Archive for February, 2006

SPF, a day late!

I haven’t played SPF in a while, and I really wanted to this week, but realworld life was quite demanding. Among other things, the Junior Girl Scouts spent the night here last night, earning their “Looking Your Best” badge — you’ll hear more about this on the next Biscuit Friday. Anyhow, I wanted to play, but I couldn’t yesterday, so I am today. Thanks Kami and Princess Kristine, for keeping SPF alive and fun.

What I love most about my house:


No contest, it’s the fireplace. We always wanted a stone fireplace, and when we walked into this house and saw the huge one, it was all over. It is raised hearth, floor to cathedral ceiling, and we use it quite a lot. It is good for all the things fireplaces are good for — warmth, romance, even extra seating (see the pillows on the hearth?) when we have lots of company like last night. Oh, and see the striped bucket of flowers in the lower left corner? THAT is what Gumby is standing in front of in my profile pic. People have asked about that, believe it or not.

OK, you gotta give me props for the photograph, too. I wanted to try to show perspective, to show how large it is. So I lay down on the floor, flat on my back, to shoot up. That should work, right? But I took two pix and something was terribly wrong.

“Jif, something is wrong with my camera. There’s these weird lumps in the foreground of the picture.”


“Yea, I was lying down like this, with the camera right here, shooting there, and there’s these two blurry lumps. Two times. It’s gotta be the camera.”

He looks at how I’m showing him I took the pic. And he grins. “The lumps, are they gray?”

“Yea! Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Are they gray like your T-shirt?”

I look down. “Well, yea!” pause “Oooooh.” (If you’re slow like I am, just read it again, you’ll get it.) Then I was, literally, ROFL. Then I shifted to my side and took another pic πŸ™‚

kitchen corner

Before I show the thing I hate most about my house, I wanted to show you another thing I love. Above is my kitchen. I love the wallpaper. It makes me feel good. Jif and I did it ourselves. As you can see, it’s RED. When we moved into this house, everything in it was either lavender, pink or baby blue. We are slowly changing these things. SLOWLY. So, I love the kitchen, now, except that also in the kitchen is

the thing I love least about my house:


I mean, the thing I hate most. The freakin’ pink countertops. Uglier than homemade sin. It actually looks better in this pic than it does in real life. Because I blove you all, and didn’t want to frighten you, I just put a small pic of it here. Brrrrr. We do have the ability to replace the countertops, now; it’s just a matter of going out and finding what we want. I’ll show you an “after,” soon, I hope.

Next, what I love most about myself


I am bottom-heavy, have multiple personalities, and look really good in red. No, that’s not true. Well, actually, it IS mostly true, but that’s not what this is about. I have some of these nesting dolls at home and at work, because I love them. Because they are how I see myself, and how I see all of you, too. Inside 40something Susie is also 35-year-old Susie, and 27-year-old Susie, 19, 14, 9, baby Susie. We don’t leave our earlier selves behind. They’re still inside. And they still come out, from time to time, depending upon our situation, depending upon with whom we’re interacting. At work, I am almost always 40something. My age on this blog fluctuates considerably, sometimes even within a post — like this one. I may comment on one of your blogs as a 40something, and on the next one as 22. You with me? What I love about myself, where this is concerned, is that I have made sense of myself very thoroughly by seeing myself this way. It works for me.

Now, because one of my ages is apparently quite egotistical, I also picked something else I love most about myself. This is what I REALLY love most.

My sense of humor. My favorite thing (person) to laugh at is myself. If I’m laughing at myself, I never have to worry that I’ll take it wrong and leave me, or talk behind my back, or any of that mess. I always take it well. For a photo of my sense of humor, I’m showing you a page from a calendar I got for Christmas. When I looked through it on Christmas morning, this page made me literally LOL. When I flipped the page the other day, for February, I L’edOL again:


It says,

“If I did not wear torn pants, orthopedic shoes, frantic, disheveled hair, that is to say, if I did not tone down my beauty, people would go mad. Married men would run amuck.”

I really cannot be responsible for wreaking such havoc, so . . . I tone it down. πŸ™‚


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It’s a horrid, horrid song. It is quite disgraceful, really, and speaks to the darkest elements in all of us: envy, lust, conceit . . . And sometimes it gets stuck in my head, and I can’t stop singing it.

Jif is at the computer, doing something totally boring productive, while I wait impatiently until I can return to the computer and waste ungodly amounts of time do a little blog-surfing.

I start to sing,

“Doncha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Doncha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?
Doncha? Doncha?”

And yes, of course I’m doing the dance. How can you sing the song without doing the dance? I mean, I am snuggled in a recliner, under a blanket, but yea, I’m doing it.

Jif looks mildly amused, but does not respond.

“Doncha wish your girlfriend was HOT like me?
Doncha wish your girlfriend was a FREAK like me?
Doncha? Doncha?”

Jif pauses from his keyboarding, glances at me, then goes back to work.

“Ahem. I SAID,


Pause. I must know . . .


“Yes!” He exclaims, suddenly turning toward me. “Yes, I do wish she was hot like you! Yes, I do wish she was a freak like you!”

Yes! “Well, alrighty then. That’s what I’m talkin’ about . . .”

Hey . . . .wait a minute . . .

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Have a lovely day.

I had insomnia over the weekend, as I sometimes do, and while I was thinking about doing another “things you may have heard while hanging out with us” post, I was also cleaning up my email inbox. I like to play with words, to do things with them that neither God nor man ever intended. So I did this. This is a post, including the title, composed entirely of snippets from some emails of the past week, sort of “things you may have heard while hanging out in my inbox”:

damn, I’M HUNGRY!

Is he showing up yet? Hopefully he is . . .

that’s a great story about the package!

I’m sure I meant the big one. I think it’s time for me to go to bed.

And I mean QUICK!

if that can’t lift my spirits some, nothing can.


Dear lord . . . now THAT is low-hanging fruit.

it’s gotta be the hair. There’s no other explanation.

I knew I shoulda gotten that sex change when they had the deep discounts . . .

Oh wait . . . you’re leaving off the part about the whore, right? RIGHT???

I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t share

Many people would croak if they really knew


there’s no need to kick my ass

You are always so cute when you smoke crack!

Now? Not so much . . .

Thanks for sharing, dork.

Now, don’t be thinking that you can’t email me, because all your secrets will be lifted and put into a post. I was careful not to choose anything that would identify anyone, although Bucky some people may have a certain style, a certain flavor to their discourse that may make such people identifiable. These are lines from at least 8 different people. Only 1 line is mine. Can you guess which one? Think you recognize anyone else? Not that I’ll tell πŸ˜‰

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Go here. I am too happy for words, so no more words right now. That is all.

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picnic monkey

Sunday Post ~ “What other people think about me is not my business.” — Michael J. Fox

Micah 6:8

file under: &Sunday Post

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Those turkey farmers across the hall from my office are at it again. Apparently since the turkey holidays are over, they have some time for recreation. And their recreation of choice is the building of snowmen, or, as one of them corrected me, “snowmans.”

low self-esteem snowman

This snowman has low self-esteem. His nose is running, he slouches, and his mom dresses him funny.

formal snowman

This snowman is going to a formal affair. See his top hat? His self-esteem is better, although he is out of touch with his body. Especially the bottom third of it.

corrective footwear

This snowman will need corrective footwear. But he has a very fine hat. See the round, fuzzy thing on top of the hat? When a round, fuzzy thing is on top of a hat, we call it a “pom pom.”

only one

What do we call it when it is located here? This snowman may have had an accident, or even an illness, but he can still live a normal, happy life.

happy snowman

This snowman is smiling from eye to eye. Why do you think that is?

file under: &The Kids Across the Hall

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Grand Re-Opening!

Look at me! Look at me! I have looked around to see what most people do when they go from a standard blog template to something more spiffy. Most of you are very cool, very nonchalant about it. Not me. Look at me! Did you see Gumby waving? Wave to him! He’s Gumby, dammit!

All credit for all this good stuff goes to my Evil Uncle Dave. He’s not really my uncle, and as best I can tell, he’s not one bit evil (although if you’ve heard something, email me). In fact, I would call him Sweetheart Uncle Dave, but that would mess with his “street cred,” which I’m sure he’s worked very hard to establish, so we’ll just stick with Eviluncledave.

I’ve been thinking and wishing about a new look for a long time. Apparently some of you have been wishing the same for me. I told a handful of people what Dave was doing for me. And one of the people that I would have thought was one of my oldest and dearest blogfriends, emailed a reply that really surprised me. That bitch person, who shall remain nameless, sent the following:
” . . . well goodie goodie for Susie. Allz I knowz is, it’s about damn time!!! We’ve been looking at that same dowdy site you call a blog for far too long.” Well. You just never know how your alleged “friends” are going to react to your good fortune, now do you?

OK, I did get another email yesterday, from the same nameless person. That one said, “I’m so proud of you, this is going to be like…like graduation, or the
prom, or your first time…” Well, let’s hope not. I’ve written about how I almost didn’t graduate, on accounta my being a criminal; and I’ve written about how my prom date was too “messed up” to even drive me home. So tune in tomorrow, when I will tell you the surprisingly anticlimactic (that is an EXCELLENT use of that word, if I do say so myself) story of My First Time. (Oh, just STOP it! You KNOW BETTER. That is not happening.)

If you are Evil Uncle Dave, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and give you a big virtual hug. And everyone else, WELCOME, to the new and improved What Was I Thinking? Hugs to all of you, too πŸ™‚

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