Friday Cemetery Blogging

Since I owe you a photo from last week, I thought I would post two. The first one will no doubt ensure me a seat on the short bus to Hades. It's called:

ZOMBIE JESUS

He wants to eat you soul.

I didn't manipulate this one. It really looks like that! Can't say the same for the next one. It has been through the photoshop spin cycle. This one is:

Busted Hickey

Blogger won't let me embiggen this photo, and it doesn't look as good here as it does elsewhere. If you click the Imagekind button on the right (shameless plug!) you can get a much better view of the Hickey shot.

Because Mindy Dared Me To...

The One-Minute Sharpie Self-Portrait:

Y'all are all positively Pavlovian!!!!!

Positively Pavlovian. Say that three times fast.

Evidently, I have mucked about with one of the few constants in the universe by failing to post a cemetery picture today. You have my deepest and most sincere apologies. I thought I would rectify the situation forthwith, but it appears all those little techie gadgets that Jackson convinces me I can't live without - you know, the ones with all my photos - are languishing uselessly at home.

So, basically, you're screwed. No photo. So sue me.

*big grin*

Have a great weekend!

I am not a sunbeam. I am not a sunbeam. I am not a sunbeam...

Answers to burning questions: (You know you'll sleep better tonight, now that you've gotten this information. No need to thank me. Glad to be of service.)

1. About the dog: She is really, really, really smart. She has a tremendous desire to please. She is friggin' bouncy. Oh. my. god, the jumping! We're working on it. Potty training has been successful. Sleeping in my lap is still achieved, although she's getting really big and will soon be able to push me out of the chair. Suggestions on teaching "stay" would be appreciated.

2. Shoes: Size 10. Been in double digits since seventh grade.

3. Extreme sweat issues: None that I'm aware of, but thanks so much for asking.

4. If Rickman showed up on my doorstep, professing his undying passion: I'd totally go. Jackson and I have always kept a list of acceptable candidates that we would leave our spouse for. Occasional edits, including additions and deletions are allowed. Last I heard, his list included Sandra Bullock and Julia Stiles. He used to have Rachael Ray on the list, but I think he's moved on from there.

5. Towel folding: boring old square type thing and then toss 'em in the cupboard and close the door real fast before they fall out on the floor. Pity the poor fool who has to open the door next.

6. Why no food in the house? technically there is lots of food in the house. Unfortunately none of it was prepared. Jackson refuses to cook every night - what a putz! - so I either had to go to church to eat or starve. Or order pizza.

8. Bath or shower: Shower. I try the bath thing on occasion. I really, really want to relax and enjoy it. But it just bores me and my book always gets wet.

9. Laundry detergent: Yes, absolutely. Jackson always buys it and he has a few brands he buys, depending on which one is on sale. He tried to put us on some kind of laundry schedule. We all do our own and Katie and I tend to let ours pile up. He tried assigning us days to do ours. Silly Jackson! (Be right back - the washer just stopped...)

10. Good cemetery: it's got vegetation, statuary (something more than the little concrete yard ornaments that you buy at Wally World), history, imagination and preferably moodiness.

11. Why did I not want to go to church last night? I'm basically a hermit at heart. I don't want to go ANYwhere on a school night. Certainly not anywhere that I might have to speak to someone. It feels like a chore. Something I should do, rather than something I want to do. I'd really just rather be at home, takin' it easy.

12. What made it a good service? The minister is finishing up a series on prayer. His Wednesday night stuff is usually very practical. (Not that his other stuff isn't, I just like his Wednesday style.) This time he simply told the story of three people whose prayer habits ministered to and inspired him. He's an excellent story teller. (And I would like to point out that I deserve a gold star for remembering the topic and content more than 24 hours after the service, thankyouverymuch.)

Ok, that's most of 'em. I'm goin' to bed...

Random Wednesday Stuffs of Madness

1. Ester read the previous post. "Poor Katie," she said. "She must have thought y'all were crazy." "Nah, we talk to her like that all the time." I figure if we're gonna have to pay for her therapy, we might as well make sure we get our money's worth.



2. I need more wall space in my office. I have a photo and a painting that need - do ya hear me? - NEED to be hung up. And I've got no space left. (I tend to add and add and never take anything down. It's looking a bit...busy.)



3. A 44 ounce vanilla Dr. Pepper kamakazied on the office carpet this afternoon. Cleaning it up seemed like a waste of time, so Mindy laid down next to the huge puddly stain so we could take a picture of her doing an impression of a murder victim/messy suicide. Then we realized no one had a camera. Bummer.



4. The dog "sits" like a dream. "Stay" is proving more elusive.



5. I am writing this in my office in that weird twilighty time between 5:00 p.m. and 5:30 p.m. when I go to church to eat. This is when I want to go the hell home. But there is no food at home. Sigh...



6. Why does voicemail have to be such a huge pain in the rear? Why can't I just push a button and heard the messages???? I end up returning calls without listening to the message and the people - i.e. Jackson, because, let's face it, I don't return calls - end up being annoyed because I didn't hear what they had to say. Admittedly, I hate it when other people do this to me.



7. Phones in general are a bane of my existence. If A.G. Bell were alive today, I might have to hit him with my car. I hate phones.

8. Now it is late and we survived another Wednesday night service and I'll be damned if it wasn't really good and I'm freakin' glad that I went. Which means I'll no doubt go back again next week. Dammit.

9. It's frosty and foggy outside. Except for the raging sinus headache, I'm loving this weather.

Here's hoping you have a good Thursday! (By the way - I'm in the mood to write, but have nothing in particular to say. So, to borrow a gambit from others, do you have any burning questions I can answer? Stupid questions, even?)

Lunch with Katie

Earlier this week Katie asked if she could take one of her friends to a movie this afternoon. We’d agreed and at lunch I asked her which friend she’d decided to take.

“Miranda.”

“Miranda who?” I asked. She told me.

“Has Miranda ever been arrested?” I inquired seriously.

“No!”

“Does she sell drugs? Is she a TV preacher?” I inquired further.

“Noooo!”

“That’s good,” Jackson said. “You gotta be careful of those evangelicals.”

“Well, does she have a job?” I asked.

“She’s only 12!”

“That’s no excuse,” Jackson opined. “How is she going to support herself without a job?”

“Daddy! She lives with her parents!”

Jackson and I met eyes across the table. “Moocher!” we both said.

Katie gave a disgusted sigh and shook her head. She turned her attention to her plate.

“Was she ever in the military?” I asked.

“Noooo!”

"Is she a conscientious objector? Or is she just unwilling to serve?”

“I don’t even know what that means!” Katie said.

“Who did she vote for in the last election?” Jackson asked.

“She can’t vote!”

I looked over at Jackson. “Sounds like a communist to me.”

“I thought so too,” he said. “What kind of twelve year old joins the communist party?”

“Such a shame,” I said, shaking my head.

Jackson raised an eyebrow at Katie. “Miranda probably listens to Rush Limbaugh,” he said accusingly.

“Who is Rush Limbaugh?” Katie asked.

“Exactly!” Jackson said, waving a fork at her.

We ate in silence for a few minutes.

“You're sure she’s never been arrested?” I asked again.

“Yes!!” Katie all but yelled.

“If she keeps this up, she’ll be arrested sooner or later,” Jackson said sadly. I nodded in remorseful agreement.

Katie groaned.


I can’t wait until she starts trying to date.

If this were the 70's, you'd be eating cheese nips and I'd be setting up the slide projector...

I should really apologize for this song. Seriously. It's just... bad.

But dang, I couldn't resist.

Friday Cemetery Blogging

This was a bit of a first.

Usually angels in cemeteries are much more...angelic.

This one has...

...sex appeal.

Walk, Do Not Run, To the Nearest Exit.

Have you noticed that ever since 9-11, we lemming-like Americans are desperate for something to worry about? We worry about security, the housing market, Britney Spears and the weather. That doesn't mean we really take any action to make these things better, but we sure do a dandy job of being vexed about them.



The weatherman is a fine case in point. I suppose ever since Katrina and Rita we've been hyper-aware that Mother Nature can kick our collective keister whenever she so chooses. But instead of granting her the respect that such power deserves, we cower and fret. Evisceration of the weatherguys is one of the favorite sports played at Spooky R Ranch. Is it just me, or have weatherpeople technologized themselves into a completely fabricated psuedo-frenzy of anguish and apprehension over the slightest bobble in the jet stream? They weren't this bad before.


Yesterday the news broadcast dire diatribes about the Red Flag Warning. I had an 80's flashback and thought maybe the Soviets were attacking. It seemed a vague possibility, what with there being a new Rambo movie headed for theaters. Turns out I was wrong. Evidently the weather service has been issuing those warnings for decades whenever the humidity falls below parched and the winds rise above about 25 miles an hour. Which means we've lived under Red Flag Warnings for practically 2 days out of 3 for the entirity of my young life. We never worried about it before.



But now? Color us Concerned.



Bah!



And what about security? I think I've mentioned before that we have a somewhat lackadasical attitude about security around here. Maybe we will regret that some day. Probably not, though. I'd much rather work in our current office environment than in one where we are hustling people through metal detectors and worrying about concealed weapons. As long as they stay concealed, I'm ok with 'em.

Last week Rose was in court waiting on a hearing with the Judge and the court reporter. For some reason, the reporter started asking Rose about how dangerous our job is.

"Don't you ever get scared of these people?" she asked. "'Cause some of them scare me just sitting in the courtroom with them."

"Well, sure, some of them are freaking crazy, but most of them are just stupid," Rose told her. "Besides, I make it real clear that if they go to prison, it was their fault, not mine. And only the Judge can revoke their probation." The Judge grinned at that.

"Y'all have panic buttons in your offices, right?" she asked.

Rose and the Judge both snickered at that. "Yeah, we have them, but I never remember where mine is," Rose said.

"You know what I think panic buttons are good for?" the Judge asked. "They're good for marking the spot where they need to draw the chalk outline."

"So, what security DO you have?" the reporter asked.

"Well, we're pretty loud. We're all screamers," Rose said solemly. (Many, many eyebrows disappeared up into hairlines at that, as she was telling us this story that afternoon in the Grand Ballroom.) "And we know about the zig zag run. That's pretty much it."

The reporter just looked confused and the Judge howled with laughter. The truth is, that pretty much is the extent of our security plan. When we hear yelling coming from someone's office, we tend to gather outside the door to eavesdrop and giggle. When it gets really heated, one of us will usually burst through the door and assist with throwing the poor sap out of the office. That's always fun! And in the 14 and a half years that I've been here, we've never had a sap that we couldn't escort off the premises. Maybe someday we will. Maybe we won't. Either way, it doesn't really matter.

What matters is that we aren't worried about it. Worry only gets in the way.

I think I'm gonna call this photo "Bow Chika Wah Wah".

Yesterday afternoon we decided to visit the zoo and get some ice cream. So we made the seventy-five mile drive north. It was a nice afternoon. It's been a long, long time since we've been free to do that sort of thing and it's great to have weekends without obligations.

Normally this is where I would insert some wacky story about the irony of karma or something. But I got nothing. Life is way too normal at the moment. It's kind of frightening, actually. I'm sure something freaky will happen this week. It's overdue. Until then, I'll continue to play with photoshop and read the huge stack of Janet Evanovich mysteries that my friend Charlotte gave me. (Had to sneak those two grocery bags into the house and past Jackson. He moans and groans at the number of books languishing in the back bedroom.)

Speaking of photoshop and the fact that this has temporarily become a photoblog, check this one out:

It's the same church with the stained glass windows whose picture I posted last week. I love the black wood of the pecan tree (I think that's what it is!) silohuetted against the white church and sky.