The Saga Continues

The crooks were smokers. So now my car smells like a used ashtray. Driving to work this morning with a garbage back for a window helped air things out a bit, but it's going to take some work to get the odor to dissapear.

So I'm condemned to a silent, stinky car for the time being. I think I'll be paying to have my car professionally detailed once I get done clearing everything off the floor and back into the glove box, side pockets, etc.

I believe one of my gloves was stolen, or is hiding from me. In exchange, the crooks left some body powder in the back seat of my car. Not sure what it's for or why they left it, but there it is. I'll be passing this information along to the officer when I call him with my stereo information tomorrow, and perhaps he can illuminate me.

The broken window has been replaced. And the window repair guy also vaccuumed up all the broken glass from the back seat and trunk. So my procrastination in that regard paid off. He also pointed out that the molding to the window is cracked, which does not immediately matter but should be replaced. So there's another call to the insurance company. Hopefully the place that is fixing the trim can also fix this.

This is turning into an huge headache. At least when you get into an accident you just need to get the car to the repair shop and pay the deductible. The professionals take care of the rest. But this is more an ongoing process.

And I promise to start blogging about other things soon. The back pain is starting to subside a bit. For now, that's just overwhelming the brain.

Diapers and Chains and CDs, OH MY!

Well, it's almost 12 hours later and the break-in is still annoying as hell.

The crooks didn't take the CD's I accused them of stealing, they were simply piled under a bunch of other crap. They did, however, take my chains. According to the officer I filed my police report with, chains never get stolen. So I'm special like that. It may actually save us $50 on the deductible -- I had bought the chains right after I got the car and never used them, but was too lazy to return them to Les Schwab. It sounds like the insurance company will just credit the cost of the chains towards my deductible, so if I don't replace them, we'll just pocket that cash for now.

But here's the really wacky part. I mentioned in my earlier post that it appeared there might be things in my car that did not belong to me. When the officer was out filing my report, he was digging through the crap in my car, and discovered that my gut reaction was correct. There were three adult diapers, unused, sitting on top of the crap that had been unloaded onto the passenger seat floor. The officer had never seen anything like this before, either. The only thing he could think was they used them to somehow assist in the breaking of the windows. I don't know, but I'm just thankful they aren't used.

In other good news, Sweetie carpooled to work today, so I was able to use his car to get to work and back. I'd really rather not drive a car with one window missing in freezing weather (although I get the honor tomorrow, since the glass replacement people will be coming to my office to get it done). In not-so-good news, somewhere in all of the drama and stress of this morning I tweaked my back, so I've been limping around all day and can barely stand to move.

I Don't Like Mondays

I'm batting two for two right now when it comes to work and Monday mornings. Last week I was sick, and this week my car got broken into, so I sit at home and wait for the police officer to arrive to file a report (He's at a neighbors right now, so I guess it's just a matter of waiting for him to be done with that police report).

The far back window was broken, a piece of trim on the opposite side of the car was ripped off, the stereo was stolen, as were two CD's, and much crap was strewn about the car. It looks like there may be crap that doesn't belong to me strewn about the car, but I haven't really dug into it. I'll let the police officer do that. I just looked superficially enough to report to the insurance company.

Interestingly, the leather gloves, the 17 other CD's in my car, and the $50 in Starbuck's cards were not stolen. Guess the crooks don't like coffee.

So now, for a few hundred dollars worth of damage and a $500 deductible I will get an endless array of crap. First, we've got the time consumed with calling insurance companies and police officers and all that fun stuff. There will be time taken to clean out the car, I am sure. And then there are three, yes count them, THREE, different organizations that I will need to coordinate with to fully process my insurance claim. One agency will replace my auto glass (tomorrow at work, so unless the police officer tells me something different it looks like I'll get to be white trash for a day and drive around with a garbage bag for a window), one just to take care of the piece of trim that was removed, and a third to replace the stereo and CD's. Brand-freaking-new CD's that I had just bought on Saturday.

Worst of all is, since it happened at home, now I feel sort of invaded. Like, how am I going to feel safe leaving my car out at night? I don't want to have to go through this crap again. I want a house with a garage. Or maybe a limo with a driver, so I'm not responsible for the automobile at all.

Man, this sucks.

The Pie Crust Manifesto of 2005

I have a confession to make - pie crust has always been one of those things that kinda scared me and I've never really done well. I chalk it up to the fact that the first pie crust I made was for the gargantuan pie plate, and at the time I didn't realize it was a gargantuan pie plate. So I made a standard recipie and made it fit.

Now, for those of you at home who aren't bakers, or who don't know about gargantuan pie plates, let's take a mathematical tangent. Your standard pie plate is 9" in diameter and 1" deep. So you need an 11" round circle of pie crust to fit the plate (9+1+1). The area of a circle is pie times the radius squared, so 5.5^2 * 3.14. Let's estimate and say 36 * 3 = 108 square inches of pie crust. Gargantuan pie plate is 12" in diameter and 2" deep. So a 16" round circle of pie crust. 8^2 * 3.14, so 65*3 = 195 square inches of pie crust. Or approximately 90 MORE square inches of pie crust are needed.

You can imagine my pain, and the thinness of the crust, that first time out making pie. Once I realized that it's about twice as much crust, I just made a double crust recipie and carried on fine. It was always merely adequate, but I figured that if I just made a spectacular filling no one would ever notice whether or not the crust was flaky.

Today I had the task ahead of me to make 4 pie crusts - two for the gargantuan pie, and two for the standard apple pie (top and bottom). Your standard pie crust recipie makes 2 crusts, but I wasn't sure if you could just double the recipie and call it good. Pie crust toes a very fine line between dry flour that won't stick together and a big lump of play doh. Finding that exact spot is the secret to a good pie crust.

My DESIRE was to just double the recipie, as I've got enough on my plate tonight that I'd rather not have to go through the process twice. So I did what any good cook does in this situation and called my Mommy. Her concern was that with that much flour it would be very easy to make a big mess of things. In other words, "I don't want play doh for pie crust, girl." That was my concern, too. Damn, this wasn't going to be easy.

But I'm stubborn, and pressed for time, and decided to just plow ahead with it and make them all in one big bowl. And darn if it wasn't the easiest pie crust ever to make. It's chilling in the fridge right now awaiting filling, so I may come back and change my tune later, but I think I found that perfect balance this time around. With all that extra flour to work with I think it actually gave me a larger margin of error when adding the water, and thus the secret was discovered.

A couple of other notes from the kitchen front:

1. A pumpkin the size of Charlie Brown's head will provide EXACTLY enough pumpkin for a gargantuan pie. No soup or muffins or ravioli for us unless I want to go through the roasting process again.

2. In response to Shannin's comment regarding my going shopping this afternoon for supplies: It wasn't so much BRAVE as it was GOT SICK FOR TWO DAYS AND DIDN'T GET A CHANCE TO DO IT SOONER. However, I made it through the store without incident, and almost came away entirely unscathed. Then one of the free valets the store was providing to help allieviate traffic (which I didn't have to take advantage of) made me take a VERY slow route through the parking lot under the guise that it would be faster.

Gobble, Gobble

Let's take a look at the House of Swank schedule for the next few days:

Wednesday - work until 4 pm (after about 6 hours sleep due to the insomnia). Grocery shop on the way home. Bake 2-3 pies. (2 pies, but since one is double standard size it takes almost double standard cooking time). Clean house and prepare "guest room." Do laundry and pack for long weekend in Portland. Prepare necessary rations for cat to survive a long weekend home alone. Pick up Kaphine and Realsupergirl up at the airport at midnight.

Thursday - drive to Portland (3 hours). Gorge on stuffing. And turkey and mashed potatoes and all that other stuff, but Thanksgiving at my mom's house is just a large production to justify me getting lots and lots and lots of stuffing. Seriously, if I could talk my mom into buying a 50 lb. turkey I'd totally do it and not eat any of the turkey, but be living off of stuffing for DAYS.

Friday - Thanksgiving was all about the eating, so Leftover Day shall be all about the drinking. Going on a wine tour with a good friend and his family. Which I think means anyone they've ever met, or the friends and family of those people. (My parents are coming, and although they've met my friend, they have not met anyone else in his family, unless you include his wife). The first winery we are visiting that day is located next door to his parents' house and is opening special just for us. When the day gets started on that kind of note, you know it's going to be a good one.

Saturday - Re-discover what I look like with really short hair. I won't know until the haircut actually starts what the final haircut will look like (since my hair is pulled back in a ponytail when measuring the requisite 10" to go, I'm having a tough time visualizing what will be left and what will become of it.) It has the potential to be the shortest it's been since my senior year of college. When I almost gave a friend a heart attack for getting gobs cut off over Christmas vacation without warning anyone. Thankfully, a friend who knew me longer got him into shape. "Dude, that's Swankette, that's what she does." After the haircutting will be the partying in honor of Kaphine and Realsupergirl. Given that many Portland friends will be in attendance at the formal event, I would not be surprised if partying continued on of an informal variety after the fact.

Sunday - Sales-tax free shopping. Stealth detective missions. And getting home at a reasonable hour so Sweetie and I can make it to work on Monday without feeling the pain.

I know I owe an Amazing Race post, and I'm sure there will be much to blog about over the weekend, but there may not be the time to do so.

So enjoy your holidays, however you choose to celebrate them (both Thanksgiving and Leftover Day.) Get lots of triptophan in your system, and just snooze through the weekend. I'm sure I'll be back next week with scads of stories to tell.

The Go (Almost) Anywhere Snack

Sweetie bought me some pudding cups to help me through the illness yesterday. This evening I noticed that on the lid it says, "refrigerate when at home."

So, apparently I can take them to the office, or camping, or anywhere else without worry of spoilage, as long a I don't bring them home. And it's even a bit unclear as to if I only need to refrigerate them at my OWN home, or if they also need to be refrigerated when at ANY home.

Who knew a dairy product could be so versatile? And I wonder what it is about home that requires refrigeration.

Taunting My Mother

The pumpkin that will become the gargantuan pie is currently in the oven roasting it's little heart out.

De-gutting pumpkins for Halloween is fun, part of the experience. The guts are ooky, icky, Halloweeny type things. De-gutting pumpkins for Thanksgiving pie has to be one of the ickier kitchen actvities out there. At least there's a gargantuan pie and roasted seeds to be won out of the deal.

The taunting my mother bit is the fact that I'm roasting the pumpkin to make the pie. Mom's pies always came straight out of the can. And her whipped cream was of the aerosol variety. Mom tried to make whipped cream once, but it turned into butter. She shares this story every year when I'm whipping the cream for the pie on Thanksgiving.

But as much as I tease and taunt my Mom about her cooking, I think it was, in part, my family that gave me my love of cooking. My teen years were tumultuous ones, and the family was more spread apart than brought together. But we pretty much always had dinner together, with no TV. It may not have been a fancy dinner, but it was nutritious and, with the exception of the one time she made liver and served it under dim lights to fool us that it might be tasty, was tasty, too. Sometimes it was very quiet, brooding, and tense, but at least we had that time together.

And Thursday so it shall be again. The brother has been going through a tough time lately, so it might be of the tense variety, but we'll be sitting there eating, and for at least a short while everything will be good in my world as I'm shoveling Mom's stuffing into my face as fast as I can.

98.6

I spent all day yesterday and a chunk of this morning being sick. I'm not running a fever right now, which might be partly due to the Tylenol, but yesterday even with Tylenol I was running a slight temperature, so I'm considering this a victory.

It's making me feel really good I didn't spend too much time fawning over the newborn at the shower we were at Saturday night... I'd feel really guilty if I got a 6 day old sick.

And, of course it has to kick in before I've got sick leave at work. Oh well, such is life. If anything, it will kick me in the butt and make me go get a flu shot for this year. I'm not looking forward to re-living last February's week of misery.

Shopgirl

Sweetie and I went to see the movie Shopgirl last night. Two enthusiastic thumbs up!

Normally, I avoid movies based on books that I have enjoyed. I'm still in denial that I spent two hours of my life watching Simon Birch, but I really didn't realize that a movie based on my favorite book could be so horribly, horribly bad.

In fact, prior to last night, the ONLY time the movie equalled the book was High Fidelity, and if that movie had sucked I would have just spent two hours drooling over John Cusack, so that being an enjoyable movie was really just a nice bonus.

But enough about that, back to Shopgirl. I loved the book, so was very wary when I heard it was being made into a movie. Especially with Steve Martin playing the part of Ray Porter. (I had always pictured Porter as more a Ray Liotta type.), but the central character of the movie, and the make-it or break-it casting is the character of Mirabelle. She's simultaneously very simple and very complex, and her physical presence is a very important part of her character. An impossible part to cast, but it was cast brilliantly with Claire Danes fitting the bill, and she did not dissapoint.

From the opening credits, I knew this movie would be a winner. In fact, there were a few moments in the movie that really help enhance the story for me, and brought out things I hadn't noticed about the story before. Especially fun was one scene in which Ray Porter and Jeremy are simultaneously eating dinner. I don't want to tell you any more, because it will give it away.

The other thing I wish to commend this story on is it's dealing with depression. Mirabelle is on anti-depressants, but at one point in the movie, feeling happy and life seemingly in-check, she stops them. Results are not good. Which is very common for those who suffer from mental illnes. Those who suffer from depression will stop taking their meds because they are feeling so happy, and then falling into a deep pit of despair. But their guilt that they aren't just happy prevents them from getting back on the meds. I liked seeing this in a movie, because so many people seem to think that mentally illness can magically be cured just by taking a pill, but it's much more complicated than that.

So go see the movie. You won't be dissapointed.

Capitalism Cures Education

My Sweetie has been spending a lot of time lately fuming about the state of education in America today, and plotting a revolution to fix it. Don't believe me? Just look here or here. (Although it could be worse, he could be blathering on about beaming technology.)

Last night I came up with the solution, and here it is:

1) All education funds need to be collected and dispersed at the state level. This will help provide resources to the poorer areas that need the funds. It will also help communities with people who are unwilling to support school levies because they don't have school children. (Not sure if this still applies, but at one point my father refused to vote for any ballot measure that necessitated an increase in taxes. His kids were well out of school, he didn't care what it did for education.)

It will still behoove those who care about a good school in their neighborhood to vote in increased funding, as some of the funds will make it to their neighborhood.

2) One person will be ultimately in charge of dispersing these funds to the schools around the state. Outside of their standard wage they will have two items that can earn them bonuses: If all students within the state are performing equally on the standardized test du jour (I'm not in favor of standardized tests, but we can only do so much change at once, so we'll try to use them for good instead of evil right now) they will get big bonuses. The bigger the disparity between the highest and lowest scores, the smaller the bonus. Now they are incentivized to get all students on an equal level. Also, they will be bonused based on the highest scores of students in the states - the higher the scores, the bigger the bonus. This will incentivize them to have all students to extraordinarily well, rather than just bring the top students down to the lowest common denominator.

3) You won't be able to switch schools without moving to that schools neighborhood. There may be small (like 2-3 high schools) areas that are consolidated and allow movement, but not large districts. Also, under no scenario shall vouchers be provided for private/charter/whatever you want to call them non-public schools. You can send your kid to a private school, but you're still paying into the public school fund.

Here's how I imagine this working:

Let's use two different high schools for our scenario: Yuppie High, the well-funded, well-performing suburban high school full of whites that everyone wants their kid to attend, and Slum High, the under-funded, under-performing inner-city high school full of minorities that no one wants to set foot near.

initially, a disproportionately large amount of resources will need to be funded to Slum High to bring those students up to speed. They'll bribe the best teachers there, get good equipment, current textbooks, let's bring those kids up to speed. Now, some of those parents of Yuppie High students may want their kids to attend Slum High, so their kid can get in on all the action. Now we're starting to force some economic diversity on the place. The Yuppie high families that are moving into the area to get in on that good education, and the Slum high families that don't have the ability to move out.

Now Slum High starts moving up in the rankings, so the funds have to get sent off to Smith High, then Jones High, then whatever else high. Most parents aren't going to be able to move every year to get in on the local best-available school, so they'll accept what they have locally and get on with their lives.

Sweetie posed the following scenario to me after I told him my plan: All the parents at Yuppie High band together and, instead of moving to Slum High start their own private school to buy the best education money can buy. I say more power to them! The amount of money available for education won't change, but now we've got fewer students to deal with, which means we've got more money per student. Now the public schools can have smaller class sizes, and afford to pay teachers more, which means that the private school is going to have to pay EVEN MORE, and now it's becoming AWFULLY expensive for these students to attend their private school. The more students that withdraw from the system, the better off it leaves those students left in the system.

So it won't solve all our problems, and it will take a while to see the big changes, but I think it just might work.

Joke Time

Today my boss shared the following joke with our department:

Q: What does Bush think of Roe vs. Wade?

A: He doesn't care how people get out of New Orleans

OK, I've heard the joke before, perhaps more than once, and it's one that gets less funny every time you hear it, but dang if I didn't want to jump up and hug her and celebrate the fact that I am no longer the office communist for having left-leaning tendencies.

HOW did I ever survive in my last job for three years? Oh yeah, the money was good. But just take a look:

At the previous job stilettos were common, cars in the parking lot were Lexuses (Lexi?), and your worth was judged by how many e-mails you received a minute... a blackberry was the ultimate accessory.

At the new job Clarks are more the norm, people drive Subarus, and I've received 10 e-mails in my two days there. Nine of those were all staff e-mails.

Oh yeah, life is good.

14 years, 364 days to go

I've successfully completed my first day of "work." I say "work" because most of my day consisted of being introduced to people whose names I wouldn't remember if you paid me and learning where all the important places are - Starbucks, Walgreens, Ivars, place that sells good fish tacos...

In meeting all the random people and learning lots of things, it was discovered that 15 years seems to be the shelf-life at my agency, so the clock has now started ticking.

I did a few random clerical things today, and wrote some bad headlines for the newspaper we publish, one of which I believe is going to be used in the upcoming paper. I kept being asked what questions I've got, because apparently "What's my job?" isn't enough.

I also learned that there are more ways than I ever could have imagined to mis-pronounce my new last name, and I think I heard all of them today.

18 Hours and Counting

As of 7:30 am tomorrow morning I will, once again, be a working woman and I AM SO READY!!!

I need stress and deadlines to motivate me. For the past two weeks I've had nothing but time spreading ahead of me. I've gotten some productive stuff done in that time - car was in for service yesterday, got some needed gifts bought and some work done around the house - but if I'd used my time wisely I could have done so much more. With it being two weeks I didn't even feel I really had time to get involved with volunteer work or anything like that.

It's kind of odd to be starting work on a Thursday, but I'm thinking it will work out really well. Tomorrow is orientation and Friday is training. Next week is a three day week, so it gives me some time to ease myself back into a full work week.

The schedule will start out being 7:30 to 4:00. The morning I had an 8 am interview I was able to wake up right around the time Sweetie was leaving the house and get their around 7:30, so that will put Sweetie and I in a more closely matching schedule than when I was doing the 8:30 - 5:30 thing. I already have a routine worked out in my head - on my way home from work I'll make a loop stopping at the grocery store, then at the gym, and should still be able to make it home by 6:00 or shortly thereafter, which means I might actually have some time in the evenings to do stuff after dinner. We'll see how it plays out.

Next week will be insanity, so I know I'll get lots of stuff done. Monday I need to cook down the pumpkin, Tuesday we're having a games night with Sweetie's family since his little sister will be in town, and Wednesday I'll be baking my heart out awaiting picking up Kaphine and Realsupergirl at the airport at midnight so that the four of us can road-trip it to Portland Thanksgiving morning. Unless, of course, they never send me their travel itinerary. I'm not going to stalk them at the airport like I did in preparation for the wedding. (HINT, HINT, HINT!)

Oh, so exciting to enter the real world once again.

And So It Begins...

Thanks to the fine upbringing of my mother, I am genetically incapable of beginning the holiday celebrations prior to Thanksgiving. But once we're past turkey day, watch out!

However, the holidays don't really start with the most fabulous feast of the year. They start when you buy the food for the most fabulous feast of the year. And today I purchased a beautiful pumpkin that will sacrifice itself for a wonderful pie. Sugar pie pumpkins were on sale through today, and I didn't want to miss out on that.

But I think my eyes have been a bit larger than even my ginourmous pie plate. The pumpkin weighs in at 7 pounds. So if anyone has any suggestions on what to do with cooked down pumpkin, I'd appreciate it.

One Man's Trash

The last few days I've been particulary negligent in trying to keep the car clean, with the knowledge that I would be taking the car in for service today and they would vaccuum up all the cough drop wrappers, pumpkin seeds and other detritus that had made it's way to the floor.

Well, the car got vaccuumed but the cough drop wrappers got picked up and placed on the passenger seat, as if they were something valuable you wouldn't dare want vaccuumed up. The pumpkin seeds got shoved under the passenger seat. And they didn't even fish out the car stereo remote that always seems to get hidden away in a nook or cranny somehwere. I mean, they ALWAYS find the remote! It's part of what keeps me going in for service on a regular basis - at least I'll find the remote again.

But I was adquately inspired once I got home, and got the crap cleaned out of the car and found the remote. May even break out the Armor-All later today.

Stranded

I have discovered a new television program that, if you have the Travel Channel, you really must check out. I seem to tune in every week once Monday Night Football is over, and it's slowly becoming an addiction. It's also vaguely educational, so I don't even have to consider it a guilty pleasure. The show: Stranded With Cash Peters.

Disclaimer: I was first introduced to Cash as a contributor to The Savvy Traveler on NPR and his voice is one I fell instantly in love with. He is one of those radio broadcasters (along with Sarah Vowell and Kristian Foden-Vencil) that, when I hear his voice, I will stop and listen to the story and be interested in it regardless of the topic. That makes me a total sucker for this show, but I till love it.

Anyhow, the basic premise of the show is that Cash gets dropped somewhere for 24 hours with just the clothes on his back. Frequently he is dropped outside of the town, so actually needs to find the place to start his journey. He then spends the episode meeting locals and participating in local culture. It is also helpful to know that he is a self-proclaimed sissy.

The local culture often seems to involve extreme-type sports. In part because I'm sure the folks who are into extreme sports are the types who would befriend a stranger with no money and a camera man. ALL the episodes I've seen have involved copious drinking.

His discovery, and mix of joy, trepidation, and mockery of the local culture is just so much fun to watch! I'm pretty sure that his stumbling into people is at least partly staged, but it's staged so well that you can allow yourself to believe that it's 100% off the cuff. If it ISN'T staged at all, then I'm going to give Sweetie a camera and we're going to start traveling the globe in the name of television, as the generosity of the strangers Cash encounters really is extraordinary.

Check out an episode, I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

This Is So Sweet It May Give You Cavities

This morning Sweetie had to undergo a procedure that required him to be sedated at the local medical clinic (all is well, so no worries there). When I went back to meet him in recovery he immediately asked for his glasses, which were in his shoes. The nurse said, "Oh, you don't need to read anything now, so that can wait until you get dressed." His reponse,

"No, I want to be able to see my wife."

Totally makes up for the fact that we had one conversation about 20 times today, due to a lack of short-term memory as a result of the sedation,

Decisions, Decisions

The world's most boring commute begins on Thursday --20 miles, and I only have to turn my steering wheel 5 times.

To while the time away I shall, at the onset, listen to radio dramas featuring a friend of the family that have been sitting on the shelf waiting for me to listen to them. From there I will go onto the books on CD that have been passed along to me that are not worthy of a 3 hour drive to Portland, but likely are worthy for a 30 minute stretch. From there, who knows...

But the question now is WHICH radio drama to listen to first. Here are the choices:

Billy the Kid
Pro: He plays Billy the Kid, giving me LOTS of opportunity to go "Hey, I know him"
Con: I'm not really a western fan.

Little Women
Pro: I'm a big fan of Louisa May Alcott, and Little Women in particular
Con: He plays the part of Laurie, which is really a supporting-actor type part, so less "Hey, I know him" opportunity.

If it matters, Billy the Kid is 1 CD, and Little Women is 4. I presume all CDs are of approximately equal length, but I could be completely wrong on that.

On the Soccer Mom Fast Track

I'm discovering the toughest thing about being maried is the major shift it has caused to my life's priorities.

Once upon a time I was a city girl, a northwest, turn-of-the-millenium Mary Tyler Moore. I had an OK job, a swank apartment, a little red sportscar that would get me from here to there. I would spend weekends hanging out with friends, or doing my own thing, always living large. If I wanted to eat nothing but cheetos for a day I could. I could go out for drinks after work without having to call home first. And when the work party broke up it was OK to continue the party elsewhere with friends. And when that bar shut down we could continue elsewhere, until last call of the night. No desire to go home early, because the cat could really care less if I made it or not. The biggest concern was the amount of time it would take to retrieve the car the next day, since after 6 hours at the bars I was probably not in the best shape to drive.

It was sad when and idiot running a red-light resulted in the destruction of the sports car, especially since the time and money available to find a replacement resulted in the purchase of a Nissan Sentra. When I named him "Yoshi the Yuppiemobile" it was in mockery. And even in my four-door sedan I could live the wild and crazy single girl lifestyle that had suited me just fine.

But now that there's another person in my life, my priorities have changed. I live in a condo in the suburbs, opting to drive into the city for fun rather than sacrifice my life and my Sweetie's life commuting. I am more likely to eat at a Red Robin or Outback Steakhouse at a strip mall than some cute little bistro in the funky neighborhood in-town. I drive a Subaru Forester now.

Add a kid and I'm your standard issue 2005 soccer mom.

And the scary thing is - I'm loving every minute of it! Because I've got my Sweetie by my side. I still find myself thinking single-girl thoughts sometimes. The fall air kicks it into overdrive. There was something about being a single girl in Portland in the fall that was especially magical. The chill in the air would necessitate coats and hats and gloves, but it would still occassionally be clear enough that you could spend an evening wandering down Hawthorne or Trendy-Third or some other local area to grab drinks, dinner, dessert, coffee, just poke your nose into store windows, that was exquisite.

But then I find myself snapped back to reality, and discover I don't miss that anymore. I'm perfectly happy to start making vacation plans based on the future possibility of children (current vacations plans are things we would like to do that are not infant-friendly, and those that do accomodate a little one well will wait a few years so that we can continue to vacate once there is a little one in tow). We're starting to plan where we will live next, from the city to the school district to the numbers of bedrooms and bathrooms available, based on the emergency of a child or children into our lives, and our desire to have one parent stay at home until the kids are in school.

NEVER in my single-girl days did such ideas cross my mind. Sure, I wanted a man in my life, and desired to get married someday on some level, but I never actively worked that into the "future" I had laid out in front of me. I'd sooner have lost a limb than considered living in suburbia.

But here I am, and I'm loving it. I've been playing housewife for the past couple of weeks (without even a job search to occupy my days), and if it were economically feasible I'd totally stay at home and cater to my family all day long.

It's as if that small band of gold around my finger has sparked a genetic change in me. I'm still an independent woman, and it's not like I'm tied into historically subservient gender roles - not only am I cooking and cleaning, but doing the home maintenance as well, but I truly do enjoy this. =

If Martha hadn'at already claimed the throne, I'd wish I could turn this into a paying gig. Or maybe I can - Post-modern Martha anyone?

Clarification

In my previous entry I indicated what I would do if I won $100 million in the lottery. I neglected to mention that I have a deal with my parents where they get 10% of any lottery winnings I have over $1,000 (and I get 10% of their winnings), so I would have a mere $90 million to spend.

My mother actually e-mailed me about it. I knew that was part of the deal, but that's not so much money being "spent" as it is a split of the money available to me.

That's What Friends Are For

I'm tired from hanging with the niece and nephew all morning, and Kaphine's been having a rough time lately and mentioned the House of Swank in her answers, so how can I resist being tagged with this meme:


Five songs I know all the words to:
1. Kiss Off (Violent Femmes)
2. Blister in the Sun (Violent Femmes)
3. Add it Up (Violent Femmes)
4. In My Life (The Beatles)
5. Stickshifts and Safetybelts (Cake)

Five snacks:
1. Satsuma Oranges
2. Pretzels
3. Nachos
4. Hummus
5. Spinach Dip

Five things I woud do with $100 million:
(which I plan on winning this evening with my Mega Millions ticket)
1. Buy a house
2. Buy a convertible
3. Spend a baseball season going to all the major league teams, and as many minor league teams as we can manage with #2
4. Buy a Northwest League baseball team (preferably Eugene Emeralds, but perhaps Everett Aquasox)
5. Start a foundation to help improve education in America.

Five places I would run away to:
1. Mom and Dad's house
2. The beach just south of the bridge in Newport, Oregon.
3. Powell's Books
4. My car, at night
5. Waimea, Kauai

Five things I would never wear:
1. Stilettos
2. String Bikini
3. Ugg Boots
4. Fake Nails
5. Piercings somewhere other than my ears

Five favorite TV shows
1. The Amazing Race
2. Survivor
3. The Daily Show
4. The Colbert Report
5. West Wing

Five greatest joys:
1. Getting to spend my life with TRP
2. Making a wonderful meal for people I love
3. Feeling intelligent
4. Christmas Season
5. Climbing between clean sheets

Five favorite toys:
1. Samson
2. Sweetie
3. Cuisinart Food Processor (since I haven't used the Kitchen Aid or Ice Cream Maker yet)
4. Psychic Baseball
5. Paul the Giraffe

People who's answers I'd like to read:
Anyone who chooses to answer.

Gossip Girl

Am I the only person who needs to budget extra time when she goes to the dentist so she has adequate time to chat with the hygenists? It's going to be even worse over the next year, as one of them just got engaged to a former co-worker of mine.

I Think He Does Preposterous Things Just So I'll Blog About Them

I was in the kitchen preparing lunch, and the cat came in and DEMANDED that I leave so that he could have something to eat. And yes, I could tell from the way he was yelling at me what it was he wanted.

I suppose even a cat deserves his fifteen minutes of fame.

In Which I Admit I Should Have Listened

While in high school I became enamored with the social sciences. I'm sure that was, in large part, due to my school's social science department, who were all these aging hippie types. One was teaching in Watts during the riots, another spent his summers living in a tent on another's property. A third was so scatterbrained we would never be able to read the overhead projector because it was pointing on the ceiling and sometimes he would stop talking mid-thought and just sit and ponder for a few minutes - it had to be from all the LSD he dropped in the 60's. They were also all incredibly intelligent. Even the younger ones fit into the culture of the department.

My friends and I, we were the educated rebels. Most of us didn't drink, we weren't rampantly screwing, we wouldn't break the rules, but would just push them to their breaking point. We explored impeaching our student body president (but gave up when we realized he would have a 2/3 vote in whether or not he was impeached), tried to get a dog elected to the homecoming court, and our most splendid accomplishment was when we ran Wil Wheaton for student body president. According to a friend on student council who helped count the votes he probably would have won had they been allowed to count those votes. (That stunt was a statement about the stupidity of the system that allowed outgoing seniors to have a vote on who would be student body president for the following year)

Is it any surprise that come graduation my goal was to be a high school social sciences teacher and debate coach?

Not to say there weren't other teachers who earned our love. Our pre-calculus teacher, Mr. McQueen, was the one who was bestowed with the April Fool's Day prank (in which we moved his ENTIRE classroom out onto the track).

Science teachers, in general, were outside of our radar. Might have something to do with the fact that the head Chemistry teacher at our school was more interested in jokes and analogies than actually teaching chemistry and our AP Biology teacher was a complete moron. (Here is a complete list of what I learned in AP Biology: Depeche Mode was playing a second concert in Portland and tickets were still available).

So when I got to my senior year Physics class with Ms. Clement, odds were strongly against her. As science classes went I enjoyed it. I was good at it. But I was a social sciences kind of girl.

One week I was going to be gone to a debate tournament during Physics, and we were having a lab in class that day. Because Ms. Clement's free period coincided with the period I was a TA (for a social science teacher, of course), it was arranged that she would do the lab privately for me so I wouldn't miss it. The 45 minute lab took about 15 minutes since I didn't have to ask lots of stupid questions along the way and have her repeat things multiple times. So she spent a good chunk of time after that trying to convince me that I should study Physics in college. Or if not Physics, one of the hard sciences.

But I would have nothing to do with that. I was a social scientist! History was my thing! No hard sciences for me!

Life moved on. My freshman year of college most of my friends were physics or engineering majors, and I realized that it wasn't such a bad path to take after all. And after my freshman year of college I was a social scientist no more. Had Ms. Clement informed me of the fact that hard scientists could get PAID to go to school I might have listened a little more closely to her.

Now, it's not that I regret my decisions in life, but I often wonder what if? And if I were forced to go back in life and change one decision I'd made, it would be that day with Ms. Clement, sitting at the lab table, I may have listened to what she had to say a little more closely and considered it a little more seriously. Because just because it isn't what you have in mind right now, doesn't mean it's not a very good thing indeed.

This story has a connection to modern day events, but I'm going to let you just chew on this for a bit and post the rest later.

Now I've Seen Everything

My cat just stuck is tongue out at me.

And I wasn't even doing anything to piss him off.

I Almost Made Her Head Explode

I don't think that I'm a difficult customer. I generally allow people a lot of slack. And when they are being idiots, I don't rip them a new one there on the spot. I come on my blog and tell the world about it, instead.

But yesterday, while shopping at Target, I think I pushed one of their employees to the edge.

It was a simple enough task - I was purchasing a baby gift for some friends. The shower isn't for a couple of weeks, but while I've got all this time to fill it seems a good thing to get checked off the to-do list. On the registry list was a coupon for money off a card if you purchased something off the registry, which seemed a good thing to take advantage of.

When I unloaded my items on the conveyor belt, I also included a copy of the registry. In the international language of consumer this means, "I have purchased something off of a registry. You should remove the item from the registry and provide me with a gift receipt. If you are a store that boxes up packages, that would be nice as well. But this it Target, you don't do that, so no worries there." I KNOW this is what that means, because I have gone through this same exchange many, many times previously in my life. Earlier that day I was purchasing a different registry item and me and the cashier went through the exchange without a single difficulty.

So it comes to the end and she announces the total. But she hasn't scanned the coupon.

"There was a coupon on the registry for the card."

The cashier stands there for a second, just looking confused. "Oh, you mean this?" Indicating the registry I had put in front of her.

"Yes. It was on one of the pages."

She's just staring at the papers, as if willing the coupon to appear, so I pick them up and flip through the four pages to find the coupon and provide it to the cashier. She tries to scan it a few times.

"It won't scan." What did people ever do before scanners?

So I ask her, "What's the problem?"

She eventuall decides that she will just give me a discount off the couponed item through the register. But taking 50 cents off the $2.79 price was a bit too challenging, so she gave me 59 cents off the price.

Transaction complete, she hands me my receipt. No gift receipt. I thought at Target it was standard issue to give people a gift receipt. I've bought nothing other than a Diet Coke in the store before, because they didn't have what I was looking for, and they gave me a gift receipt. But when you're actually buying a gift, nope, no gift receipt here. So I dared to ask her for a gift receipt.

That's the moment I think her head almost exploded. It seemed a rather basic request to me.

But I got the gifts, including money off and gift receipt. I just hope the next person in line didn't ask her for a rain check. That would have totally thrown her over the edge.

The Amazing Race 8: Episode 7

This was a two hour episode, with two pit-stops along the way (one non-elimination) and yet I am finding it hard to write two sentences about what transpired. They're back in the states, which means boring challenges, and I hate all the teams left, so it's more a question of who I'm rooting against rather than who I'm voting for.

And the team I was rooting against the hardest, the Paolos, were eliminated this week. Next week I'm rooting against the Weavers. They're two-faced and mean. They bad-mouth other teams, throw garbage at them when passing them out on the highway, then don't understand why the other teams don't like them. Yet supposedly no one likes them because they're such good Christians and they don't cuss. I'll be glad when they're out of the race.

As boring as this episode was, there are a couple of style points to be awarded:

1) At the first pit-stop the Paolos intercepted the Bransens before they made it onto the mat, and told them to go put all their clothes on, as they were definitely the last team to arrive and it may be a non-elimination leg (which it was).

2) One of the road-blocks was at a go-kart track which was, understandably, difficult for the Weavers. Mom played leader of the family and did the challenge, and the Godlewskis said encouraging things to the kids while mom was out there doing her laps.

Teams are positioned well to go to Vegas, which could lead to some very interesting challenges indeed. But given that 3/4 of the teams remaining have a player under the age of 21 it seems unlikely that they will go that way. How about a detour at the Bunny Ranch? That could be very entertaining.

Probably more entertaining than what we'll see next week. Yet here I'll be, blogging all about it.

President Obama

I know I'm not the first person to say this, but I could totally get behind Barack Obama for President. Dude's smart, eloquent, and the light that glints of his ENORMOUS smile will hypnotize anyone who disagrees with him into submission.

Just Call Me Martha

As I do every day I stopped at Whole Foods this afternoon to pick up supplies for dinner. Specifically, pork chops and mushrooms. The checker made a comment about pork chops and sauteed mushrooms for dinner tonight and I said, "Actually, mushroom risotto."

Her response, "Oh, you must be a really good cook!"

I mean, I like to THINK I'm a good cook, and folks have commented that I'm a good cook, but I never knew that the ability to make mushroom risotto is what qualified one as a good cook. In fact, I don't think I've ever made mushroom risotto before. It just seemed like it would go well with the pork chops and green beans that were on the menu.

Stone Me, Now

Today I had a hot stone massage. It was a gift I had received last Christmas that I had never gotten around to using. The certificate expires in under a month, and I figured it would be easiest to take advantage of while I didn't have to work around a 7:30 - 4:00 schedule.

90 minutes of heaven.

This was not my first massage, but it was my first hot stone massage. I'm not sure if it was the type of massage, the masseuese, the fact that it was 90 minutes long, or the fact that I didn't think I had a lot of stress going into the thing, but it really was divine.

There are hot stones just sitting on you, or you're holding, during the whole thing and they just seem to draw all the ickiness out of you. And although I THOUGHT I was stress-free going in, there was definitely some stuff going on the masseuse had to work out of me, and she definitely had the skill to push me to the edge when working something out, then moving on to something else rather than just pounding on one spot until it killed me.

I got so relaxed I almost fell asleep. I was in that half sleep/half awake state where you're almost dreaming but are still kind of aware of everything that's going on around you.

And I will definitely be sleeping well tonight.

Why Do They Call It A Help Line???

For the most part my interactions with employees of my bank are positive ones. People are friendly, nice and helpful. Except for the moron I caught on their phone help line this morning.

I was wishing to re-establish online banking. I don't recall my old login or password, and the e-mail address tied to the account was well out of date, so I called last night and they obliterated my old login and informed me that I could probably re-establish the account at that time, but it may be today before the old account was fully obliterated and the new account could start.

I tried to start up the account and hit a snag in one of the final steps in the process. I presumed it was the potential issue they had tried to warn me of, so left it at that. Tried again today, and got the same snag. It wasn't letting me past the disclaimer that you have to accept to log-in to your account. So I called the help line. They were helpful last night, so hopefully they will be helpful again this morning. Here's a synopsis of the phone call:

Her: Can I confirm your name and address please.

Me: Swankette, House of Swank.

Her: What can I do for you today?

Me: -- explain problem to her--

Her: OK, let me get some additional information from you to confirm your identity, if you don't mind?

Me: Not at all. (Last night they asked for a recent transaction I had made on one of the accounts. Easy enough)

Her: What is the month and year you opened one of your accounts?

Me: uh........................ what was that you just said?

Her: Month and year you opened one of your accounts?

You're kidding me, right? You think I have this stuff on record, or on top of my brain. I'm lucky that one of those accounts originated as the account with which to pay for the wedding, and we started it shortly after the engagement.

Me: The month or two after the engagement.

Her: Oh no, it looks like the website is down right now. If you try again in an hour it should work.

Me: Has the website been down since last night?

Her: No. It was working for the last caller I had.

Me: Then this problem is not a result of the website being down. Remember, I told you, it started last night.

Her: But the website is down right now.

Me: OK. Can we fix this anyhow, as I'd prefer to not have to call in again.

Her: The website is down, but you've got a login (tells me my login). I can create a password and e-mail it to you if you give me your e-mail address.

Me: Actually, I've got a login AND a password, since I've been telling you I've been logging into the site and it's just not letting me get to my information. I simply need to figure out why it won't let me past this screen.

Her: But the website is down right now.

Eventually, after more of the same, I convinced her to transfer me to someone with more technical knowledge than her (in other words, a rock). Turns out that there's a glitch with Firefox, so I had to login through Explorer to get past that screen, and now things are working just groovy now.

I don't like idiots. I don't like timewasters. And I REALLY don't like idiots who waste my time, especially when I'm trying to give them an out to get me to someone who knows what they're doing. But if they were smart enough to do that they wouldn't be idiots now, would they?

Following Directions

This morning, while in the shower, I happened to read the directions on the back of my Herbal Essences shamoo:

Massage your hair under a waterfall and get lost in the sensuous lather. Linger in the lush fragrance and exotic pleasure. Rinse when ready.

Granted, a bit more exciting than "later, rinse, repeat," but I really don't want to have to drive to Snoqualmie Falls every morning just to take a shower. And in the winter I'm really not going to want to linger.

Maybe it's time to find a new shampo

License to Drive

When I am Supreme Ruler of the Universe you will be required to have a special license in order to operate a grocery cart whilst doing your shopping. Here are the rules of the road:

• When stopped to peruse an item on the shelf, park the cart as far to the side of the aisle as you can.
• You shall never park your butt next to the cart in the aisle, thereby blocking all traffic from going through.
• NO double parking allowed.
• You are allowed, however, to step away from the cart. It can even be out of your site, and everything in it will remain safe (although I would recommend carrying your purse with you.)
  
• That means it is NOT necessary to bring your cart into cramped aisles in the bread section, or all the way down the spice aisle that everyone is shopping on at this moment.
• We're in the United States, so you must stay to the right of the aisle.
• You are allowed into the left lane to pass, but ONLY to pass. If something catches your eye while in the midst of passing, you may park your cart further down the aisle, then walk back for perusing.
• It is not bad manners for me to move your cart so as to reach a bottle of something on the shelf.
• When lanes are merging it is first come first served, you do NOT get precedence because you have a basket rather than a cart.
• You are not allowed to park your cart at a sampling station. You may grab while walking past, or park your cart on either side to go back and do the sampling.
• You are not allowed to stop your cart, much less park your cart, at the intersection of aisles where much traffic moves through quickly. You must keep these area clear for moving carts.

Why is it that so many people have so much difficulty managing basic niceties of everyday life? If I'd had a brain in my head I would have done most of my grocery shopping yesterday, and just run into Whole Foods today to buy the lobster for Sweetie's lobster dinner (which was delayed due to illness, so tonight is the night). But NO, I want FRESH ingredients, and am doing a rather big production dinner including French onion soup and arugula salad, so I find myself surrounded by people who never go shopping and can't manage the basic mechanics of how to push a grocery cart.

At least I was able to buy a box of satsumas so SOME good came out of the trip.

Anyone Know A Good Therapist?

Not for me, for the cat.

My cat has always been an interesting character. Several people (well, at least two that I can name, one of whom is Sweetie) who "don't like cats" like Samson. In some ways he's very un-catlike. In others he is about as feline as they come.

For the past ten years he's been psychic and suffered from an Oedipal complex. I think he fully came out of the closet as a homosexual around that time as well. We've learned to work around those things, and the Oedipal issues seem to have waned in the past year, as TRP and Samson really have a lovely little relationship.

But now I fear my cat is developing an eating disorder. He's always had weird issues with food:
- Prefers to eat cat food out of the bag rather than his bowl
- WILL NOT eat canned food, only dry food
- Is so manic over catnip he will eat the seeds out of soil
- Eats plants. Living or plastic. Except the kind that will kill him.
- Human foods he enjoys: angel food cake, Oreo cookie filling, and the sauces from Lean Cuisine meals (although only in miniscule quantities)

But now the cat won't eat if there's the potential that someone will see him. Which is a bit problematic when the floor plan is rather open, and you like to spend a lot of time in the kitchen where his food dishes are. He'll be happily eating away, and if he notices you will stop immediately. He will be heading into the kitchen to eat and if you start heading that direction he will turn the other way.

Now, I'm sure part of it is that he wants to keep his trim figure (several people have commented on his ability to stay slender lately), but a boy's got to eat!

Bland Betty

So, next time I'm at the deli counter to purchase some lunch meat for myself, and I'm paying more attention to the price rather than the cut of meat, can someone please remind me not to purchase the spicy capacolla because it's too spicy for a sandwich? It's just so darn pretty! I can never resist!

He LITERALLY wrote the book.

One of Sweetie's big pet-peeves is how people "mis-use" the word literally. But, according to the editor of the OED, this has been common usage for over 200 years. And, what we would take to be the "correct" usage is figurative as well.

If there were more demand for etymologists in the world I would totally pursue that as a career. In the meantime, can someone please tell me how the "flea-flicker" got its name? I posed this question to Sweetie a while ago, and not only didn't HE know the answer, but google didn't know the answer, either. We were able to discover about three different guys being credited inventing the play, but no information on why it's called that. And watching the play doesn't in any way remind me of flicking a flea, so I am totally stumped.

First Thursday at the House of Swank

Sweetie and I are going to need to move soon, as we are surely outgrowing our condo. We managed to fit our clothes into the closet somehow, a wall-full of bookshelves has contained the den, prudent use of space in the living room contains the CDs, videos and DVDs, and thanks to a front entry closet I've managed to find homes for all of our kitchen stuff. But, there are not nearly enough walls for all of our artwork.

Friday I was commenting to Sweetie how wonderful our artwork is. Everything hanging in our home is a unique piece, created by someone we know and love or commissioned for us. So what happens? Saturday, we receive another piece. Monday, another one. And a third is on the way. We do not have enough wall space, people, so unless you're planning something to be hung from the ceiling (and keep in mind, the ceilings aren't that high) we've got to call and end to it! I THINK we've got spots for all of the newest pieces, so hopefully it will play out.

If not, next person to provide us with artwork has to provide a house to go along with it. (Don't worry, Tommyspoon, the photo your lovely wife took was Monday's surprise. It will likely be going in the hallway between the foyer and the living room, although I'm toying with some other ideas as well.)

The Sound of One Hand Typing

I suffered an injury this morning due, in large part, to my own laziness, which leaves me unable to dfo much worth doing without annoyance and inconvenience to myself. I've already made about 200 typographical errors since starting this post. (Actually, I meant to type 100 errors, but decided to let that error stand. If you're going to exaggerate for effect you might as well REALLY exaggerate!)

This morning I was hungry and decided to make myself a tasty sandwich with the leftovers from Saturday's pork roast. YUM! The roast was sliced a bit thicker than I desired, so I was going to cut it into thinner slices for my eating ease and pleasure. The knife I would normally use for such a task was dirty, and rather than taking the 30 seconds necessary to clean and dry it I opted to grab a different knife off the rack.

I'd say I've got A-list through C-list knives in the kitchen. The A-list are the Henckels and Wusthofs. The C-list are mostly in the knife block Mom gave to me 10 years ago when she was done with it (and even at their best they were B-list knives). The B-list are the Cutco, Henckels made for Target - they're fine knives if you don't know any better, but they sure as heck aren't A-list knives.

So instead of my A-list knife I decided to go to the B-list. I figured a B-list knive actually manufactured to slice meat would be better than a serrated edge or paring knife. And I managed to knick the top of my left index finger on the first slice through. It's not a deep cut, but I think it was right on the blood vessel, because it's definitely a bleeder.

And due to the way the cut goes up to the tip of the finger, and the fact that I've got fingernails, it's not the easiest cut to bandage. I started the day with three Band-Aids on it: One to wrap around the finger and cover the bulk of the cut, one to wrap over the top of the finger, to get the little bit of the cut that wasn't covered, and prevent blood from dripping out of the other Band-Aid, and a third to wrap around the base of the second, so that it would actually stay stuck. I have since made my way to Target and back to buy some Band-Aids specifically designed for fingers AND replenish the standard Band-Aid supply, as I went through a LOT of Band-Aids this morning (between having a couple I couldn't get stuck right and having to redress the wound, when I managed a two Band-Aid procedure). We're down to one Band-Aid now, but given that it's on the left index finger it's still tough as hell to type, and given that the Band-Aid doesn't allow my first knuckle to bend I'm going around eternally pointing or proclaiming that I'm #1.

I'm #1 doofus today, that's for sure.

But, ever the optimist, I did learn something as a result of my adventures. If I need to raise my hand above my heart to stop bleeding (or if there were some other reason I'd want to do it, but I can't think of another reason right now), the back of the couch is a perfect height to rest my upper arm on, to make the process a bit less troublesome. And if you're wise enough to injure your left hand, you've got a perfect view of the television at the same time.

The Amazing Race 8: Episode 6

Holy Moly! Hardest. Challenge. Ever. And it ended up costing a team the race.

Now frequently there is a needle in the haystack type challenge. Usually it is of the variety: There are 20 filled chocolates among these 500 chocolates. There are 10 clues in these 50 hay bales. A bit of dumb luck and a bit of perseverance will get you there. Today's challenge was to find the one, single, only red coffee bean in 800 pounds of coffee beans designated for your team. Uno. Teeny tiny coffee bean. 800 POUNDS of coffee.

I am amazed at how quickly most of the teams made it through the challenge all things considered. But the Gaghans hit the wall hard on this one, and they ended up being eliminated as a result of it.

This is also the leg of the race on which all teams officially began to gang up against the Weaver family. I believe every single team indicated that they would be yielding the Weavers, but the Paolos got the honor because they got to the yield first. This is also the episode in which I began to hate the Weavers as well. They've been kooky, annoying, overtly religious, but there was a spark of something that kept me believing in them just a wee bit. No more.

This is the family that claims to be Christians. That prays to Jesus for guidance on finding clues and choosing which task to complete. So they get yielded, and how do they spend their time waiting for the yield to expire? Making fun of other teams photos. And not teasing as in how dare they be ahead of us, but mean stuff like I wonder how much the fake boobs cost for those girls, and yet still they sag. That's not very Christian. In my variety of Christianity you don't get to pick and chose the bits of Leviticus you like best (I personally discount the thing in modern times), and you don't get to use God only when it suits you. The Weavers sit in last place right now, the stress has already cracked one of the daughters, and it hit the mom tonight. They're not long for the lasting now, and are the next to be eliminated barring a minor miracle or a major screw-up by another team.

Next week is a two-hour episode. I suspect that's two pit-stops, one non-elimination leg and then we'll be down to the final four.