When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter..

So, last night, and 11:30pm we're settling in to go to sleep, the dog was racing around looking for a stuffed animal to snuggle, I was rinsing dishes, and Evan was checking the locks on the door.

When the house started to shake. It shook from this incredible noise from the sky. We opened the door, and craned our necks to see what was going on. At first, we didn't see anything, but then, we saw the lights.

Hovering in the sky, and sinking lower, was an enormous helicopter. ENORMOUS. Gianormous, even.

The neighbors started to venture outside. The family on the corner stood on their front lawn in robes and slippers, we stood with our faces to the sky watching the giant 'copter, lights went on all down the block, and front doors slowly opened and more neighbors emerged.

And then it landed. In the school parking lot on the corner. A giant helicopter, with huge spotlights shining every which way, blades still turning slowly. No one got out...No one got in. No police cars, ambulances, tanks, trucks or SWAT teams. Just one giant helicopter. In the middle of the schoolyard on on Cordell St.

And just as quickly as it came, it left. We all still stood on our lawns in pajamas like fools, exchanging embarrassed waves and hellos. No one quite knew why the helicopter landed. Or whose helicopter it was. Evan declared it to be a UFO. Mr Pitt thinks it was the Marines. Being an ex-Marine himself, he feels very strongly about his theory.

The paper didn't mention it this morning.

I think the CIA has my house under watch. Be careful what you say to me :)

Holy Shit.

The Senate did something right!

http://www.cnn.com/2005/POLITICS/12/21/arctic.drilling.ap/index.html

Baby Love, My Baby Love

Back from the much awaited 20 week ultrasound.

And 100% certain that we're having a baby girl :)

After 2 hours of sonogram and three doctors opinions, they have deemed her completely normal with a "beautiful heart," growing right on schedule. Evan deemed her to look like a breakdancing Skeletor...such a poet. They gave me a dozen or so pictures, but I'm not going to bother posting them, because the technician I had was completely incompetent and they're really blurry.

Yay! A girl :)

The Dash

papou
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

I once read a poem, a very poorly written poem, with cheesy ABAB rhyme scheme and thundering iambic pentameter entitled The Dash. While poem flip-flopped between something that was "my-god-is-an-awesome-god" and "spend-your-time-wiser-than-your-money," it obviously left an impression on me, because it came flying back into my memory several years after reading the Chicken Soup For the Really Bad Poets Soul.

One year ago today, my maternal grandfather, my Papou, died in my mom's home. Today, my mother, my cousin Ed and I trekked out to the cemetery, overly large grave blankets made of poinsettias and pine in tote. Ed hammered the blankets into the cold, frozen earth, while my mother and I stood silently behind, watching through teary eyes. We stood for a while, talking about the new baby on the way, I talked about Evan, Ed talked about Jessica, my mom cried. But I noticed how utterly inadequate headstones are.

Papou and my Nanny were buried in a Veteran's cemetery. Since he is a Veteran, his marker is set to certain standards. It simply allows for his name, date of birth and death, and beneath that it says "Korean War." But he was so much more than that...His life was more than just a Korean War veteran and a dash.

He was a husband, to my Nanny, Jemma. They were high school sweethearts, who married the week after she turned 18.

He was a father of two children, my mother Debbi, and my Uncle Ed.

He was a grandfather of six, myself, my cousins JohnPaul, Ed, Steve, Samantha and my sister Jemma.

He was a great grandfather to my godson, JohnPaul Jr -- I'll never forget the day he found out Evan and I were asked to be godparents. He chuckled and shook his head...."It's like All-State," he mused. "He'll be in good, good hands."

He was a professional basketball player. He toured Europe, playing all of Europe's olympic basketball teams. At 6'7" in his prime, he towered over his team mates and opponents.

He was a city councilman and then Mayor of our town.

He was the kindest soul I've ever encountered. Larger than life, he was a giant teddy bear, and loved his family dearly. He had a quick wit and a sharp tongue, and wasn't afraid to let anyone in the family be on the receiving end.

The summer before I married, Evan and I would sit over his house in the evening, and go through old photos. Old high school scrapbooks of his, old war memorabilia, photos and newspaper bits from his ball playing days. He'd run his fingertips over the pictures of my Nanny, gone sixteen years before him, and tell a funny story about how they met, or how the photo came to be so special. But, I guess when you don't have someone anymore, they all become special.

After Nanny died, Papou, my mom and I used to go to the cemetery every Sunday. Papou would lay flowers, and I'd leave something I had made in school, or a pretty shell I'd found at the beach, or a photo, and then we'd go to breakfast at a diner. And every Sunday, because Papou insisted on going at O'Dark Thirty in the morning, we'd see deer crossing the roads in the park leading to the cemetery. Papou always said that Nanny sent the deer to make us smile. Being eight at the time, I never thought to question it. It just made sense. Of course she did.

Today, as we were pulling into the cemetery, in the middle of the afternoon, two deer crossed in front of the car. One was quite possibly the biggest male deer I've ever seen, and a petite little doe walking beside him. We stopped the car and we all held our breath as the deer nuzzled one another, looked straight at us, wiggled their ears, and continued to walk on together towards the lake.

We didn't say anything about it until we were on our way home. Ed leaned forward in from the backseat and said "Do you think those deer were Nanny and Papou?" My mom reached over and squeezed my knee and I put my hand on hers.

No one answered Ed's question.

It was one of those kinds that the answer doesn't have to be spoken, you can just feel it inside.

Kind of makes you want to bang your head on the wall...

75bands
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Mike sent me this picture tonight. Rumor has it that there are 75 different bands in this little picture. The full size picture can be seen Here

This is what I've come up with:
1. U2
2. Smashing Pumpkins
3. The Eagles
4. B-52's
5. Matchbox 20
6. Led Zeppelin
7. Sex Pistols
8. Black Crowes
9. The Pixies
10. Iron Maiden
11. White Snake
12. Radiohead
13. Alice in Chains
14. 50 Cent
15. Styx
16. The Police
17. Gorrilaz
18. Blind Melon
19. Scissor Sisters
20. Queen
21. Prince
22. White Zombie
23. Dead Kennedys
24. Rolling Stones
25. The Cranberries
26. Garbage
27. Guns-n-Roses
28. Nine Inch Nails
29. Blur
30. The Eels
31. Red Hot Chili Peppers
32. Dinosaur Jr.
33. Beach Boys
34. The Cars
35. Jewel
36. Phish
37. Seal
38. Cypress Hill
39. The Doors
40. Hole
41. BeeGee's
42. Madonna
43. Cowboy Junkies
44. Talking Heads
45. The Cult
46. The Go Gos
47. Bush
48. Kiss
49. Twisted Sister


How many more can you find?

To the BatCave, part deux

Merv
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Meet Merv.

Merv is our bat. We found him poking his head out of the wall when we returned home from Thanksgiving. He's been here since at least Sunday, sleeping in our wall/ceiling. Every once in a while we'd hear his little bat cries and rustle of wings. He's cute, in a winged rabies carrying rodent kind of way.

He came out tonight, and after a quick jaunt around the house, made himself at home on the centrail air vent in the dining room.

Evan, being the super brave husband that he is, poked Merv with a broom, and promptly set him off on a crooked haphazard flight around the house.

He eventually grew tired of the us-chasing-him-with-a-broom-while-cloaked-in-blankets-game, and flew out the front door.

This winter, we'll construct a bathouse, so Merv can have his own home, and we won't have to share ours.

'Cause I'm a P.I.M.P.

Even my blog is worth something.

My blog is worth $2,258.16.
How much is your blog worth?

I want... (Part II)

...A roastbeef sub with fresh mozzerella and extra mayo
...To cross my legs without my hips popping
...To wear pants with zippers and buttons
...To bend at the waist
...My esophagus back
...To sleep on my belly
...Brie, Blue Cheese and Prosciutto
...Fresh Apple Cider
...To take a really hot, really relaxing bath
...A rare steak
...To sleep the whole night without getting up to pee at 1:30, 3, 6, and 8
...To go a day without chomping down 487 Tums Extra Strength
...A cigarette
...A joint
...A glass or ten of good red wine
...To strut around in heels without tottering like a Weeble
...Caffeine
...A real Caesar salad
...It to be May

'Cause nothin' lasts forever...

This is a sad month for me.

It's a sad time of year, actually. It doesn't really pick back up until after Christmas. I've found, through the years, that there isn't much I can do to alleviate the pain...Just ride it out through the waves.

It stormed yesterday - a slow brewing storm that started with a warm wind and sun, and very slowly deteriorated, but all the while, even when the day was nice, the rumbling thunder was in the distance, loud enough to remind me that there was, in fact, a very bitter storm headed my way. The clouds blew in, light at first, getting darker and darker, until the thunderhead was on top of me, looming. The wind turned cold, whipping the leaves off of the trees and swirling them through the air. When the rain came, it was cold, and small. Just angry clouds, spitting angry hard drops that turned into large splats are the rain grew angrier, eventually assaulting the ground with rivers of water, gurgling down the gutters and streets.

But this morning it's clear. Crisp and clear. A bright blue cloudless sky, with bright sunshine. The wind is still here, though. It's still punishing the yellow and orange leaves, dropping them to the ground. But today they don't fly. They don't whirlwind through the air, spinning and flipping, they just drop to the saturated ground, soggy and defeated. The leaves from yesterday all lay where they fell, too tired, cold and damp to raise up in the wind. The sky may not remember the storms, but I do.

And so it goes. The fall is really upon us. The windows are shut to keep out the cold, but it still seeps in. There was a time, a long while ago, that I loved the fall. I loved the crisp air, the crunch of the acorns, the sticky sweet smell of the decay of summer. Fall always seemed like a time for new beginnings, new opportunities. The old mmakes room for the spring new comers. But that seems like a long forgotten memory now. I can't really focus on what times then were like. It's like trying to look at my reflection through a fogged up mirror. I know it's there, because it's always been there before, but I can't see it - I don't know exactly where it is, or what it looks like.

But it won't be long now before the trees give up the last of their leaves and the icy rains turn into a slow falling graceful snow, that temporarily blankets what used to be. It will make our footsteps sink into the white, so even when we can't remember who we are, we can still see where we've been.

Morons.

The state of Virginia thinks that the winning lottery numbers were:

02 04 05 40 48 07

However, dear readers, this is in correct. The real winning numbers are actually:

15 16 21 22 47 40

I know this, because, like I said before, I have the winning ticket. I'm sure the lottery people will be calling with their apology any moment now.

...any....moment...

Just to give you the heads up...

I'm going to be a bajillionaire.

Really soon.

Like Tuesday.

Because you see, kids, I'm going to win the mega-millions lottery. Yes, you heard me correctly. I am going to WIN. With the ticket I haven't purchased yet.

And then, I'm going to buy a plethora of useless things. Two of some, but in different colors. And one pair of every shoes that Jimmy Choo has ever designed. EVER.

And don't worry, faithful blog readers, I won't forget about you when I win. I'm generous like that.

If I was a rich girl....All day long I'd bittbittybum...If I was a wealthy girl...

Election Day

Vote Early

Vote Often

Vote Democrat :)

My Rant To The World

And dissertation on why I hate everyone:


It seems I am surrounded by stupidity, arrogance, obscene self-centeredness (Yes, it's a word, because it's my blog and I said so), and utter incompetence. The aforementioned conditions does not a happy Saki make. The simple act of going to the grocery store, or bank has begun to cause my head to throb at the mere thought.

Why can't people just be normal and kind? I must have missed the memo about the whole "Do unto others" thing being changed to "Fuck everyone else. Only you matter, highness." I try to have patience, but I can't help but shake my head as the man in front of me at the checkout berates the teenaged cashier because the register didn't take off the twenty cents he was entitled to, reducing her to sniffles. On the way out of the parking lot, he nearly ran over an elderly man who was clearly in the pedestrian right of way crosswalk. I wonder what meeting/event/tryst/nap was so important that he showed that much blatant disregard for other people.

But you know, I could handle it if it was only him - or someone like him - once a day, every other day, etc. But it's becoming more and more common, and now when I go out, an encounter with a pleasant person is a rarity, and after said encounter, I feel obligated to tell other people "You wouldn't believe the nice person I talked to today at the bookstore..."

Lauren's idea of becoming a hermit with my knitting is sounding more and more appealing.

The answer

Well, there are two ways to punctuate the sentence "Woman without her man is nothing."

The first, and probably the one that most of us jump to is:
Woman, without her man, is nothing.


However, the very clever and far better response is:
Woman: Without her, man is nothing.

Shortest Personality Test Ever

Punctuate the following sentence:

"woman without her man is nothing"


Answers tomorrow :)

Did you remember...

...to fall behind?

Half of our house is an hour off. And I"m too lazy to change it.

Whoops :)

Since I know you're all so concerned about my reproductive system...

Yesterday's prenatal told us....

Baby is measuring 12 weeks 5 days - Right on schedule.
Down another 2 pounds, 16 total - Doctor is still mad (like it's my fault, or something).
Hemotologist won't see me until my white cells are at 25,000 - boooo evil hemotologist.
Blood Pressure was 105/70 - Rock :)
Still don't quite have the hang of peeing in a cup, but we won't go there.

We couldn't hear the heartbeat because the baby was too low, so they did an ultrasound, which everyone in the room got to see but me, because the tech's big fat head was in the way. I didn't even get a picture.

Yeah, I cried the entire way home about that.

I survived the 1 hour glucose test, which, by the way, is the most god awful test ever. "Here, Casey, I know you puked all morning, but drink 50 oz. of this nasty syrup and don't vomit or drink anything else for an hour, and then we'll dig your veins out of your arm with a rusty shovel. Won't that be nice?" bllleeeeecccchhhh.

That's about it. They took more blood, so we'll know about the white cells by the end of the week.

Fall, in the Swamp

Fall has settled into the swamp.

This place is really lacking in it's transition skills, moving from 85 degrees and sweating in the shade, to sweaters and fuzzy socks. No light jacket days, no sleeping with a cool autumn breeze blowing over us. It somehow morphed from the hottest of summer days to the coldest parts of fall. I miss the time lost.

My favorite days are when I can go outside in a long sleeved shirt and pants, and be slightly warm. Sunny days that turn the leaves crisp before they fall. Here, they reach the ground still green - it's like the get too cold to hold onto the trees anymore.

It makes me ridiculously homesick.

Why I Love Lauren

#10- She knows the correct response to "I'm Le Tired"

#9- She doesn't bat an eye as I mutter "aw, shit.." and pass her my looped up knitting

#8- She thinks the phrase "Do you know what that sound is, Highness?" is just as funny as I do

#7- She knows how to make really witty cracks about republicans

#6- She lets my dog love her and show her all his toys (even if she is a cookie hoarde)

#5- She makes fun of my husband more than I do

#4- We share the same distaste for the same types of people - creates very fun bitchfests

#3- She never met a slurpee she didn't like

#2- She promptly declares anyone giving me a hard time a "No talent ass clown" and writes them off

#1- She's always there for me, and makes me smile when the last thing on my mind is smiling :)

Battle Hymn of the Republicans

Mine Eyes have seen the bungling of that stumbling moron Bush;
he has blathered all the drivel that the neo-cons can push;
he has lost sight of all reason 'cause his head is up his tush;
The Doofus marches on.

I have heard him butcher syntax like a kindergarten fool;
There is warranted suspicion that he never went to school;
Should we fault him for the policies - or is he just their tool?
The lies keep piling on.

Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
His wreckage will live on.

I have seen him cut the taxes of the billionaires' lone heir;
As he spends another zillion on an aircraft carrier;
Let the smokestacks keep polluting - do we really need clean air?
The surplus is now gone.

Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Your safety net is gone!

Now he's got a mighty hankerin' to bomb a prostrate state;
Though the whole world knows its crazy - and the U.N. says to wait;
When he doesn't have the evidence, "We must prevaricate."
Diplomacy is done!

Oh, a trumped-up war is excellent; we have no moral bounds;
Should the reasons be disputed, we'll just make up other grounds;
Enraging several billions - to his brainlessness redounds;
The Doofus marches on!

Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
Glory! Glory! How he'll Screw Ya'!
THIS...DOO...FUS...MAR...CHES...ON

Reason #245426 Why I Hate Virginia

DSC00328
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Snakes.

Specifically, poisonous snakes.

Yes kids, that IS a copperhead. In my trashcan.

How did it get there, you ask? Well, sit right back, and you'll hear the tale:

Evan was mowing the lawn, which after 7 inches of rain had grown like the weeds it is. He picked up a few sticks and tossed them aside, when, right there in front of his eyes, one of the sticks slithered away and wrapped itself into our shrub.

After much whoo-ha, and neighborly advice, Evan and the 9 year old from across the street corralled it into our trashcan and secured the lid.

Mr. Pitt, the darling old man from next door declared the snake to be poisonous, and said "I reckon you should hit it with a baseball bat an' just get rid of it."

Not wanting to kill the snake, we fretted back and forth about what to do with our hostage. The lady across the street said "You could call the police...they'll come take it away for you, you know."

In fact, I did not know.

So we called the police, who came with giant snake-picking-up tongs, and scooped him up into another bucket to release back into the wild far, far, far from my front yard.

And so, the snake is gone, but we were warned that it may come back, because they are territorial (who knew?). And so, now, I watch the leaves rustle in the wind with an uneasy feeling in my belly, waiting for that little snake to come and reclaim his home.

Just Keep Knitting

baby blanket
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

So, after Lauren taught me how to knit on Monday, I've been busy knitting this masterpiece.

My sister declared it to be "metro-sexual" I don't quite think that's the look I was going for, but I'll takes what I can gets.

In the mean time, just keep knitting...just keep knitting...just keep knitting, knitting, knitting.

What do we do? We knit. Knit. KNIT.

La-la-la-lala-la-la-LA

Ya know what I hate?

Commence Rant.

Really obnoxious comments.

The ones where "anonymous" says:

Hey! You have a great blog here! You should check out my blog about Social Security Income in the Country of Tibet, Collected By Locals with 3 Legs and a Goat who is Disabled! I'm going to bookmark your blog now! ok, Bye!

Seriously. WTF. Get a grip. Get a life.

In that order.

Oh, and another thing....You totally aren't "anonymous" when you sign your god damn name at the bottom.

End Rant.

Last one, I promise....

Three Texas plastic surgeons were playing golf together and discussing surgeries they had performed.

One of them said, "I'm the best plastic surgeon in Texas. A concert pianist lost 7 fingers in an accident, I reattached them, and 8 months later he performed a private concert for the Queen of England."

One of the others said. "That's nothing. A young man lost both arms and legs in an accident, I reattached them, and 2 years later he won a gold medal in 5 field events in the Olympics."

The third surgeon said, "You guys are amateurs. Several years ago a cowboy who was high on cocaine and alcohol rode a horse head-on into a train traveling 80 miles an hour. All I had left to work with was the horse's ass and a cowboy hat. Now he's president of the United States."

Another jab at Dubya...

Rumsfeld is giving the President his daily briefing, and he concludes by saying "Yesterday three Brazilian soldiers were killed."

"Oh no!" The President exclaims, "This is terrible!"

The President's staff sits, stunned at this display of emotion, nervously watching as the President sits with his head in his hands.

Finally, the President looks up and says "How many is a brazillion?"

It's a Sad Day in Mudville...

Today, ItsPat, the psychotic albino frog died. He led a long and glorious life, spending his days uprooting aquatic plantlife, and rearranging rocks in the aquarium. Although his exact age is unknown, friends and relatives guess him to be anywhere from 2-5 years old.

He is survived by his tankmates - Curaco, Feesh, and YetToBeNamed.

Funeral Services led by the respectable Evan Burrows will be held tonight at the MSNBCasey News Station Backyard at approximately 8:30pm.

In leui of flowers, please send donations to the Leukemia Lymphoma Society:

http://www.active.com/donate/ltnAlexan/ltnBurrows3

Shh...You'll spook the goat!

So, this
is my new favorite animal.

It used to be a penguin, but my new favorite is definately fainting goats. They're little, they're cute, you'll never have to mow again, and if you creep them out, they fall down again and again for hours of entertainment. It doesn't get better than fainting goats.

Picture Pages, Picture Pages..

Ultrasound
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

So, we've had a flurry of photo sharing here at the MSNBCasey News Station. Here's the latest picture in the drama...Our baby, aged 8 weeks 5 days.

For those of us who are ultrasound challenged, myself included, I'll give you the run down. The bigish blackish kidney shaped thing is a uterus. The little grey wad inside of the kidney shape is the baby, and one little star is the top of it's head, the other is the base of it's butt. I don't know which is which.

I don't know what kind of mother I am...I can't tell the baby's head from it's ass...Hopefully this will improve with time.

In other news, 14lbs down since August. Doctor gave me a stern "Eat more, and then don't vomit." lecture. Right. I'll get on that.

Next appointment Oct 25th 11am.

Guido Is Home!!!!!!!!!!!!

Guido
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Yay!

Finally, after over a month of sunning, swimming, boating and beaching, Guido has returned to the swamp.

As you can see by the position of his ears, he's not at all pleased with the whole picture taking episode.

He's so cool. I lubs me some Guido.

Shameless Hit For Money

Hello, beloved blog readers.

Since I know that you love the news brought to you by the MSNBCasey News Station, I know that none of you will have a problem reaching deep into those pockets to pony up some fundage for our leukemia walk.

Your donation will go to the leukemia/lymphoma society, an absolutely fantastic organization that saved my mom's life.

Check out our donation website and her story here:

www.active.com/donate/ltnAlexan/ltnBurrows3

Now accepting all major credit cards and checks by mail!

Ch-ch-ch-Ah-ah-ah

This morning, Evan worked from home, as he usually does, at least for a few hours. I was sitting on the bed, putting lotion on after my shower, when he came in the bedroom and announced "Your tree guy is in the backyard."

I looked up at him, and said "I don't have anyone coming to do work on the house this week.."

He looked perplexed and answered, "I was downstairs working on my computer, and when I looked up, there was a man in the backyard. He waved at me, so I assumed that he was here for something..."

ACK! There was a stranger in my backyard! AND HE WAVED AT MY HUSBAND!

How creepy.

So I made Evan stay home from work today, and I can't help but staring out the backdoor, waiting for some derranged stranger to emerge from the woods. Help. It's like a B-horror movie, all we need is the subtle anxious music in the background ch-ch-ch-ah-ah-ah...

Monday Monday

Today is setting itself up to be a crappy day.

Last Thursday, I had a new filling put in. Without novacaine. Kill me.

Friday night, it fell out as I bit into my sandwich. My sandwich on untoasted potato bread. My sandwich, which was so squishy, a 105 year old man without teeth could have gummed it down. That sandwich broke my new filling.

And so, I waited all weekend for the dentist to reopen, and now I have an 11:30 appointment to get my tooth drilled and filed again with no novacaine. The next step is a root canal. But so help me god, i'll pull the tooth out myself before i have a root canal without novacaine.

Is it Friday yet?

Whoohoo

Holy Crap
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Here you have it - the latest breaking story here at the MSNBCasey News Station. We'll be welcoming the newest reporter here May 5th, 2006.

Yup, Cinco de Mayo.

Yay :)

And the sign says "Long-Haired Freaky People Need Not Apply"

Lauren, fully entrenched in her job search, has sent me this listing from Craig's List....It's too good not to share with the world:

Front Desk Position in Upscale Dental Office
Reply to: job-97292478@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-09-13, 3:08PM EDT


Seeking a professional for a permanent part time (approximately 30 hours/week) front desk position in a beautiful quality oriented Alexandria dental practice. We are looking for someone to grow with our practice long term.

Please be upbeat, organized, detail oriented and reliable. Previous experience working in a dental or medical office is a plus. Dentrix knowledge is preferred, however communication skills, attention to detail and a willingness and interest to learn are most important.

Slobs need not apply.
Please email resume or fax with cover letter to: 703-922-9101.
Job location is Alexandria
Compensation: Depends on Experience.
Telecommuting is ok.
This is a part-time job.
no -- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
no -- Please, no phone calls about this job!
no -- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
no -- Reposting this message elsewhere is NOT OK.

Quick! To the BatCave!

So, last night Evan and I were settled in downstairs watching Law & Order, completely catatonic on the couch. I was wrapped up in my blanket, and he was sprawled out, feet up. The cicadas, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, are particularly bad around here, since we are in the jungle and all. Anyway, I've pretty much learned to tune out their hapless flights into the sliding glass door, and sibsequent sounds of frantically flapping wings as they trickle to the ground after said impact.

But last night I heard the distinct thud and wing flap from inside the God damned fire place. I nudged Evan to go get the stupid bug out, and toss it out the back door. He reluctantly got up, and opened our glass doors to the fireplace. But, how curious! There was nothing inside. He shrugged, and pulled the chains to close the doors and returned to his loafing position.

Just as the defense was making it's case for a clearly guilty S.O.B., this...this...this thing came hurdling itself at the TV. My first thought was wtf mate, that's the biggest cicada yet! When, hark! It wasn't a cicada! It was a bat!

And then there were two.

Two bats.

Flying in circles around the living room, flirting dangerously close with the ceiling fan. Evan, the brave soul that he is, exclaimed "What the fuck? I hate those things!" and promptly locked himself in the bathroom, where he so kindly yelled through the locked door "Babe, are you okay? You should get out of there."

I, of course, found the entire situation to be hysterical. My husband hiding in the bathroom, two bats swooping and flying around my house, and I had nothing to do but lay there like a slug and giggle.

I eventually convinced Evan to come out of the bathroom, and go up the steps and get himself a blanket or something, which he did. He emerged from his voyage to the guest room donning a yellow, pink and blue comforter, with flowers and butterflies on it -- very, very manly. I directed him to open up the sliding glass door and turn the light above it off, hoping the bats would fly into the darkness and outside. Meanwhile, I scooted up the steps to call my dad, to see exactly how one rids one's house of a bat parade.

My father answered the phone, half asleep, groggy, and listened to my wildly tell my tale of the bat invasion. And then he laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

He laughed so hard he had to set the phone down on the table. By the time he had come back, I was growing rather impatient, as I had to stand outside to use the cell phone**, and I was chilly in my PJ's. He said to get a towel, and toss it over the bat, and then bundle the whole package up, and flick it out the door. I nodded in agreement. This did, in fact, seem logical.

It seemed logical until we got downstairs with a towel and attempted to catch the bats. Bats, you see, are quick little bastards. And thrown towels are certainly less than graceful. Our efforts were fruitless, and in the end, we used Evans manly comforter covering and tacked it to the ceiling to block the bats from going up the stairs, and then we waited.

Eventually, (hopefully) the bats flew out the back door. There is no sign of them today.

Yet.



**in case I haven't told you, Costa Drive is where cell phone calls go to die. If you have ever wondered what happened to your dropped call, it's here. Hovering somewhere around my house. I make no claims to the whereabouts of the socks that get lost in the dryer though***

Best News Screen Shot Ever.

funny
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Finally, a news station that has it's facts straight.

Oi Vey

So let's see....To bring you up to speed about the living conditions here at the MSNBCasey News Station:

Electricity- Back on, thanks to the electrician. To the tune of $160.

Doorbell- New one installed. Ding's, but doesn't Dong.

Cabinets- 2 coats of primer, two coats of undercoat, and layer of crackler glaze applied. Today will be the true test, my friends.

Bug Situation- $580 bug/pest contract and I saw a spider cricket in the house last night. If Western Pest Services does not come here today, there will be many an angry letter coming soon.

Bug Situation (outside)- If these god damned cicadas don't go away soon I'm going to die. They're like sparrows they're so big, and they're dumb and rocks, throwing themselves against things like windows and lights. They're going to break something, and then I'm going to be REALLY unhappy.

Fish: All the fish and the frog made the move. Sadly, WannaHockALugie succumbed to the frog's wily advances and is no longer with us.

Family Situation- Margaret and Joe are still MIA from the French Quarter. Hope they get found soon - starting to worry.

So, I think that about brings everyone up to speed here. We are currently experiencing a breaking news story here at the station, will report ASAP.

This is MSNBCasey, signing out. Now to Dan, with the weather.....

It's Electric...Boogie Woogie Woogie

Being of the me-me-me generation, I've fully come to take for granted the simple things in life. Little things like electricity.

My husband (the wise and wonderful engineer that he is), decided to replace the light switches that were caked in paint with some lovely ivory ones. Horray. All went well down the hallway; splendid, really.

But Jesu Cristo, mang.

We have a panel with three switches in the dining room. One controls the light over the steps to downstairs, one controls the light to the outside porch, and one controls a random outlet in the room. But they do so much more than that.

Apparently, they control the entire upstairs circuit, sans the bathroom, and one outlet in the bedroom.

The helpful hubby took all three switches off at once, and now, surprise! we can't get them to reconnect the same way, because the wires "aren't labeled. Who doesn't label their wires?" Right then. I don't know who DOES label the wires inside of their walls. Maybe engineers do things differently.

Long story longer, we have had no power upstairs since Saturday. It's almost Tuesday. That's a long effin time to have no power. The downstairs has power, and thankfully, my dad got the hot wat heater circuit to work. So at least we can shower.

The entire downstairs remains lit, but for now, we're Little House on the Prairie Styling our life upstairs. In the dark. And my candles are somewhere, in some box, tucked in the corner of a dark room.

Flashlights for the powerless? Anyone? Anyone?

Frantic Update.

I miss Lauren.

That's all.

Out of the frying pan

Well, we're off for a fun filled (pfft) weekend at the new house. We're sleeping there tonight and tomorrow. It's still dirty, half painted, and has a curious kitchen odor. i hope this goes better than I have a feeling it will.

Feel like painting?

Good at cleaning?

Enjoy home improvement?

Then come on down and jump in the fire!

Fun Fact #783

Go to Google, and type "failure" in the search box, without the quotation marks.

Click the search button.

Check out the first listing.

I lubs me some google.

Come Inside, Come Inside

So, since I know that my beloved blog readers have been dying to see the inside of my new house, allow me to show you some of the highlights of home ownership.

We knew when we bought the home that it was a "fixer-upper." This is much different than a handyman's special, in that a fixer-upper is ugly ~ A handyman's special is falling down. Luckily, it's the former.

But, oh, new house, how ugly it is....

We used several quarts of spackle, and replaced all of the outlets. The formal dining room is finished (and lubly, will post pics soon.) as is the hallway. The bedrooms are mostly done. The kitchen is a work in progress - see pics below.

The bedrooms would be finished if GD Home Depot weren't such bastards. Evan and I spent no less than $600 on paint and painting supplies thus far, and have a fairly nice sized vinyl window contract pending. A $10,000 nice sized window contract.

We bought 17 gallons of paint at once. All flat finish, with of course, the exception of the kitchen. Several days later as we're slowly pbut surely trudging through the paint, we see that a palette of 4 gallons is all eggshell. Groan. Moan. Pain in my ass. We schlep it to the nearest Home Depot, who tells us that we have to return it to the Home Depot where it was purchased. We schlep the 30 miles to the other Home Depot, where they will not switch the paint. I showed them my receipt, and the other receipts from the last several days, showing I was a loyal Home Depot customer.

I got no where with the paint department - they don't take back pre-mixed paint. I asked to speak to the paint manager.

I got no where with the paint department manager. He was a miserable little short man. He offered 10% off of my next order of paint to replace the $80 of paint that they mixed with the wrong finish. Whoo-fucking-hoo. I told him that not only did his store lose my paint business, but the window contract was as good as nixed.

Paint manager assured me that this was drastic - they're windows are of the upmost quality. But if they won't stand behind 80 bucks of paint, they'll stand behind me when I spend even more?

No thank you, I will take my business elsewhere.

So yeah. Mucho frustrated. Out 4 gallons of paint. Dirty. Aggitated. And I'm scraping shit (literally) off of the cabinets in my kitchen. Check out the pictures below and tell me - Does it get any better than this?

Kitchen

Kitchen
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Here's the kitchen, with painting supplies. Note the floral border, and also the giant scorch mark beside the stove.

Double Ew.

Double Ew.
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

So, this is what is scraping off of the top of the cabinets. Lauren herded all of the goop onto the end of a paint stirring stick. Shortly after this picture was taken, the goop slithered off of the stick and fell to the floor with a resounding THWAP.

It then proceeded to flow like an amoeba to hide under the cabinets with the ants.

Okay, I made that part up. But it def would have happened if we let it sit on the floor long enough.

Borders Borders Borders

Effin Border
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Here's Evan, pulling off MORE wallpaper borders. Just as he broke through the tropical fish border, SURPRISE!!! There's seashell border underneath! Oh, the humanity of it all.

The Bathroom

Bathroom
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Here it is. In all of it's yellow glory.

"It's like walking into the sun."

...with a bad floral border (Those mother effin borders)...

Life's too short, Babe. I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine.

We raise our glass...

To days of inspiration, playing hookey, making something out of nothing, the need
To express
To communicate
To go against the grain, going inane, going mad.

To loving tension, no pension
To more than one dimension
To starving for attention, hating convention, hating pretension
(Not to mention, of course, hating dear old mom and dad).

To riding your bike, midday past the three-piece-suits
To fruits
To no absolutes
To absolut
To choice
To the Village Voice
To any passing fad.

To being an us - for once - instead of a them.

To hand-crafted beers made in local breweries
To yoga
To yogurt
To rice and beans and cheese
To leather
To dildos
To curry vindaloo
To huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou.

To emotion, devotion
To causing a commotion.
To creation, vacation and mucho masturbation.

To compassion
To fashion
To passion when it's new.

To sontag
To sondheim
To anything taboo.
To Ginsberg, Dylan, Cunningham and Cage
To Lenny Bruce, Langston Hughes
To the stage
To Uta
To Buddha, Pable Neruda, too.

To bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens
To carcinogens, hallucinogens, men, Pee Wee Herman
To German wine, turpentine, Gertrude Stein
To Antonioni, Bertolucci, Kurosawa and Carmina Burana.

To apathy
To entropy
To empathy, ecstasy, Vaclav Havel, The Sex Pistols, 8BC
To no shame - never playing the fame game.

To marijuana.

To sodomy - It's between God and me.
To S&M.
To La Vie Boheme.

You bet your ass we raise our glass.

Game Plan

We're finally in the house.

We went at Midnight O'One to let ourselves in and were greeted with the contents of the home spread all over the front lawn. Beds, broken frames, a weightbench, various garbage in and out of cans, assorted bric-a-brac. The works. I stressed slightly. Who do I call about this? The owners? The title company? Dare I say it, Morgan?

But it's okay, when we went back at 7am, it was all gone. Vanished into the night. Thank God.

The virtual tour will be posted tomorrow...Possibly later tonight, if I'm feeling particularly ambitious. Yesterday was filled with this painfully boring task of peeling wallpaper borders off of the wall. Really old wall paper borders. Really old, ugly, sticky, gooey, liquid nailed to the wall, wallpaper borders. Also spackling the many holes in our house/dartboard, and sanding down said spackle.

The previous owners must have decided to paint the fireplace hearth, so they primed it, and then forgot it. So the hearth is half primer white. I sprayed Graffitti-Off onto it. It's a no go. It got alot off, but not everything. Now it's just pastel looking bricks. But in the process, I got a big glob of the Graffitti-Off foam on my foot, and I have a LURVELY chemical burn between my poor little toes. The toes are definately not happy with me. Lauren said to me "Well, don't you have old sneakers or something to wear next time?" Of course I do...But that would totally go against the whole idea of bare feet. Bare feet, how I love thee.

We have 12 windows and a sliding glass door - all of which need replacing. We had several companies come out and give estimates. Most game in, measured, and gave us a 10-15 minute speil on the windows and wrote a quote. But Thompson Creek Window Company came in with a THREE HOUR presentation. Three hours! So boring. So old. And c'mon, I had so many better things to be doing with my day. His estimate came in at almost three times the others at $21,450. Jesus Lord, that's like almost two thousand dollars a window. I asked if they came out and cleaned them once a week for that price. He didn't think I was a funny girl.

My dad is on his way here from Jersey as I type this. Giant stereo and power roller in tow. Yay! Life made simple with a Wagner Power Roller.

Stay tuned kids, good pictures are a-comin'

Toy Soldiers

Not to go uber-political here at the MSNBCasey news station, But I found this essay by E.L. Doctorow, and found it to be quite good. Enjoy.


"I fault this president, George W. Bush, for not knowing what death is. He does not suffer the death of our twenty-one year olds who wanted to be what they could be.

On the eve of D-Day in 1944, General Eisenhower prayed to God for the lives of the young soldiers he knew were going to die. He knew what death was.

Even in a justifiable war, a war not of choice but of necessity, a war of survival, the cost was almost more than Eisenhower could bear. But this president does not know what death is. He hasn't the mind for it. You see him joking with the press, peering under the table for the WMDs he can't seem to find, you see him at rallies strutting up to the stage in shirt sleeves to the roar of the carefully screened crowd, smiling and waving, triumphal, a he-man. He does not mourn. He does not understand.

Why should he mourn? He is satisfied during the course of a speech written for him to look solemn for a moment and speak of the brave young Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

But you study him, you look into his eyes and know he dissembles an emotion which he does not feel in the depths of his being because he has no capacity for it. He does not feel a personal responsibility for the thousand dead young men and women who wanted to be what they could be. They come to his desk not as youngsters with mothers and fathers or wives and children who will suffer to the end of their days a terribly torn fabric of familial relationships and the inconsolable remembrance of aborted life.... They come to his desk as political liability, which is why the press is not permitted to photograph the arrival of their coffins from Iraq.

How then, can he mourn? To mourn is to express regret and he regrets nothing. He does not regret that his reason for going to war, was, as he knew, unsubstantiated by the facts. He does not regret that his bungled plan for the war's aftermath has made of his mission-accomplished a disaster. He does not regret that rather than controlling terrorism, his was in Iraq has licensed it.

So he never mourns for the dead and crippled youngsters who have fought this was of his choice. He wanted to go to war, and he did. He had not the mind to perceive the costs of war, or to listen to those who knew those costs He did not understand that you do not go to war when it is one of the options, but when it is the only option; you go not because you want to, but because you have to.

The president knew it would be difficult for Americans not to cheer the overthrow of a foreign dictator. he knew that much. This president and his supporters would seem to have a mind for only one thing --- to take power, to remain in power, and to use that power for the sake of themselves and their friends. A war will do that as well as anything. You become a wartime leader. The country gets behind you. Dissent becomes inappropriate. And so he does not drop to his knees, he is not contrite, he does not sit in the church with the grieving parents and wives and children.

He is the President who does not feel. He does not feel for the families of the dead; he does not feel for the forty percent who cannot afford health insurance; he does not feel for the miners whose lungs are turning black or for the working people he has deprived of the chance to work overtime at time-and-a-half to pay their bills --- it is amazing for how many people in this country the President does not feel.

But he will dissemble feeling. He will say in all sincerity he is relieving the wealthiest one percent of the population of their tax burden for the sake of the rest of us, and that he is polluting the air we breathe for the sake of our economy, and that he is decreasing the safety regulations for coal mines to save the coal miners jobs, and that he is depriving workers of their time-and-a-half benefits for overtime because this is actually a way to honor them by raising them into the professional class.

And this litany of lies he will versify with reverences for God and the flag and democracy, when just what he and his party are doing to our democracy is choking the life out of it.

But there is one more terribly sad thing about all of this. I remember the millions of people here and around the world who marched against the war. It was extraordinary, that spontaneously aroused oversoul of alarm and protest that transcended national borders. Why did it happen? After all, this was not the only war anyone had ever seen coming. There are little wars all over the world most of the time.

But the cry of protest was the appalled understanding of millions of people that America was ceding its role as the last best hope of mankind. It was their perception that the classic archetype of democracy was morphing into a rogue nation. The greatest democratic republic in history was turning its back on the future, using its extraordinary power and standing not to advance the ideal of a concordance of civilizations but to endorse the kind of tribal combat that originated with Neanderthals, a people, now extinct, who could imagine ensuring their survival by no other means than pre-emptive war.

The president we get is the country we get. With each president the nation is conformed spiritually. He is the artificer of our malleable national soul. He proposes not only the laws but the kinds of lawlessness that govern our lives and invoke our responses. The people he appoints are cast in his image. The trouble they get into and get us into, is his characteristic trouble.

Finally, the media amplify his character into our moral weather report. He becomes the face of our sky, the conditions that prevail: How can we sustain ourselves as the United States of America given the stupid and ineffective warmaking, the constitutionally insensitive lawgiving, and the monarchal economics of this president? He cannot mourn but is a figure of such moral vacancy as to make us mourn for ourselves. "


Rock on, E.L. Doctorow. Rock on...

T-30 hours and Counting....

Thirty more hours until we can get into the house. Midnight on Sunday. Monday, a flood of contractors are coming to fix our house's many faults. Poor house.

Things packed= Nothing.
Paint purchased= None.
Cleaning supplies= Nada.
Truck rented= Not quite.
Moving crew assembled= Are you volunteering?


We still have 30 hours...why rush?

Fuck Bush.

Today CNN published an article about an impending terrorist strike. Frightening, yes. But it's somehow disturbingly reminiscent of late 2001 to early 2002 news reports...

"We have a 40% chance of a terrorist attack today somewhere on or around the East Coast. We are currently unsure of the severity of the attacks, the exact locations, or approximate accumulation. But if you stay tuned to the 5 o'clock news, we'll bring you up to date with all of the important details we don't know. And now to Sports with Dan. This is MSNBCasey, signing out."

Right then. Al-Zawahiri, did, however, make a statement that is still ringing in my ears. According to the transcript of his statement, he was quoted as saying "If you continue your politics against Muslims, you will see, God willing, such horror that you will forget the horrors of Vietnam."

Our problem in Vietnam was that we treated it as a fair war. We made military camps. We set up shop in places and climates that U.S. Troops were not acclimated to. We knew very little of the culture, or the terrain in which we were fighting. Thus, leaving us sitting in the jungle (desert?) like sitting ducks, bonfires of vulnerability blazing in the night. We lost thousands upon thousands of good men for nothing. Sound familiar?

Sure, we have the man power. And the bombs. And the technology.

But they have the knowledge of the land. The knowledge of the people. The knowledge of their own weaknesses. And I think that, in itself, is more ammunition than anyone involved in this "war" has.

Bush so tactfully responded with "You can't scare me!" And then promptly went out joyriding.

He joyrides as mothers wonder if her children were killed in the latest mortar bombing. He joyrides as Sergeants in full military dress approach the door of a newly widowed woman. He joyrides as somewhere in a foreign desert, young people are suffering, far away from their homes, alone and scared, faces pressed to the sand, with an automatic rifle loaded and cocked on their shoulder. And he joyrides...

The Golden Key

330k key
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

We went to settlement on Friday, July 29th.

We had a mortgage check for $320,000.

We have a closing cost check of $10,000.

And no house. We can't have it til the 8th of August. I think I'm going to make a shirt, and it will say

"I signed my life away, and all I got was this lousy key."

Mail Call

wtf?
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

This is what came for me in the mail.

It came in a cardboard envelope, the kind like FedEx uses, with the little pull tab.

Addressed to "Mrs. Casey Burrows, or Occupant"

No company name, but a return address.

And inside, a blue cotton thong. No note. No card. No nothing. An envelope and a thong.

Right then.

How many perverts on eBay do you think will put a bid on it?

As Promised.

tubing
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Here's the pic of Jemma and Evan tubing.

My sister is a tube piglet, and though you can't see it, she manages to take up a full 75% of the leg room, leaving her tube partner to flounder in the water. Upon seeing this picture, she promptly announced "I look like a rat. A Giant rat. A tubing R.O.U.S"

Good times, good times.

We'll just ignore the fact the I feel off the tube three consecutive times before the boat began to move.

Whatchyoolookinat?

You know you're from Jersey when.....

In your mind you hear "watch out for the tram car please" even in your sleep.

You've had arguments over cheesesteak quality.

When it snows more than an inch, you call it a blizzard.

You know someone named Siprasiut Xayapachan.

You've actually found the Echelon Mall.

Your uncle is in the mafia.

You or your friends have Lyme Disease.

You don't understand why there aren't more 24-hour diners elsewhere in the country.

You know what a Wawa is, and know the location of at least 15 of them.

You know what became of the 13th Leeds child, and claim to have seen him one time while peeing in the woods.

One time you were driving in the woods and got stuck in sand.

You have an EZ Pass, but you just hold it up.

Even though there's a new Wal-Mart in your town, you still go to the Berlin Farmers Market for cheap stuff.

Your neighborhood demonstrates co-existence of African-Americans and racist rednecks.

You know that you should get the hell out of Camden before dark.

Your car is covered with yellow-green dust in April ann May.

You buy Shop-Rite brand food at Shop-Rite.

Honesty, sincerity, and courtesy are things you once saw happen in Ohio.

You know how to successfully handle a traffic circle.

You think the Olive Garden is a bunch of crap and should not open restaurants in South Jersey.

You worked at a blueberry farm when you were 13.

You played soccer from Kindergarten through high school.

You've counted the number of titty bars on the Black Horse Pike.

You always went to the Franklin Institute when you were a kid.

Your middle school hangout was the mall.

You have an unusable, piece-of-shit boat in your front yard.

You once skipped school and went to Wildwood.

You're Italian.

You know where to get the best bagel.

You've called someone an "asshole" to their face at the Philly airport.

You say "water" weird.

Even your school made good Italian subs, but you call them hoagies.

You've almost fallen asleep on the Expressway.

You've lived through hurricanes, nor'easters and fires, but have never seen a tornado, earthquake or volcano.

You can't believe MTV went to Seaside Heights.

You know that ACME is an actual store, not just a Warner Bros. creation.

You never had school on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur.

You take day trips to New York City.

The mafia runs half the businesses in your town.

You have mandatory recycling. Enforced by law.

In the woods behind your house, you can find couches, washing machines, and shoes.

You don't have to go to Red Lobster to get fresh seafood.

You go to at least one parade at the boardwalk each year.

You've made a meal out of Tastycakes, Herr's BBQ potato chips, and Pennsylvania Dutch Birch Beer.

You know the Atlantic City High School marching band can lay down some phat beats.

You know New Years is all about the Mummers and the Polar Bear club.

You smoke Parliament Lights.

You go to the local Fire Department barbeque in June.

Down the road, in the middle of nowhere, is an Egyptian restaurant and a custard stand with a minature golf course.

You know what custard is in South Jersey.

You can go bowling at 1:30 A.M. (with automatic scoring!)

In high school, you worked at a Friendly's.

Route 206 doesn't freak you out at night.

One time, a sea gull shit all over your head.

You once said, "It smells like Philadelphia in here."

You know that people from the 609 area code are "a little different".

Your mom still loves Bruce Springsteen.

You know it can be -10 degrees and 70 degrees in January in the same year.

There's a fruit and vegetable stand down the road.

You will always say "YO", and you'll say it often.

You scoff at tourists in Philadelphia.

Your town has an online commmunity.

At least one person brings Big Fizz to a party.

You go to another state and sit at a gas station wondering when the people will come out to pump your gas.

You have your own bucket for carmel corn refills.

You know that no matter how much they put into the Camden waterfront Camden is still Camden.

You have to mail your relocated friends tastykakes.

You think North Jersey is a different state and South Jersey deserves its own secession.

Your high school prom was at the Camden Aquarium or The Mansion in Voorhees.

You have season passes to Great Adventure.

You refuse to call Hoagies "subs."

You know where Olga's Diner is on rt 70.

You are tired of people not believing you're from jersey because you don't have a New York accent.

You drive by a farm every time you get in the car.

You know what "jimmies" are and refuse to call them anything else.

Eastern Regional High School has a rip list every year!

Your neighbor is either a painter, a plumber, a builder, or an electrician with a work truck in the driveway.

You have crossed all 5 bridges into Philly at one point in your life.

You take day trips to philly to walk on South Street.

You have had a near or close call experiences hitting a deer with your car.

You run around in the nearest patch of woods and play paint ball with your buddies.

You've considered renaming "the Garden State" to "the Hoagie State"

You have a story about the "Hell Hole" ride in Wildwood.

You remember the ducks in the middle of Cherry Hill Mall.

You call the Berlin Farmer's Market the Berlin Auction or the Auction.

You took your report card to Clementon Park for free tickets.

You've had some of the best parties in a field.

Other people dont know what funnel cake and water ice is because everyone else calls it fried dough and slush.

You went "diner hopping" till the sun came up.

You don't acknoledge that it is tomorrow until either you go to sleep or the sun comes up.

You know where to buy a katana for less than $50.

You go on dates to diners and arcades.

You have empty Wawa half gallon iced tea bottles all over your car and room.

You've ever driven around aimlessly for hours with your friends saying "So, whatta we doin?"

You've ever said the phrase "look at fricken MacGyver over here!"

You know the difference betwine the train and the speedline.

The term "I think of you as a brother" turns into a whole family tree.

You ever drove all the way to the shore just to walk around for 5 minutes then drive back.

Your memories of places all consist of what you did there once when you were fucked up.

You ever went over someone's house to hang out with their mom.

You have a knife collection, a PS2, a cell phone, a pager, and a computer but you can't afford to get your car fixed.

One of your hangouts is a parking lot.

You say "'lanic city", instead of Atlantic City.

You can't get that sand out of your toes no matter how long it's been there.

You haven't been able to find a decent stromboli since moving out of South Jersey.

You've seen a shack with a satellite dish.
You know that a Jug Handle is both a feature of the highway and a bar that looks like someone's house in Maple Shade.

You know of at least 3 bars where you know they won't card you.

You lived near a "crick" not a creek.

You don't recognize any one at your family reunion.

You say "gimme" instead of give me, or "com' mer" instead of come here.

You know a Chrissy and we all know she's gotten around!

You think we should sell north "Joisey" to New York for $24.

Everyone eventually starred at the Latin Casino.

You never could figure out which was the Black Horse Pike or The White Horse Pike.

You're a female and have beaten the crap out of at least one guy who wasn't your brother.

You ever taken your parents car while they were asleep or away, before you were old enough to drive.

You ever cut your foot on a broken bottle in a local stream.

You have gotten bad poison ivy from hiding in a bush to make weird noises at the people passing by.

There is a dead body somewhere in or near the stream by your house.

You have to drive at least 30-60 minutes to get to work in order to make more than $10 an hour.

You know what "pulling a camper" means and do it publicly when it is necessary.

You know that a "Yield" sign is merely a suggestion.

You've considered going to your high school late at night to check for ghosts in the halls rumoured haunted.

You think pit bulls are harmless.

You don't think you have an accent.

Half your high school went to Camden County College.

You know what the song "V-town" is about.

Your front yard is made out of stones.

Everything is "twenty minutes away". If you ask how long it takes to get any place in South Jersey, the person always says, "about twenty minutes". To get to a mall, "Oh, about 20 minutes". To get to the airport, "Mmm, about 20 minutes." To get from Runnemede to Philly, "Only about 20 minutes". Try it. Only the shore areas take more than "twenty minutes". They're usually "an hour and twenty minutes."

Thrift shopping with friends is an event.

You've intentionally stood in front of the tram car, and you're upset that it no longer stutters.

You remember the old Morey's Pier before the fire.

Your parents gave in and bought you a hermit crab when you were down the shore.

You curse off three drivers in two minutes.

You went to StoryBook Land as a kid.

You haven't moved out of state soley for the reason you know the food is that bad everywhere else.

WHIPOORWILL!! WHIPOORWILL!!

You know the one-day sale at JC Penny's really lasts three.

You live in a "dry town" and every road out of it has a liquor store at the town border.

Every time someone in Hollywood makes fun of Jersey, you're mad and proud at the same time.

Your big elementary school trip was to Springdale Farms.

You know what the conductor is going to say for every stop on the PATCO HighSpeedline.

Your neighborhood has a name that ties people together, as in "the kids"

Your shoes have turned black from being in Pennsauken.

You know at least 5 people who work at a prison.

You say "porta reeko" instead of puerto rico, as it should be pronounced.

You go to college and describe where you live in reference to how far you are from Cherry Hill.

You come home from college for christmas break and 75% of your HS graduating class is at the same diner you are at 3am.

You aren't scared of the speed line.

You don't even care when you leave your door unlocked.

More than one of your friends has spent more than a week at your house.

You've lived in a row home.

Making left turns just doesn't feel right anymore.

You have a super secret place to sled that in better than anywhere else in town!

You remember The Garden State Race Track and the day it burnt to the ground and all the tons of ashes that fell for miles.

You can spend the day at the Berlin Auction shopping at the outside flea market.

"Jeet?" makes sense when you hear it.

The only thing you can play on guitar is "Stairway to Heaven"

You were amazed Moorsetown was on MTV Cribs.

A member of your family does not have all of their teeth.

You know Voorhees used to be known as Kirkwood.

You had a birthday party at Xhilarama.

You've been to 2 or more festivals named after some kind of fruit (strawberry, apple, blueberry, lima bean).

You're astounded when a friend that moves tells you theres not a Wawa nor CVS withen a 10 mile radius of them.

Going to New York is a huge trip but Philly is someplace to go when you're bored.

You think Amish people are amazing.

Your whole school knows when each water ice place opens, and the line goes on forever!

You would drop everything you were doing and run to the voting polls right now if you heard we were voting to make North and South Jersey separate states.

Summer is a process, not a season.

You've ever been to Wheaton Village.

You know which places were built on indian burial grounds.

You've slept behind a Wawa.

You remember Caldor.

You've had a dinner with your friends for less than $3.

You don't know that in every other state, people get their liscenses when they're 16.

Everyone you know has had Confirmation but never goes to church.

After seeing a movie at the Ritz, you hang out at Tunes and then play Scrabble at Coffeeworks.

You know all of the "back roads" to get everywhere and prefer them to the expressway.

You think a mountain is any landform taller than your house.

You know what a "shoe-bie" is and can pick one out at the beach.

You go to Delaware to buy smokes.

You can name all the flavors of salt water taffy.

You can smell and know when it's low tide.

You remember the bad gypsy moth years.

You eat at restaurants that have locations I, II, III, IV, and V.

You know that you don't put ketchup on boardwalk fries. Whatch

You get three 50's in a row when you play skeeball.

Donald Trump is mentioned at least daily in your local paper.

My Arch Nemesis

greenhead
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Stupid little bug, ruining my boating experience yesterday.

Sure, it looks little and pleasantly colorful...But it bites like a beesting, leaving welts that itch more than mosquito bites, and lump up like a swarm of angry wasps attacked.

I. Hate. Greenheads.

Other than the greenheads (which, of course, is like saying "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?") the boat is awesome. We tubed and crabbed, and forgot the bait for our fishing poles. And the lures, and the weights. But we had poles, god dammit.

Pics of tubing to be posted shortly :)

Just Do It

A woman is often measured by the things she can not control. She is measured by the way her body curves or doesn't curve, by where she is flat or straight or round. She is measured by 36-24-36 and inches and ages and numbers; by all the outside things that don't ever add up to who she is on the inside. And so if a woman is to be measured let her be measured by the things she can control, by who she is and who she is trying to become - because as every woman knows, measurements are statistics, and STATISTICS LIE

- Nike advertisement

Another Angry Letter

Dear Lauren's Work,

Fix your internet, you slackers. How am I supposed to converse with the lovely Lauren all day if you take the internet away? Do you know what this will do to the already skyrocketing cell phone bill? Lauren needs a raise to compensate for these subhuman working conditions. Give me a raise too, while you're at it.

Warmly, (ha! Funny girl)
Casey

Please Hold For The Next Representative

Dear T-Mobile,

You smell. I'm so over you. Your service sucks, your phones are expensive and crappy, and after waiting for my "friendly customer care representative" for fifteen minutes, her accent was so thick I had to ask to speak with someone else, because I couldn't understand her.

The new representative informed me that she'd give me 6 months service free if we decided not to cancel our contract with them. Tempting. However, their service still sucks, their phones are still expensive and crappy, and just because it's free doesn't mean it will work. She cheerfully informed me that if we were on one street in our new town, our service coverage would be "Fair to Moderate"

Whoohoo. The rest of the town, however is a dead zone.

But it's okay, i'm glad I called. After all, my call was very important to them. And they made every effort to minimalize my wait time. And with service like that, who cares if my cell phone doesn't work in an emergency?

Our House...Is a very very very fine house**

15105 Costa Dr.
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Our House, in the middle of our street
Our House, our castle to keep
Our House, it's where we're going to sleep
Our House, in the middle of our street

I remember way back then
When everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time
Such a fine time
Such a happy time
And I remember how we'd play
Simply waste the day away

Then we'd say nothing would come between us two dreamers

Our House, in the middle of our street



**You have to excuse our ghetto picture. It's a picture of a picture. That's the flash above the right side of the house, not a hovering alien space craft :)

Recap

Thursday my parents came to see the house we just bought. My mother, who has been to Northern Virginia approximately once just about lost her lunch over exactly what 320k bought us. "But....The windows.." She stammered. "They don't even have SCREENS!" We tried to explain that the fact that the home had all of it's walls and a roof intact was a step up from most in our price bracket. But she continued. "And the bathroom is so..." dramatic pause with lip curl "DATED!" Did not go so well. We ate at Applebees, wrapped in blankets because the A/C must've been set for "Arctic Tundra" My parents left, trading Guido for Jemma.

Friday Jemma and I loafed at the pool, went to craft stores, loafed at the pool some more, and ate ice cream.

Saturday brought a trip to the zoo, in 95+ degree heat and direct sun. I'm a little crispy. The cheetah babies are no longer cute fluffs, but awkward teenage cheetahs, feet too big, legs too long, head too small. The otters were visible, but sleeping. They reminded me of guido. The hippo was swimming around with it's little fat head and tiny ears peeking above the top of the water. He reminded me of Guido too. I miss Guido. I think we got the short end of the stick in our trade.

Sunday we went to eastern market, where I felt at home in my flowy shirt and sandals. Bought a handblown vase for 15bucks. Only thing i've ever seen that matches our living room set. We ate too much Ben and Jerry's and watched the Princess Bride when we got home. I lubs me some Princess Bride. I could quote that movie all day and laugh like I was the funniest girl ever.

I think I just might be the funniest girl ever.

"Am I going MAD, or did the word THINK escape your lips?? You were NOT hired for your brains you hippopotamic landmass."

Free Love For All!!

Hippie You are 0% Rational, 85% Extroverted, 14% Brutal, and 14% Arrogant.

You are the Hippie! Characterized by a strong sense of extroversion, irrationality, gentleness, and humility, you no doubt frolic through fields preaching peace and love to all! You are probably either very spiritual or needlessly paranoid about "the man", like most hippies, as a result of your focus on intuition and feelings over cold, brutal logic. You are also very, very social. And like any hippie, who would have no qualms about hitchiking across the country just to meet some interesting people, you too love to interact with others, even complete strangers. Because we know most any hippie is peace-loving and humble, it stands to reason that you, as well, are terribly gentle and humble, almost to the point of revulsion. Your carefree attitude of peace and harmony is probably very, very sickening to realists or cynics or anyone who isn't a hippie, to tell the truth. In short, your personality is defective because you are overly emotional, extroverted, gentle, and humble--thus making you an annoying hippie. And you listen to psychadelic rock and smoke a whole lot of pot. Okay, maybe not, but I wouldn't be surprised if you did. To put it less negatively: 1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational. 2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted. 3. You are more GENTLE than brutal. 4. You are more HUMBLE than arrogant. Compatibility: Your exact opposite is the Sociopath. Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Hand-Raiser, the Televangelist, and the Robot. * * If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits. The other personality types: The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble. The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble. The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant. The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble. The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant. The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble. The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 0% on Rationality You scored higher than 84% on Extroversion You scored higher than 7% on Brutality You scored higher than 5% on Arrogance

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid

Victory

We won! We finally won. A home of our own. Brick, siding and some shingles, and it's ours.

Morgan called last night to tell us. He casually asked how the DC fireworks were, if they were as spectacular as i had hoped. He then slipped in "And, when you leave the Hill, if you could swing by my office, I have a contract I need you to ratify..." Hot Damn! And the whole city rejoiced with fireworks just for me.

On the market for approximately 10 hours, with six presenting offers.

So the details:

2 level, 4 bedroom 1 1/2 bathroom rambler home. Mostly brick, some siding. 1/4 acre lot, ugly little kitchen, fireplace, living room, dining room, hardwood floors on the entire main level, laundry room, storage area, central air, baseboard heat, pull down attic steps. Oh, and I forgot the best part:

IT'S OURS!

Where you going? I'm going to C. Burrows 15105 Costa Dr, Woodbridge, where are you going? I'M going to 15105 Costa Dr. Woodbridge.

Pictures will be posted soon :)

"Screw you, Casey. Live in a box. A soggy one. With a hole in the top."

When I sell the house that we currently don't own, I'm going to be the biggest bitch everyone has ever met.

Totally going to mindfuck all the buyers. I'm going to sit on contracts for weeks on end. I'm going to not accept the highest bidders. I'm going to tease by putting it on and off the market. I'm going to have "open house" and then lock all the doors. I'm going to put it on the market for a ridiculously low price so that the biggest bidding war known to man ensues.

Because I will be the seller.

And I can.

Psychotic much? Yes please.

Waiting.

Guido
Originally uploaded by lilmissimpatient.

Again, I wait.

I'm so over this house hunting process. So very over it. The hunting part is fun - the wait to see if the hunt was a success is another story.

We are supposed to hear back today. I've been trying to keep myself busy doing menial little chores around the house.

The chores included washing Guido. He was overdue for a bath, and getting quite ripe. However, we were out of his normal shampoo...The special oatmeal-infused-super-expensive-wonderful for his skin shampoo, so he got a combo of Evan's Balsam and Protein shampoo, and my Tressemme conditioner.

He is now silky soft and smelling like a girl.

I have a feeling he won't be talking to me for a while. But that's fine, at least he doesn't smell like a sock anymore.

The opposite of Progress

Can you imagine working for a company that has a little more than 500 employees, and has the following statistics:

-29 have been accused of spousal abuse
-7 have been arrested for fraud
-19 have been accused of writing bad checks
-117 have directly or indirectly bankrupted at least 2 businesses
-3 have done time for assault
-71 cannot get a credit card due to bad credit
-14 have been arrested on drug related charges
-8 have been arrested for shoplifting
-21 are currently defendants in lawsuits
-84 have been arrested for drunk driving in the past 12 months

Do you know what organization this is?

It's the United States Congress.

The same group of idiots that crank out hundreds of new laws each year designed to keep the rest of us in line.

T.F.G.I.S.

Thank fucking god it's Saturday.

And I mean it.

Want to hear about my Friday? Too bad, I'm going to tell you anyway.

We drove down to Dale City to check out a fairly decent townhouse - 3 levels, nice end unit, big windows, cute stream in the back. The house had actually gone on the market Thursday afternoon around 3, but neither Morgan nor I had the time or energy to battle rush hour to go down and see it. Morgan called the sellers at 8:45am on Friday, just to double check that it was okay to look at. So, we went at 9am, the second the lockbox opened to look at the house. It was adorable inside, well maintained, a fireplace!!

We decided by 9:15 we'd like to make an offer on it. 9:30, Morgan called to get the fax number to fax our offer, but alas, we were too late; the house was SOLD. Sometime between 8:45 and 9:30 an offer was faxed in and accepted. Someone bought the house literally from under our feet.

Instead of taking this as an omen for the day to come, we plugged on. Dropped Evan back off at work, went to the doctor, called Lauren a few times, and then the fun began.

I picked up Lauren to go to the DMV. Always a fantastic finish of the week. I needed new registration stickers for Evan's car, and she needed a vast array of DMV documents. After paying my outrageous sum of money (okay, okay, it was only $63. But still outrageous), I waited in line for Lauren's new license with her. When it was our turn, a man with a lightbulb shaped head asked what we needed. Lauren, in her polite Michigan voice explained she needed to pick up her new license. Lightbulb man asked who told us to come to him for that. I piped in that the man three windows down had, in fact, sent us down here.

"That's NOT true," said the lightbulb. Minor aggitation and a few choice words later, we left with Laurens license and my registration in hand. We were unsuccessful in getting the stickers for her car though. Keep that in mind, it will be important later.

We meandered into the parking lot, bitching about the DMV and the state (commonwealth) of Virginia, when lo and behold, there is the spot where I left my car. Only, my car is missing. MISSING!!!!! I paced like a mad woman, Lauren lit a panic Parliament, and we mused about what could've happened to it. Enter: The sign.

The sign that I swear was definately not there when we got to the DMV. The sign that was directly behind the sign that said "DMV." The sign that says "Parking for Dollar Store Only. No DMV parking." And below it, the number of a tow company.

I called. Yes, ma'am, they sure did have my car. They'll gladly release it for $95 cash. NO checks. NO credit. NO debit. NO money order. Give them the green.

But how to get there...We begin calling 411 to get the numbers of local cab companies, when Crazy Cabbie wanders out of the DMV. I run up to him, and try to explain our situation. He is off duty, but agrees to run us up the road to Lauren's house. We pile in and get underway. Crazy Cabbie missed our turn, and proceeds to put the cab in reverse and back up half a block down the Columbia Pike. We throw $8 at him and leap from the car never to look back.

Back on the road in Lauren's Buick, we stop at 7-11 so I can MAC out the appropriate fees to pay the ridiculous towing fare. The second my foot hits the pavement, my flip flop broke. I kick the shoes off, and proceed into 7-11 barefoot, carefully avoiding sticky melted Slurpee and the just mopped section.

My money safely tucked back into my wallet, I hop barefooted into Laurens car where we proceed to drive around for 2 hours, following erroneous directions from some punk kid who answers the phone at said ghetto tow company. We end up in the parking lot of the DMV, where it all started and demand to be given EXACT directions.

As we pull from the parking lot of the DMV, there was a cop, waiting at the light. As we passed, he turned his head and gave us the police staredown. Sure enough, he rounded the turn and the gumball lit up.

Lauren showed him the papers from the DMV. She showed him her new license, still hot off the DMV presses. She showed him the papers and explained the ones she forgot, so she couldn't get her stickers. He sneered, and wrote a ticket anyway.

Friday ended with the two of us curled into our own little respective ball, wrapped in a blanket, semi-comatose state.

Registration Stickers: 63.00
Cab Ride: 8.00
Tow Fee: 95.00
Pain and Suffering: 14 million
______________________________
TOTAL FEE: $14,000,166
TOTAL FUN: 0