Monday, October 31, 2005

Charles and Camilla

I was going to post a photo of Camilla's enormous head, but I just couldn't stand the thought of looking at it every day.

So, they're coming to the US. Charles, with Camilla and her hugemongous head.

And I'm gonna go out on a limb here and just say, "I miss Diana." Okay, YES, I admit it. Diana was someone I admired. Except for her choice in husbands.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

My Survivor Summary

Saturday, October 22, 2005


have nothing much to say, except that Mr. Wheeze and I are going to Vegas in two weeks to play with Landru and Ilse, and you? Are not.

In other news, I have a 4-inch-long grasshopper stalking me in my backyard, I was seduced by a woman last night, chocolate and zucchini do not a good cake make, and Buggy is cute. Everyone please give her a cookie.

Have a great weekend, kiddos, and know that you are loved by the Wheezus.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005


Rented the first season of "Lost" on DVD. Finally decided I should see what all the fuss was about. Wow! Cool show. Watched the first few episodes so far--it's very good. Now I'm hooked.

Why didn't you tell me to watch this when it started? What season is the current one, two or three? And what night is it on, anyhoo? You people need to take better care of me.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

We interrupt this programme... bring you a short commercial brak.

Lisa McMann’s ‘Like Waves on Rocks’ is one of the best pieces in the magazine, and one of the best stories I’ve read out of all the magazines covered in this series of reviews...This is an extremely well-crafted story, and the threads weave together just right. --Kara Kellar Bell, The New Review

Also a mention in The Best of the Small Press. (waaaay down near the bottom. :-) )

Blessed be Carrie Berry, a most excellent small press Publisher and Editor-in-Chief (and publicist and advertising director and superwoman and...and...)and her fantastic Fandago staff.

Okay, now what were we talking about before this rude interruption? Colons or something?

Friday, October 07, 2005

I have a child

in my house. We'll call her C. She lives two doors down.

About 10 minutes ago, the doorbell rang. I figure it's one of Wheezygirl's many friends coming over the minute school is out, and luckily for me, Mr. Wheezy picked up the kids from school and went out shopping so I don't have to deal with the many stoppers-by. I am wonderfully, amazingly alone. So I opened the door, and there was C, not my favorite kid. But her eyes are red.

"Hi!" I said, ready to go into my 'Wheezygirl isn't home and she can't play the rest of the day' spiel, but the eyes stop me.

"My mom's not home."

C is seven, and she's a pretty girl, but loud. LOUD. And I said, "Come on in."

So this smart seven-year-old called her mom's cell phone number (good for her for knowing it) and we settled in with a blue Go-gurt and a glass of ice water, and Nickelodeon. Apparently Dad was supposed to be home, but wasn't there yet.

"It's weird to get home from school and find nobody there, isn't it." I said.
"Yeah." She's still crying.
"If it were me, I'd want to cry about that too," I said.
C sniffles a little bit, and I hand her a box of Kleenex.
"But you can always come over here if this ever happens again, okay?"
She nods.

And I get all weepy over this, imagining my kids when they were smaller, walking home from school to find themselves locked out of the house and not knowing what to do. So I give C lots of credit, knowing to come here. Good for her!

What's really odd is that I've turned into the neighborhood mom-on-call. I have been, up until we moved here less than a year ago, a full-time working mom, and I've had several occasions where I've worried that I dropped the ball on the kids. I remember the neighbors we counted on and never needed. And now, we have 'house drills' where the kids arrive at home to a locked door, and they find the hidden house key and actually unlock the locks (this is important--because they don't normally use keys, you know) and get inside, and know where to find ALL the phone numbers they might need.

Still, this is really weird for me. But it occurred to me that I need to let the neighborhood families know that this house is a safe place, for 'just in cases'.

C's dad showed up about 20 minutes later. I feel bad for him--he had this guilty look on his face, and I assured him that I am almost always home, and it was not a problem. But I know that feeling of guilt.

So C went home with dad, and that's my excitement for the day.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Okay already

It is now October, and it should not be 100 degrees outside. My children burn their precious baby fingers on their metal bike locks when they head home from school. They are already growing out of jeans purchased in August which they've never worn. I am still using Mr. Happy Mister daily. And my electric bill is nearing $300 a month from the air-conditioning.

I believe the weatherman promised me 89 days of 100 + degree temperatures, and according to my scientific estimiculations, today is like day 105 or something. Don't get me wrong--100 degrees is not the worst thing in the world; it's certainly nowhere near 118, but enough already.

And for you wannabe scientists out there in Wheezyworld, can someone asplain to me how my pool temperature could have dropped so dramatically to 72 degrees? Here are the facts of the case:

--A few weeks ago, the water temp was steady in the 88-90 degree range.
--The sun shines every damn day, for nearly 12 hours.
--The lowest night-time low temp we've had recently is right around 70 degrees. Mostly, the low temp is in the mid-70's, and it takes 'til nearly daybreak to get that low.
--The lowest daytime high temp is prolly 99 degrees.
--The highest daytime high temp in the past two weeks has been 110, and hovers in the 101-105 range.

Why is my pool so cold? When we lived in Michigan, it was never 100 degrees outside, and was usually 70 degrees or below that at night all summer long, and our pool temp there stayed in the low 80s.

Don't even tell me that humidity plays a role--that's just silly. Right?

I need answers, people. Where is Bob? Why doesn't Bob ever come over to my blog, hmm? These questions are crucial to global warming and my own personal comfort, and that should be very important to Bob. Somebody, please tell Bob that she is needed here, stat.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

So what did they find in your colon, Wheezus?

Well, Jim, they found some marbles, a stick of gum, a sparkler. And half a dozen members of the Bush administration.

My flame swallowing days are over, they said. And if I pull my head out of my ass, I shouldn't lose any more marbles.

Shout-out to T-box. Did you know your name is on the silver toilet paper dispenser at the doc's office? It says in big bold letters, 'T-BOX'. Thanks for being there, sis.

I did not have stickers on my bum -- they kept sticking to the toilet seat. When they went over my health history (no kidney problems, heart problems, pretty darn healthy, yada yada) the nurse said, 'so why are you here?'

"I'm here for the drugs," I said. She wrote that down.

And when she wheeled me away from the prep area, I called out really loudly to Mr. Wheeze, "Do you remember where I keep a copy of my living will? And all the important bank account and retirement information is in the filing cabinet."
Mr. Wheeze snerked and waved while the nurse kept wheeling. "BOTTOM DRAWER!" I yelled.

"Oh my GOD," said Nurse Judy.

When I got to The Room, the doc was looking over my paperwork and noted my profession as a writer. "So what do you write?"

"News articles and exposés about colonoscopies gone bad," I said.

"She's a live one," said Nurse Judy.

"I think we'll have to prescribe Metamucil," said Doc.

"I can still hear you," I said.

Then there was about thirty minutes I don't remember, except for saying "Ouch!" once, and Nurse Judy saying, 'oopsie, just need to get around that corner.'

When it was all over, NJ said if I farted, I'd get a prize. I immediately thought of Buggy...who said I would get a lollipop. So I obeyed, and my prize? Was a glass.of.water.

"I ordered a double cheeseburger and fries with that," said I. But the kitchen was apparently closed.

Mr. Wheeze was very disappointed that I didn't say anything embarrassing or silly that he could use against me in the future. The only thing silly I did was his fault, anyway. I mean, really. If you want me to put my underwear on before my shorts, you should hand them to me in the proper order, don't you think?

When I got home, I drank about a half a gallon of water (after two days of liquid expellation, I was thirsty wheezy). Mr. Wheeze and the kids had a thing to go to, so they left. I thought about ordering a pizza, but because the nurse said the drugs I took had an amnesia effect, I might ask the same questions over and over for a few hours. So I was worried that I'd call and order a pizza, then forget I called and order another and another until my house was overflowing with pizzas. So I decided not to do that. But then I worried that I might forget what I decided. It was stressful, indeed. I thought 'hey, I should write 'Do not order pizza' on a yellow post-it note and stick it to the phone. Except when I went in the kitchen to get the phone, I forgot why I went in there. Which, I might add, happens regularly, not just when under the influence of narcotics.

So, I got a bag of Cheetos instead, that I had hidden from the children three days earlier, and threw a turkey pot pie in the oven (I set the timer so I wouldn't forget it was in there, hee). Watched "Inside the Actor's Studio" during dinner, wrote a few quick emails. Mr. Wheeze called about 9pm to see if I wanted him to pick up anything on his way home, so I ordered a chocolate shake. Three times. On purpose. He laughed the second time, but the joke was old by the third time. Sheesh, my fifteen minutes was up already.

Anyway, that's about it. Now, you go get a colonoscopy too. The worst part is definitely the prep. The actual procedure was easy. Plus you get great pictures to take home and put on the fridge.

Thanks for making me laugh, peeps. That was the best, and you all are funnier than shit. ;-) And my new little nubby friends, Scooter, Dickie, Brownie, Bushie, Scottie, Tommie and Billy think so too.