for, you know, official protege/prototype? protetician? protetographer? business.

The room is amazing, y'all. Too bad I don't get to keep it.

One room down, millions more to go.

Your room could be next for Tyrant Shui.

Don't worry. You'll thank me after you experience the difference that Tyrant Shui can make in your life . . . and more important, in my life.

C.T.

Why had no one told me about this?

Some of you have a very serious and important responsibility to make sure that I am watching all of the good TV shows in the world, all of the time, as much as possible.

But it appears that all of you have dropped the ball on one very excellent show that I had to find all by myself.

People, don't hold out on me. I'm serious.

I kept seeing ads for my new favorite show (before I knew it was my new favorite show), but I never paid any attention to it . . . until I saw that the season premiere was to be a spoof of American Idol.

I immediately decided that I needed to watch all of the previous episodes of the show for context before the season premiere. And I was NOT disappointed.

Um, y'all? Why has no one told me about Psych before last week when I found it on my own?



This show is genius. And I might be a little bit in love with James Roday.

I'm not going to lie about that. I'm not ashamed.

C.T.

There goes Plinko

Seriously??

THAT guy??

Out of ALL of the people in the entire world, they pick DREW CAREY to take over for Bob Barker on The Price is Right?

I mean, they even passed over the guy who hosted the traveling version of the show. Ladies and gentlemen, Todd Newton:


And so you're telling me that after the Fake Bob, who went to literally almost FOUR cities in the U.S. with the traveling version of the show, the next best option was Drew Carey?

I mean, nothing against Drew Carey himself. I'm sure he is a wonderful fellow.

But is he really The One to carry on the yodeling mountain climber torch? I mean, we might as well just go ahead and send that poor yodeling mountain climber over the cliff every single time for all of eternity. What more has he really got to live for, anyway?

I mean, sure. Maybe I'm a little too emotionally attached to The Price is Right as it has been and always should be: complete with Bob Barker.

See, 35 years of Bob Barker created a cultural powerhouse that blows all other daytime television game shows away. It's just a lethal, and perfect, combination. Nothing will ever compare to The Price the way we have always loved it.

That beady little microphone. The tan that never quit. It's magic, people!

Sure, what really made the show was yes, Plinko. But also, The Bob. It was bad enough when Rod Roddy decided to go ahead and die, which meant he had to leave the show, giving us no choice but to come on down to someone else's voice.

But at least with Plinko and Bob left, the show could still go on while maintaining it's iconic charm and purity.

And now they bring in the guy who based his sitcom in Ohio? There's NOTHING funny about Ohio, y'all.

NOTHING.

Will it even be the least bit believable when Drew tells us to get our pets spayed or neutered? Will we want to watch an hour of old ladies planting kisses just underneath those giant black glasses? Is Mimi going to be Carey Beauty?

I don't think I can handle even a few seconds of Mimi in a swimsuit showcasing a jetski. I just can't do it.

The only real value I see here is if he brings Wayne Brady on at the end of every show to sing a medley random songs in front of a green screen with something crazy going on behind him. I would watch that part, especially if that really tall skinny guy is there, too.

You know, the funny one. He could just stand by the big wheel with a funny hat on or something. I'd like that.

I don't know. I'm just having a really hard time with all of this.

They can change the host, if they must. Ultimately, I have no control over this.

But if they go and change Plinko to . . . Dinko, or Stinko, or something REALLY ridiculous, like Drinko . . . I am OUT.



C.T.

The Tyrant's National Geographic Channel

Seriously, my backyard is like the National Geographic Channel . . . all the time.

Today I noticed that some (ok, A LOT) of ants have taken up residence in my potted petunias. It's like my own personal ant farm.

Not that I ever wanted one. But now I have one.

I was outside quite a bit today, watching the ants. I'm quite baffled at the sheer number of ants in my nice petunias. Which, incidentally, are a lot less nice than they used to be. And I think that's because they are full of ants.

So, as I watched the ants in and around my beautiful blue pot of petunias, I saw something that I'm sure in nature is absolutely extraordinately. Extremely rare. In fact, I believe I have captured on film the FIRST ever . . .

Group of Ants Carrying a Bee UP a Potted Plant of Petunias.

You won't see THAT on National Geographic, I can assure you.

What you are about to see is, in fact, the never-before-seen live footage. Of the ants. With the bee. Today.

Now, it is blurry. But trust me, it is a group of ants carryiing a bee.

You see, nature is unpredictable. Once I noticed this amazing feat of ant strength (clearly it must be Ant Festivus), I went inside to get my camera, thinking this journey of the ants and the bee would quite possible take hours. I had plenty of time.

But when I got back out to the ant festivities, the ants had the bee halfway up the pot already. So I didn't have time to grab my film crew, set up the lighting, and properly frame the shot. I just had to get in there in the thick of it, with my camera, and watch the magic unfold.

Lady and gentleman, I bring you the international debut of Group of Ants Carrying a Bee UP a Potted Plant of Petunias.



I think tomorrow I will train them to live somewhere else other than my petunias. If they survive the couple of pounds of Amdro I loaded into the potted petunia with them.

C.T.

I don't understand what is going on here.

This is the second day that I have found my Arch-Nemesis parked like a normal person in an actual parking space.

Granted, he's all over the white line. But, it's pretty close to a good parking job.

Is it possible that camera phones and blogging really can bring positive change into the world in which we live? Can blogging be used for good, instead of evil?

On one hand, I am glad to be able to make a difference in my crusade for non-lame parking. I just want to make the world a better place, a place where the way people park their cars isn't offensive, or obscene.

On the other hand, this new and possibly improved behavior from my Arch-Nemesis takes all of the fun out of our bitter rivalry.

What will I do at work if our rivalry is over?

This may present an interesting new predicament. For me.

C.T.

Um . . . Pizza

My favorite food is pizza. In fact, I'm kinda just all about pizza. And I'm okay with that.

So, I'm just gonna blog about pizza for awhile.

Pizza is my comfort food of choice. Aside from M&Ms, that is.

I've had a lot of pizza and pizza-related foods lately.

Here is a list of the pizza items I have enjoyed lately, or at other times, as well as my personal review of each product. I do know a thing or two about pizza, so really, it would be a disservice to my readers if I didn't offer my guidance through the world of pizza.

1. Campisis
I've tried a lot of pizza from a lot of places. Campisis may not literally be the best pizza in the world, but it might be my favorite. It's just real good, y'all. Making a Campisis lunch possible for me will make me happy, anytime, any day. And I have no problem if each of you want to suggest lunch at Campisis . . . everyday. Take turns.

= 3 thumbs up (out of 2 thumbs - so good, it gets more thumbs than I have thumbs to give)

2. Pizza Hot Pockets
I'm not usually a fan of Hot Pockets, but lately I've decided to give them another try. I've found three varieties of Hot Pockets in the pizza genre, and after trying all of them, I can give them all a thumbs up. I can't say I'd eat these every day (like I would eat Campisis everyday). But they are decent if you need a quick pizza fix.

These items are: the regular crispy Hot Pocket with pizza in it, the Hot Pocket sub with pizza in it, and the Hot Pocket Calzone . . . with pizza in it.

= 1.5 thumbs

3. The Pizza Sandwich - Potbelly's
Now, if you ask my opinion on what we should do for lunch, or for supper, and sometimes for brunch (but never for breakfast - I am very strict about no pizza for breakfast, especially not cold pizza - cold pizza is pretty much offensive to pizza, and to me) likely I am going to enthusiastically vote for pizza, probably until it gets so annoying for you that you give in to my pizza desires.

But, during one team lunch at work not too long ago, the group overruled my pizza pushing and they forced a sandwich on me from a little joint known as Potbelly's. However, I still managed to overcome this obstacle in my quest for pizza that day. I ordered . . . the Pizza Sandwich. Don't tell me I can't have pizza. I will get pizza one way or another.

Yes, it's pizza . . . on a sandwich. And really, this is pretty genius. It combines two of my loves into one food item. Because if I can't have pizza for lunch, my second choice would be a good sandwich . . . because I love sandwiches. But not as much as pizza.

And what is a better sandwich than pizza on a sandwich?? COMBINING the pizza with the sandwich is just an amazing culinary delight.

I recommend.

= 2 thumbs

Also good in a pizza emergency when you can't get to a full-size, real live pizza.

4. The Pizza Cheesesteak - Texadelphia
I haven't had this in quite awhile, but it is similar to the Pizza Sandwich. It's literally pizza . . . on a cheesesteak.

I'll give this one-and-a-half thumbs up. It's not a full two thumbs because quite frankly, all that pizza on a giant cheesesteak sandwich is almost overkill. But, I'm not going to go so far as to say that they shouldn't have put the pizza on the cheesesteak, because honestly, it was good. I just can't eat that very often. In fact, I've only had it a couple of times.

= 1.5 thumbs

5. Combos Pizza Snacks
I tried these for the first time this week. They aren't great, but they do pack a pizza-flavored punch. I don't know how they do it, but it's pretty much some sort of pizza-flavored goo stuffed inside a hollow cylindrical pretzel. After a few of them, the pretzel part gets too salty. But the pizza goo really tastes like pizza.

I don't necessarily recommend these, but I'm certainly not going to not finish the ones I bought this week.

= .5 thumbs

6. Pizza Hut Pizza Mia
I ordered this two weekends ago while puppy-sitting the pups. I don't really know what makes this pizza any different than a regular pizza, but here's what Pizza Hut says:

NEW Pizza Mia pizza is made with whole milk mozzarella cheese, Old World Pizza Sauce made with vine-ripened California tomatoes and dough from fine white Great Plains flour.

Basically that means fat-full ingredients.

And let me just say, it was so good that I ordered it again this past weekend, while still puppy-sitting the pups. I mean, it's no Campisis. But for a Pizza Hut pizza, it's good pizza.

Apparently this is just a test pizza in a few markets (I love that I can read about pizza on the internet), but I recommend the Pizza Mia if you can find it.

= 1.75 thumbs

7. Sbarro
Apparently, Sbarro is a fancy pizza restaurant found only in Times Square in New York City. I hope to go there someday and try this amazing pizza that I've heard about from the television.

= ?? thumbs

So, there you have it. That's not the sum total of all of my pizza knowledge. And there are still plenty of pizzas, pizza-related products, and pizza places that I need to try. But as you can see, I am somewhat of a pizza enthusiast.

There is no shame in admitting that.

Especially since you just spent the last seven minutes reading about pizza.

C.T.

I think they call it nutgrass . . .

. . . because it drives you nuts.

C.T.

Close second to the Ninja Warrior Show

Joey Fatone
Honey Bee back-up dancers
People who can't sing
Karaoke with missing words
And . . . a trophy to the winner

What ISN'T right about all of those things put together?

If you aren't watching The Singing Bee on NBC, I'm not sure we can be friends.

If only it had Ninjas, it would be the perfect show.

C.T.

Ninja Reality TV

Um, it just doesn't get any better than this:



I finally got a chance to watch this show, and it is amazing. I don't know what is better: that is in Japanese with English lead-ins, or that people are really serious about this.

I mean, as a ninja, I can tell you that ninjas don't really need a reality show to qualify for ninja status. If you are a ninja, you know it. If you aren't, conquering an obstacle course is not going to make you any more of a ninja than you were before you started the obstacle course.

But, I appreciate that people have the desire to train to become a ninja. I mean, some of the people competing on this Ninja Warriors show (according to the Japanese announcer) have dedicated their lives to training to be able to finish this obstacle course, at which time they will be crowned as a Ninja Warrior.

Sadly, that rolling log feat gets everyone who attempts the first level almost every time. Seriously, if you can't handle that, you are nowhere near being a ninja.

But again, if you aren't already a ninja, hanging on to that rolling log isn't going to help you now.

Don't get me wrong, this show is amazing and highly entertaining. It just won't make you a ninja.

Thanks to Ninja Gmama for alerting me to Ninja Warrior.

Ninja C.T.