MOPAR

(Miscellaneous Oddball Posts Assembled Recklessly)

This is what it’s like watching a show with my husband.

The scene is a lawyer talking to a home healthcare worker who’s charge is an elderly lady.

Old lady says to lawyer: Your husband is doing a fine job.
Lawyer (whose husband is in jail) nods, smiles, and says: Thank you.
Nurse to lawyer: Don’t mind her, she only remembers the past.
My husband: Unlike the rest of us who only remember the future.  (complete with eyerolls)

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A while back we watched some show on Nostradamus.  One of the commentators was a Nostradamus expert of some sort.

He said something to the effect of: The quatrains of Nostradamus were designed to keep the idiots occupied.
My husband: And we can see that strategy’s been working really well, Mr. “Expert.”  (wink wink nudge nudge)

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142  That’s how many comments popped into my Google Reader.  See, there are a few blogs I read that aren’t on WordPress.  They’re on Blogger, or are their own URL, so I subscribe to the comments as well as the posts.  I’ve noticed that on one of the comments lists I follow, it sometimes takes up to 4 days for the comments to show up.  And last night while I was reading through a few that had come through, all of a sudden 142 comments showed up, some at least a month old.  Things that make you go, “WTF?”  Stupid Google Reader.

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Speaking of Reader, I’m in love with that little “Send to” button.  I can – at just a click on that tiny little arrow – send all my Reader wisdom and humor to someplace else.  It’s my way of spreading the wealth.  *cough*  (Knowledge is the ONLY wealth that should be spread, btw)  Now, instead of watching my favorite things fall off Reader after the 30 day mark, I can send them to the Blogger blogs I’ve set up to catch the gold. 

I can also send things to Twitter and Stumble, and lots of other places.  Check out your Reader settings to find out more. 

And I have determined that Google is like crack.  ‘Nuff said.

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Mish Mash

So my husband sent me a link the other day, something he thought might help me with blog fodder.  It’s supposed to provide people with ideas for creative writing, blogging, etc.  I saw this picture and what popped into my head was a joke I heard when I was little.

Q. What goes hahahahahahahaha-plop?
A. Someone laughing his head off.

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My husband also recorded a program for me, about the Zodiac killer.  When we watched it, both of us were almost alarmed at what they were trying to pass off as some kind of investigative journalism.  Ohmygosh it was so lame!  Someone was accusing a man dead 5 years of having been the Zodiac because they thought he sort of looked like the police sketch, so they tried to get a DNA sample of the man.  The dead man’s friend had letters, and the letters indicated that the dead man wasn’t even in CA at the time of at least one of the killings – but they wanted his DNA anyway.  They “confirmed” that a recording of the dead guy was proof positive voice comparison to a phone call the Zodiac made after one of the killings.  Their proof?  The recollection – the 40 year recollection mind you – of the woman at the police station who answered the phone.  Yeah, that would hold up in court.   

I did some reading a couple of years ago of some extensive research into the Zodiac killings, from articles posted in the Napa Sentinel.  Turns out it’s now defunct and the links and articles are gone but genius me had the brilliant idea to copy the articles and email them to myself, so I still have them if anyone wants to read them.  I’m pretty convinced the Zodiac was actually a team of guys.  Maybe I’ll make a page here on the blog and post them there. 

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In other news, there isn’t any.  It’s time for me to begin my nightly ritual of book dancing.  *snort*

Yeah, my Love,

 

Now

.

By the way, Happy October!

A Golden Rule

So I plopped down on the couch, right?  Wooden spoon and big mixing bowl full of mystery ingredients in my lap.  Forensic Files was on, you know.  Mix, watch – that whole 2 birds thing.  Darc walked by and saw the bowl.  “Whatcha doin’?” he asked, mimicking that singsong way kids have of asking a question. 

“Mixin’ stuff,” I told him.  That’s me, Captain Obvious.  I’d make a good Sgt. “Just the facts, ma’am”, Friday.
”What kind of stuff?”
”Cookie stuff.”

His face lit up in anticipation and delight.  “Ooooh!  Chocolate chip cookie stuff?!”
”Noooo … oatmeal raisin cookie stuff.”
”Ohhhhh.”  He gave me the most hang-dog look of disappointment he could muster, so I shot him a dirty look in return.
”Uh, I mean, um, yay?”

Cut to some time later, after the cookies have come out of the oven and cooled.  I saw him in the kitchen, it’s not like it’s a big place or anything.  He’d been pointedly ignoring my cookies for an hour, and now he was sniffing around, looking for treats.  Inside my head were silent statements: Yeah, go ‘head, I dare ya, try one of my cookies, see if you give me that look again, ungrateful cad! 

I waited.  In silence.  Tick … tick … tick.

And then out of the kitchen came, “Oh man!  These are awesome!  Seriously, these are perfect!  Wow, I have to have some more!  Why didn’t you tell me they’d be this good?”

*blows the smoke off an imaginary pistol*

I have 2 secret weapons when making cookies.  First, always use equal portions of butter and margarine.  That way they’re not too crisp or too soft.

Second, when making oatmeal raisin cookies, never ever use plain old ordinary raisins. 

Only the golden ones are allowed.

This Writer’s Wife

So, last night my husband told me he thought I should try out for some kind of editing thing like a friend of ours is doing.  He said he thought I’d made a good editor, that I had good instincts.  I told him, “You never saw what I did to Witch Hunt before my computer died.”

His eyebrows shot up.  “What are you talking about?  What did you do to Witch Hunt?”

“Relax, I didn’t do anything “to” it, but I did do a lot of stuff to a copy I made of it.”

“Why would you do anything to it?  What’s wrong with it that you think you needed to do anything to it?”

See how his alarm buttons all went off?  You writer types are so easy to mess with!  For anyone who’s not sure how “writer types” are, think “artist types” but smarter.  They can argue back better because they have a lot more words at their disposal.  Naturally. 

“Well, I did a lot of editing because I know you’ve been having some trouble with writer’s block, and I figured if I went in and did a lot of stuff to it, that one of two things would happen – either you’d say, ‘What the hell did you do?’ and go fix it, or you’d say, ‘Hmm, that’s not bad but it could be better, here, let me fix it,’ and that it would help you out of your writer’s block.” 

That’s when he told me he thought I’d make a good editor.    High praise from Caesar! 

Being stuck in a rut is hard on a writer – this I’ve seen firsthand.  It saps all their creative energy and confidence.  Now, I have no doubt whatsoever that one day my Beloved will be a best selling author and anything I can do in the meantime to help him will only benefit me (and him too!) in the long run.  So I muck with his stories, try to get his juices flowing, spur his imagination, try to get him out of that rut.  Writers like to fix things with their words, so throwing a little monkey wrench into the works can sometimes make magic happen.  A little monkey wrench, I said.  NOT a big one, like having half of a book’s edits lost when a thumb drive fails.  THAT is what’s called a catastrophe, not a monkey wrench, and it’s most definitely NOT recommended.  Don’t ask me how I know this. 

Okay writers, now that I’ve gone and got your dander up, I know you’re dying to tell me what works best for you when you have writer’s block.  I know just the thought of someone else mucking with your work is driving you crazy, and that you have a sudden spurt of sympathy for Darc, thinking about how his awful wife messes with his work.  So sound off! 

~~Ness~~

Keep the change pt 2

Okay, yesterday I talked about women trying to change their men and how they should never try to do that.  Today I want to talk about men thinking their women will never change and how that’s not right either.  For the record, Darc thinks I’m out of touch with this, but I noticed that YellowCat mentioned this exact same thing in the comments.  Personally, I suspect this might be more applicable to younger men the 1st time they get married and that older men, or men on their 2nd marriages, are more flexible. 

I think young men getting married for the 1st (hopefully only!) time believe the young bride on their arm is always going to be the young bride on their arm.  Ladies, tell me honestly, have you ever heard from your husband, “But you never used to …”?  It’s like they never expected you to gain weight, cut your hair or dye it, want to get a job or want to quit work.  You were supposed to be suspended in time the moment you took your vows, and heaven help you if you deviate from that in any way. 

Women change, guys, and that’s the bottom line.  Men change too but not because a woman made them.  Marriage is about adapting to those evolutions people make, growing together, exploring the new interests and perspectives, and respecting the person who is – at heart – still the person you love.  Yeah, it sounds good in text, it’s much harder in practice.  This I know.  I also know it’s worth the effort.  Many years ago I saw some marriage counselors on TV, and the question posed to them was, “What’s the number one indicator of divorce in a marriage?”  You’re thinking, “MONEY!” right?  That’s supposed to be the number 1 cause of divorce – but it’s not.  The true number 1 cause of divorce is lack of respect for one another.  The greater that lack, the sooner to divorce court.  Money is really just a symptom of respect, but is not the issue in and of itself. 

So ladies – you can’t change him.  Gentlemen, you can’t make her stay the same.  Learn it, love it, live it. 

That’s my wisdom for the day and the Falcon has spoken. 

Tune in tomorrow for your regular episode of Mundanity in The Darc House. 

~~Ness~~

Keep the change

You know, I spent the first few decades of my life not having a single sinus problem.  Then all of a sudden, a couple of years ago, my sinuses started acting like Little Miss Muffet every time there was a cloud in the sky.  I don’t know what the problem is, but frankly, I’m done now.  I’m tired of waking up with the same headache I went to bed with, and I’m tired of spontaneous breathing problems that have a mind of their own.  Noses are for breathing, dammit, now stop arguing with me and go back to doing what you do best. 

Anyway, I did manage to catch “the Catch” and the “After the Catch” shows I love so much.  It’s funny the things that pop into my head when I listen to the captains and crews sitting around shootin’ the breeze.  For instance, last night one of the guys mentioned something about how it’s hard when fishermen get married because their wives want them to take jobs that are close to home, but the man misses being a fisherman.  That statement kind of swirled around in my head for a while and I realized that’s one of the things I probably dislike most about being a woman – the assumption that all I want to do is “change my man.”  Not that it’s an issue for me now, but it has been in the past when I was dating.  My husband knows I wouldn’t want to change him even if I could.  Trying to convince dates of that was a pain in the butt, because men are so used to women trying to change them, now it’s hard for them to believe a woman who says she doesn’t. 

This is my personal opinion but if I could only give out one single piece of marriage advice (and lucky you I’m not limited to a single piece of advice because I have a blog, neener!) it would be to tell women, “YOU WILL NOT CHANGE HIM.”  I’ve known women who think this is possible, I’ve seen women leave comments on articles and blogs that they’re going to change their mates, I’ve known single women who were already planning on how they’d change any potential future husband – and they hadn’t even met him yet!  How stupid is that?!  If you cannot love and accept him as he is, then don’t marry him, you’ll only end up making both of you miserable.  It’s not worth it.  And if you bring children into such a union, they’ll only see that you think men are “not good enough.”  You’ll only send the message to your husband that he’s “not good enough.”  Yeah, there’s a cure for marital bliss. 

All right guys, sound off. 

(Don’t worry ladies, your turn tomorrow!)

~~Ness~~

Bits and pieces

I’m a little stunned.  I was going to comment that I haven’t missed a day blogging since May of last year, but as I was scanning through my little calendar thingie, it said I missed a day last June.  How could I have missed a day??  I am stunned, because I was sure I’d been faithful and consistent since last May. 

I guess this weekend sort of kicks off the start of summer, right?  Memorial Day Weekend.  Lots of people have plans, barbeque and stuff like that.  I’m thinking of making nachos.  What about you?

I learned something last night.  I learned that my son needs his toenails cut.  It must have been 4 or 5 this morning when he climbed into bed with us.  I was still reading, and asked him if he’d had a nightmare.  No, he just didn’t like waking up when it was still dark and quiet – it makes him feel too alone.  He plopped his head down on the pillow next to me, snuggled into my back, and once he fell back to sleep proceeded to kick, punch, and scratch me with those dang toenails all night long.  Darc and I say, politely, that he is a physical sleeper.  And I have the scratch marks and bruises to prove it!

And my son spent the better part of a day being upset that I was making him go barefoot in the house – because it’s been warm and he goes through socks like other people go through toilet paper.  My boy just can not stand naked feet, period.  I finally relented and let him put his socks back on.  What is the deal with males and socks?  I just don’t get it – my daughter’s not a big sock person, like her mama, and she used to pull them off all the time when she was a baby.  My son, on the other hand, acts like socks are a part of his anatomy and that I’ve amputated his feet if he can’t wear socks. 

Darc was teasing me earlier.  I’d bumped my elbow – not to where it hurt, but he started laughing.  I must have shot him a dirty look because he said, “This is the point where if it was me, you’d be going, ‘Are you all right?’”

So I shot back, “Yeah, and you’d always yell back at me, ‘If I was all right would I be screaming OWWW!?!?’  Geez!  Make a girl sorry she asked!”  I don’t know why but that made him laugh even harder.  I never ask him anymore if he’s okay when he yells.  I always wait until he quiets down, and then ask, “Are you all right now?”  I figure if he’s capable of making a smart-ass crack, he’s fine. 

Now to finish listening to one of my favorite songs (for you Love!).   

Have a great weekend!

~~Ness~~