I'm teaching poetry to my juniors. I read this and beamed. Threeish of them felt it.

The Orange
By Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.

Tiny Art Director

A click you won't regret:

This artist makes pictures and then his toddler daughter, the Tiny Art Director, critiques them. Amazing blog. Example:

The Brief: A dinosaur, not too scary
The Critique: He's a ugly one! I hate those kind of dinosaurs! Where's your eraser?
Job Status: Rejected
Additional Comments: [hits page] He has ugly eyeballs.

On Monday, I joined the YMCA.

My new YMCA membership evinces much about me and my life:
-I desperately need racquetball partners.
-I overestimated the misery required in getting to my target heart rate.
-I laugh out loud when I'm not supposed to.

I want to elaborate on this last bit. Yesterday, I was ellipticalling when my neighbor made a noise. I thought, "She must be exercising like a madwoman to be emitting noises like that!" Then I switched my fancy elliptical TV to Family Guy. Everything's lovely, la da da, when "[insert deep nose noise]". I made the noise! It was a laugh! And it was a little embarrassing!

But then I felt some camaraderie with the lady next to me, and we continued to get our cardio on while snorting like semi-fit pigs to Family Guy (me) and King of Queens (her).

Successful workout.

Mystery Milk. Mylkstery.

Something's up with the milk.

Its expiration date is November 2nd. Today is November 20th. The milk, however, still smells and tastes fresh, and when I pour it into my tea there is no goop.

Something's up with the milk.

Flight of the Kelchord

In a tizzy of curiosity and coupons, Hamble and I went to The Flight Museum. It was all it's cracked up to be.

First and foremost, we were treated to a concert by the Boeing Employee Band! You didn't even know they existed! But they do, and boy oh boy, they can blow those horns. It was funny, too, because Hamble and I were like, "What is the tune of 'Halls of Montezuma' again? I know the song says this:

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land, and sea

But how does it go?"

Then boom. Boeing Employee Band playing Halls of Montezuma.

Also, we got to mosey through an old Air Force One! Can you believe it! In a shocking security lapse, they left the nuclear codes in one of the lavatories. I suspect they're expired, though, so I'm not going to try them. Maybe I'll sell them on eBay, I don't know.

Anyway, munchkins, the boyf and I had a tip-top time at The Museum of Flight and we encourage YOU to patronize it, too. It will elevate you to new heights... in knowledge. Just knowledge. No free plane rides.

Fact(ish)

It's cute that a loveseat is called a loveseat.

Cock day

Seven roosters sassed me today. (By "sassed me", I mean "hopped around on the sidewalk like goofballs".) What were they doing there! Why weren't they in their little yard! This is an urban environment!

I liked them from 5+ yards away.

Ameliaaaa (like "Emiliooooo!")

I need to go bed but this is very important.

They think they found where Amelia Earhart died... and it's on a deserted island! Just like in the movies! She didn't end in a fiery ocean crash. She emergency landed on an island with her copilot, did who-knows-what (climbed trees? wrote messages in the sand? had volleyball drama?), and then died.

It's a crazy world, poopsies.

Big Decisions

Hey guys, how the heck long am I going to live in Seattle? If the answer is "lots of years", I will do the following:
-Register to vote here instead of Puyallup!
-Switch my area code to 206 instead of 253 when my phone carrier says I can do that!

Ok, that's it. But they are big deals.

Project KRAP continues

I have so much to tell you.

Project KRAP - Week Peperoncini: I learned all the important stuff about peperoncinis, namely that are best used as a delicate accessory. I enjoy them in tuna sandwiches, quesadillas, and Triscuit concoctions. I have also eaten them on pizza. That's always a thrill.

Project KRAP - Week Butternut and Spaghetti Squash: First, it was all squash. Then it was just b'nut. I finally settled on B'nut AND Spaghetti because I was so fascinated by the latter, and you know what? I don't regret it. We all know Butternut squash is da bomb diggity (even when it breaks your food processor... shoot), but the Spag.! What a treat!

Bake that thing, and then take a fork to it like there's no tomorrow. The result is spaghetti-like strands of squash that will make your senses form a boy band. It's exhilarating.

Project KRAP - Week Sweet Potato: It's just starting! My first task was to differentiate between yam and sweet potato. Done. Tomorrow, I make them into fries! Since regular potato bakeage ain't no thang, I'm going to pretend that I've done that, too. Hollaaaa sweet potato!

Ingredients to come:
-Mushroom (the cheap kind... starts with a "ch")
-Fig
-Parsnip (right now, I don't even know what a freaking parsnip is!)
-Venison, if one of my friends takes up hunting and shoots me dinner
-Other stuff you might recommend

There will be no pictures in this post.

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out in my room like the gentlewoman I am when I realized a spider was giving me the stink eye. It was huge (spider, not eye). After 45 minutes of paralysis-because-of-terror, I threw my old shoe and killed it.

Rest in peace, spider.

Then, today, I was flobbed out on my living room floor when I noticed A GIGANTIC SPIDER SPRINTING TOWARD ME. Even though I'm not feeling top notch, I sprung into the air, grabbed my black shoe, and BAM. Dead spider.

Rest in peace, other spider.

The moral of the story is this: if you want to live 45 minutes longer, don't sprint at me.

The Dream (or nightmare, if you're that type)

Scotty Too Hotty and I have been talking, and it's clear what our society is missing: tiny pet whales.

How we came to this magnificent idea isn't important. The image of Tiny Pet Whale is. Visualize this:

You mosey into a friend's house and see a gigangto tank in the living room. Something's swimming around. Fools may glance and say, "Oh, grayish fish," but observant folks like you and I would notice that the six-inch thing is squeaking and morrrrppping.

"What? I have to look closer!" you'd say.

As you approach the morrrrppper, you see it gently floosh up to the surface of the tank and then, "PHOOW!" Steam. Out of a blowhole."

That's not a fish! That's a tiny, tiny whale!"

Your mind is blown and your soul is complete.

Big-deal scientists with lots of funds, please get on this ASAP. Thank you, and I look forward to siding with you in the ethics debates.