what did the cat poop on, again?

Last week, I counseled at a summer camp. Yeah yeah, you guys already knew that. Well. 'Round about Friday afternoon, it occurred to me, "Geezdang, I am probably going to lose my voice." Premonitions for the win! But it wasn't just my voice that went. This has been a legit cold (however, not legit enough to keep me from going to the library. I would have to be dying). There's a certain kind of madness that befalls me when I'm sick. I guess this is called being delirious, but it could also be called "having no common sense," and/or "failure to anticipate consequences." Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, it was this past Sunday, and I was in Louisville. I felt minorly gross and majorly ready to be back with my husband. So, I piled the cat into the car (my parents had watched him all week), and headed home. Usually, we put the seats of our Fit down in the back when carting animals, but I was not in the mood to readjust. The litter box went on the floorboard behind the driver's seat (another good reason to keep the windows rolled down). Before leaving Louisville, I had lunch with a friend. I cracked the windows, you know, so the cat wouldn't die, and thought, hm, it's probably going to rain before I come back. Premonitions ftw x2!

I came back to my car post-lunch, and wouldn't you know. I had, like a genius, left my LAPTOP on the passenger's seat, which had been properly rained-upon. Great. Then, furthermore like a genius, I chucked it into the backseat. Because that fixes everything.

I drove the four hours home to Rockford. I came inside. I crashed on the couch. I moved to the bed because it was still too light outside, and I was in cranky-vampire mode. My husband came home not long after, and brought all of my things inside for me. What a champ.

Then, I heard him ask from the next room, "Uh... Julie? Is there a reason your computer was in the litter box? I think Oliver pooped on it."

Oh yes. Awesome. In my feverish haste, I had tossed my laptop, the device on which I intend to compose masterpieces, into the USED cat box. WHERE IT REMAINED FOR FOUR HOURS IN A HOT CAR.

Kind of like this, except this one's actually a cake.

Well. It's a good thing my husband is fantastic and was not also going out of his mind that day. He rescued my MacBook from the cat poop (and, yes, Oliver had defecated directly upon it, the weasel). He cleaned it shiny-new, inside and out, with Lysol bathroom cleaner. Aren't you glad?

And now, if I ever become a published author, you all will know my secret: Feline Pine.

mid-week update. with drops of all sorts. and pictures!

I am so busy these days...
(How busy are you?)
I am SO BUSY these days, that I drove all the way to the library just to write a blog post. It hasn't been working for me at home, lately. I have been too easily distracted by such things as food, destructive cats, re-watching Firefly and Serenity (so productive), rekindling a lost love for Anime (even more [i.e. less] productive), that stupid doll dress-up site (still, I know), and, oh. That blond-headed boy I married. But I'll keep that one. He's warm and cute and knows how to cook.

So, here I finally am, and I figured it was time for a little update. Life is fun right now. The weather is nice (though it's bordering hot). We went home to Louisville for Derby Day, wherein my 83-year-old grandmother cleaned us all out with Animal Kingdom. Never mind that we pick at random in my family. She was all funny and gloaty-gloat over her $38 winnings. You go, Pa.* We drank Ale-8 mint juleps (Ale-8 with mint sprigs--no bourbon this year), ate strawberries with chocolate sauce and powdered sugar, and cried at My Old Kentucky Home. Oh, how I love Derby. It's a bonafide holiday, like Christmas, around here (here meaning Louisville. Knoxville doesn't care quite as much).

[*Yes, I call my grandmother Pa. No, she is not a man. When I was teeny-tiny, it was all I could say. By the time I mastered "Grandmother," the former had already stuck. So, Pa she is. I always wanted to spell it with an H at the end, though. Pah. Because, as I mentioned, she is not a man. But then the spelling stuck, too. Ah, well. At least it's unique.]

Animal Kingdom, for the win.
Beautiful shot pilfered from this site.

The Saturday previous to Derby is also worth mentioning. We drove up to Botetourt, Virginia (pronounced "Bottetott," I learned) for a wine festival, which is code for "to see our friends Laura and Kagey (The Honey Dewdrops) open for the Carolina Chocolate Drops!". Two Drops in the bucket, as I keep saying to myself. It was immensely fun.

Kagey, Laura, and their good buddy, Barry.
They make pretty sounds together.

We met Laura and Kagey* a couple summers ago when they played at a funky little place in Knoxville called the Time Warp Tea Room. A time warp it was, a tea room it was not. I ordered a grilled cheese with tomato soup, and got, straight up, two practically-fried slices of white bread hugging a melted Kraft single, with a bowl of Campbell's condensed tomato soup. It was the real deal. I shouldn't hate on it. The place really did seem like a lot of fun, and their website makes it sound promising... perhaps I'll go back someday. They did have neat fountain drinks. I digress. On the night THD played, we were two of, like, five people there. We got to talking with Laura and Kagey after they played, and just... became friends. Simple as that.


[*Pronounced kind of like Keggy, by the way. Or maybe... Kayggy. Sorry, Kagey, I'm pretty sure I pronounce your name differently every time I say it. At least I know this: it is NOT pronounced "cagey."]




After that, Joshua and I had a comically bad habit of going to see our friends play at the strangest shows ever. First was the TWTR, which, btw, was also full of sneering biker chicks. The December after Joshua and I got married, we went to see Laura and Kagey play in Lexington at a really neat place called Natasha's. Embarrassing fact #1: we had told them about this venue in the first place, which made embarrassing fact #2 (that no one but us and a transvestite named Marjorie showed up) even worse. But we still had a good time, right guys?

A few months ago, we drove up to Etowa to see them, and the entire auditorium was full of sweet, little blue-hairs who looked about to keel over at the slightest touch. Or, more rather, cover their ears in discomfort if the music got too loud. It wasn't a bad show, by any means. It was just... odd. Thus, imagine our joy to see The Honey Dewdrops at this festival, with a real, responsive audience! One that actually cheered! Laura told me once, "We really do have fans, I promise." And they do, and it's no surprise why. I could, perhaps, gush further about how nice these two are, and how awesome it is that they took the time to get to know us. The fact that they did speaks for itself.

Hit 'Em Up Style, y'all.

Anywhoooooo, they also play really great music! Music that gets stuck in my head at work. And, the icing on the cake for April 30: the Carolina Chocolate Drops. I mean, how could we not go to this show? Our friends, plus these guys? Granted, it was four hours away, but it was a blast. If you haven't seen CCD live, go do that. Please. And, while you're at it, go find The Honey Dewdrops, too. We could all use a few more Drops in our lives, you know?

Here's a picture of Dom Flemons, makin' me laugh. He cracked me all the way up during this show, especially during an exchange with Hubby Jenkins (a new--and incredible--group member) about where Hubby learned to play Cornbread and Butterbeans. The answer: a Carolina Chocolate Drops music book, of course. Dom asked, "Now, where'd you get that?" Hubby said, "I picked it up in a dumpster somewhere," which was funny enough, but then Dom said, "Well, I put it there 'cause I knew you'd find it," with the most hysterical, old-timey comedian face. I wish I'd known that expression was coming. I would have taken a picture of that.



All in all, after a month of non-stop go go go, this was one of the best Saturdays we'd had in a while.

Us and our friends, complete with Laura's Zoolander face.

I'm pretty sure I intended to write about some other things, too, but this post has gone on long enough. But keep your eyes peeled (ungh, terrible figure of speech) for some exciting things to come in the near future. There may or may not be prizes involved.

In closing, since I like to brag, this happened:

Dom Flemons, me, a signed LP,
and Kagey in the  background.
It was a good day.

i'll trade you your blood for a cookie.

[A word of warning:  this post is rated PG-13 for arterial spray.*  I know!  It was awesome!]
*slight exaggeration.  but only slight.

Giving blood in a bus parked right in front of your workplace means two things:  you get to give blood with your co-workers!  Also, you have to give blood with your co-workers.  Ha.

My friend Tess and I decided to donate together, since neither of us had done it before.  After assuring everyone that, no, I had not had sex with a malaria patient in the past 20 years, I sat in the funny chair and offered up my right elbow for harvest.  My right elbow has the best, most visible veins on the planet.  So it should have been easier to get it to bleed properly.

I don't know what was going on, but my whole arm went numb and I physically could not squeeze the stupid ball.  "Squeeze the ball," the nurse said.  "Okay," I said, which was code for, "I can't feel my fingers."  Then she told the other nurse, "I need you to look at this."  Great.  Where did we go wrong, here?

And then my boss walked in.

The other nurse fixed the tourniquet and I could feel my fingers again.  She said, "Now it's flying!"  She was really nice.  They were all really nice.  One was just a little tourniquet crazy, I guess.

So it was all hunky for a while, except that Tess finished and went inside, and I was getting bored.  And... ow, that kind of hurts.  Ow, I'm dizzy.  Crap, I didn't eat enough for breakfast.  Crap, I might throw up.  Crap, I'm sitting face to face with my boss, who will go inside and tell everyone about this (I didn't actually have this last thought, but I should have, because it was true).

"Um, I'm a little lightheaded."  Off goes the hat, down goes the seat, up go my knees.  Here, have two icepacks.  Much better.  And then it was over.  I held my arm over my head and pressed the gauze with the other hand, but that was my mistake.  I suppose I misunderstood the concept of "press."  Or, perhaps, my veins were overcompensating for the difficult start.  A second later, I thought, Hmm, my fingers are warm and wet.  I looked up, and it. was. everywhere.

Soaked through my sleeve, all over the floor, even on my collar a little bit.  When I let up pressure for one of the nurses to take over, I think I saw my very first gush of blood.  And it was mine.  And it was... kind of awesome.  It was dense and black more than red, spurting from my arm and running thick on my skin.

I took notes.

I promise I'm not into vampires.  Really.

But the best part of the experience was when I leaned my whole arm over a trashcan and two nurses poured peroxide all over my sleeve.  Tell you what.  Worked like a charm.  You'd have never guessed that shirt had seen a drop of blood in its life.

And then Tess came in and said, "Did you pass out?"  Thankfully, I never did.  I was having adventures with peroxide, instead.  On the way out of the bus, I grabbed a cookie, and Tess and I sat on the sidewalk for a minute before going down to the parking lot.  It wasn't a very tasty cookie.  But it was my prize for giving blood, dangit, and I was going to ENJOY IT.

To celebrate our success, we went and made jewelry.

And after Tess drove me back to Mast, I went inside to say hello.  And the first thing I heard a friend say was, "Are you okay now?  Jim said you turned green and wouldn't stop bleeding."  Oh boy.  Did he forget to mention my charming disposition and nonchalance and constant smile and winning attitude?  Those were the things I was trying to express.  Maybe I AM too small to give blood, even though I passed the weight limit forever ago.  Not by a ton, but still.  And, I mean, I was laughing.  It was funny, especially the peroxide part.  But no one will hear the peroxide part.  They'll only hear the turning green and bleeding excessively part.  Why can't it just be a funny story?

Sigh.  I try so hard to never let anyone worry about me.  I hate that kind of attention.  Don't ask me why.  But in writing, I always find myself creating that kind of attention for characters.  What does that say about me? On the bright side, now I have a mental inventory of how it feels to lose over a pint of blood.  And that's the bright side.  Writers and actors are crazy, and I'm both.  Go me!

i pretend like i'm not peeing my pants with joy over the new harry potter movie...

But I must be, according to my subconscious.

The other night, I had what I think may very well be the oddest and most hilarious dream of my life, to date.  In short, I was playing poker with my cousin Justin, Todd Packer from The Office, and Lord Voldemort.

You heard that right.  Voldemort.  And my real-life cousin.  And an actor whose name I don't remember.  Though, in the dream, he was the sleazy character he plays on TV, not himself.  Insane.  Especially since I despise that character, do not know how to play poker, and the ONLY one of these people whom I would EVER associate with in real life, is, of course, The Dark Lord.  I mean, Justin.

I don't remember much of the dream, but right before I woke up, I must have said something awesome, because all three of these men reached out to give me a high five.  The very last thing I did before coming to was slap hands with Voldemort, who didn't know how to do it right.  He kept his fingers pointed out, like he was all about Hitler (which I wouldn't doubt, given his history), and I tried to correct him.  He looked down and admitted that his wrists didn't flex back.  He seemed so dejected and sad.  I was about to say something like, "It's okay, buddy.  I know that kid did a number on you," but then I woke up.

I whispered to my husband, "I think I just had a dream that Voldemort gave me a high-five."
Joshua said something like, "That's unsettling," but it was muffled and he was half asleep.  Then I realized how crazy I sounded.  I'm half tempted to look up in the books about those faulty wrist joints, but something tells me I just pulled that from some other unprocessed brainwave.

I must just be really excited about these movies.  And high-fives.  And... poker, I guess.

My total BFF!

it's like they knew: a pondering of poor adaptations.

::I wrote this in July.  

I didn't post it then because I was too embarrassed.  

I'm over that, now.  

Confession number one:  I heart Avatar: The Last Airbender.  

This post is my love-splurge on the cartoon and subsequent "what-the-bluh?" on the film. ::

I must confess, I do love a good story, with great, well-developed characters, humor, heart, and a compelling plot. I must also confess, I hate it when these things are turned into films that miss the point, no matter how fun they are to look at through those abominable 3D glasses.
Two weeks ago [read: five months ago] at Creative Music and Art camp, our only boy (hereafter referred to as "Little Josh") had an adorable habit of waterbending in the hallway at Munday. I loved it. I even joined him, and we had epic battles in the lobby. Here's a picture of us, mid-showdown:

I'm not trying to be dramatic.  I just can't get the photo to go up any higher.

I was just about giddy when I first realized what Little Josh was doing. I asked, "Are you waterbending?" And he said, "Yeah, watch this one!" I practically squealed, "I love that show!" Little Josh said, "Me too! And my brother loves it too!" And then he taught me how to waterbend. My good friend and fellow counselor, Jesse, who has yet to see the cartoon, said, "What about... groundbending?" And I said, "Earthbending, Jesse, get it right." (Jesse, this is your second shout-out on this blog, which proves that you are super-cool.) [Jesse, now that five months have passed, have you gotten around to watching this show? You still need to. If anyone makes fun of you, you can blame it on me.]

Not many people will take me seriously when I tell them to watch Avatar, the cartoon that came before (and has absolutely nothing to do with) that James Cameron thing. But, trust me, if you're anything like me, you'll enjoy it. Then again, I am continuously, hopelessly drawn to things made for kids (two of my three favorite movies are Spirited Away and How to Train Your Dragon, after all), so take me as seriously as you want.

When I first dove into Avatar: The Last Airbender, I didn't want to tell my husband, knowing he would make fun of me for watching a kids' show, even if just a little bit. And, once I confessed, he did. Then he started watching it too. The next day, he requested that I not watch any more without him. Victory! We finished the whole series in about three weeks. We both laughed out loud, time and again, and I cried SUCH happy tears at the finale. The first thing I said when it was over was, "This does NOT need to be made into a movie."
But, alas, it had already happened, and we could not undo it. Thankfully, I had read enough to know how low my expectations needed to be in order to not throw popcorn at the screen. Actually, I suggested that we not even see the film, or just wait for Netflix, but my Joshua, who loved Avatar as much as I did, could not resist. So, for the first time in possibly forever, I went to see a movie on its opening day. Ha! Oh me.
Well, it wasn't SO bad that I wanted to leave, but I was tempted to take a bathroom break, which would have broken my usual hold-it-no-matter-what standard. In fact, the last time I left a movie to use the restroom (and buy a soda, and dawdle the whole way back) was when my best friend in ninth grade dragged me to see Love & Basketball.
I shouldn't go on and on about the misery of Shyamalan's The Last Airbender, because you can read about that anywhere. Or you can experience it yourself for $10 a piece on a Thursday night, like we did. [Or, you know, rent it, or something.] But I can't help it. Leaving the theater, Joshua had steam coming out his ears and kept saying, "I knew it would be bad, but I didn't know it would be THAT bad!"

I, on the other hand, couldn't stop laughing.  

I don't know what I thought was so funny. It definitely wasn't Sokka, whose lovable goofballery had been sacrificed for a more serious, "brooding" type.  Just look at Jackson Rathbone over there, pursing his lips. Who is this guy? Come to think of it, the whole thing seemed like it was trying to be the "serious version." Why?
[Hold on while I digress:]
Also, half the characters' names were pronounced wrong.  Maybe this is what cracked me up.  "Ahng? Soak-a? Ee-ro? [Ah-vatar?]" I wheezed. "What was that all about?" Joshua replied, "Maybe they changed his name to Soak-a because he always ends up getting wet," which made me laugh even more, because such moments were actually funny in the cartoon, but SO awkward and unnatural in the movie.  
Speaking of awkward pronunciations, none of the actors seemed convinced that they were saying the names right. I felt like every time the girl who played Katara said "Ahng" instead of good ol' "Aang," a tiny part of her died. I bet she'd been a fan of the cartoon, too. In fact, I think the only thing the new pronunciations gained was an alienation of the original fan base. Everything about these actors seemed shy, really. Shy and ill-fitting. Not including Dev Patel, of course, who pretty much set the bar way over everyone else's heads [dare I add, even over the head of the production itself?]. He was the only character I believed, though they totally dumbed down that wicked scar. Considering how great the other characters were originally, and should have been in the film, this makes me more sad than happy. The really funny part, I suppose, is that the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that this could have been done right, but wasn't, and we may never know why.  

Oh.  Money.

On the way home, Joshua and I laughed at the fact that the first thing we wanted to do was go back to the cartoon and watch some of it that night, to get the bad taste out of our mouths. So, we did. And then, while perusing the internet for consolation, I found absolutely the best possible thing to make a sour Avatar fan feel better. 
This quote, and its corresponding video.
"Don't worry, folks, this movie isn't a live-action adaptation of Avatar: The Last Airbender, but of the Ember Island Players." 

To quote everyone who commented on this on Youtube, " [o.m.g.] it's like they knew!"
I suppose the effects were decent. Buh.

This is what Little Josh said when I asked him if he was excited about the movie: "Yes! It's going to be awesome!" I asked him why he thought so, and he said, "Because, it'll look real, and everything's better when it's real!" I wonder what he thought of it, in the end?

**Addendum: Little Josh and I also went through earthbending and firebending, that afternoon in Munday Lodge. On of the absolute highlights of my summer at camp was when I asked him, "Oh, can you redirect lightening?" And he said, in 100% seriousness, "No, I haven't learned to do that yet." Seriously. I love kids.

proof that the youth are revolting.

Yes, that title is a Five Iron Frenzy reference.  I am the "youth," and here is your proof:

And then Katie and I dyed it:

Which you can't tell AT ALL with it wet/against my pink shirt, so I put on my blue jacket.

It'll totally look redder dry... right?  Maybe not.  We did run out of dye too soon.  Yeah, even after cutting off like 5 inches, my hair is THAT thick.

P.s. I know that video is WEIRD and something is way messed up.  If anyone knows what I did wrong, please inform me.  I am not techno savvy in the least.

EDIT.  I was revolting against long, light brown hair, in case you were wondering.

my husband makes me laugh, part three. or four.

Me:  Would you still love me, even if you [insert vaguely spoilery detail from a certain book that shall remain nameless]...?

Him:  Well, since that doesn't really exist, yes.

***

And here's my favorite, from a couple of months ago, on our way back from D.C.  We were in Virginia, going south west back home, and we passed a sign for Glasgow.

Me:  Glasgow?  Is there a Glasgow,Virginia?  Or is it for Glasgow, Kentucky?

Him:  I don't know... it must be Virginia.

Me: (being stupid)  Or maybe it's for Scotland!

Him: (completely straight-faced)  No... It can't be Scotland, Scotland's east.

one of many great things about this boy i married.

He makes me laugh.

Husband:  "Whoa!  Look at my biology project!"

Me:  "I didn't know you had a biology project going."

Him:  "Yeah.  It's the banana bread.  See?"

Me:  "Mm."

Him:  "It looks like a snowy wonderland.  But it smells a lot worse."

a handful of thoughts, to get you started.

     Writing one's first (actual) post on a new blog is highly intimidating.  I can't decide what to say.  I feel like a lot more happens in my life than I can capture in any sensible, creative way, to post here for others to enjoy.  I suppose I could just start with a handful of thoughts.


1. I am very happy with springtime.  We agree with one another.  I have always loved seasons, relished in the changing world every three months (especially the dramatic change every six), and have been known to say that my favorite season is generally whichever one comes next.  But there is something special and different about spring, and its segue into summer.  Nothing beats the summer.
   (Just wait, I'll be saying the same thing about the autumn, come September.)


2.  I am also very happy that I do not have any real allergies, especially after learning that Knoxville is the #1 worst city to live in at this time of year.  Oh, and Louisville was #2.  I suppose it just follows me around. My apologies to everyone who has been affected by this.


3.  Moving into a new house is way more fun, I think, when the house is small and out in the country, than a giant thing in the suburbs.  Just to clarify: we are renting, not buying.  The property we're moving to (including our landlords' house and their nine acres) is for sale, but we'd never be able to afford it, not for another 20 years at least.  I'm sure I will have much more to say about this house, once we're really there.  I had a blast this past week, just going by myself to exist there for a few hours at a time.  It seems so much like a place you'd go to visit, and it's surreal to think of us actually living there.


4.  I brought several boxes of things to the house the other day, and I found some very entertaining old journals of mine.  I sat and read my old thoughts, laughing throughout.  Some of these things made NO sense whatsoever.  Some were leftover notes from classes and sermons.  Some were from creative writing assignments about which I had completely forgotten.  The last one I opened was from the summer of '07.  It had a "Sliced Bacon" sticker on the front (remember those?).  I opened it, and saw my first-ever musings of the short story (turned not-so-short story) I've been working on for months now.  I SQUEALED.  If Joshua had been there, he would have thought I'd gotten crawled on by a tarantula or something... except I was happy about it.


5.  I love how writing something makes me feel like I've been reading a book.  Several times in the past day or so, I've stopped and thought, Wait, what is it that I've been reading? before realizing that I haven't been reading anything at all (that I haven't written first), for weeks.  This is not to say that what I've been writing is any good.  I've been enjoying myself with it, but I doubt anyone else would take much interest.  Also, it's one of those things that has been rolling around inside me for so long, I feel painfully nervous about it, and over-protective.  It's that deformed, decomposing infant-mutant, gnawing at my ankles, that Dr. Malone used to talk about in class.  The idea is that it won't let you alone until you fix it, give it a face and life.  This, my professor used to say, is what creative writing is all about.  Half of me wants to ask everyone I know, "Would you read something if I wrote it?" but the other half begs, "Please, don't look at it, just let me hold on to it.  You won't like it, anyway."


5.a.  One other thought about writing:
      It seems to me that the more excited I get, the more inspiration/funny connections I see, everywhere.  For instance, I'm writing about a valley, and then we found this house... which is in a valley.  One of the characters is named Violet, and then I saw a small tub of violet fragranced balm at Earth To Old City, and, nerd that I am, took it as a sign (and bought it, of course.  It smells very slightly of grape slushies).  Then the actual violets came out, and I couldn't help but think of them as a sign, too, or at least a little pat on the back, a nod of approval, or a tug in the right direction.
     But the wildest connection I saw was the trout lily.  In the story, I had already written about a plant with a yellow flower that wouldn't bloom for seven years.  On Easter Sunday, I discovered trout lilies, which have been around since the dawn of time, probably.  I associated them immediately with the aforementioned plant in the story, based solely on appearance.  Then, after researching, I learned that their yellow flowers don't bloom for the first seven years, either.
     Oh my. 


     So, there's a little bit about me.  I like spring.  I like writing.  I laugh at myself.  I am easily excitable, especially concerning make-believe.  I see meaning in a lot of meaningless things.  I am insecure.  I am trying to be more open.  Just don't expect any masterpiece out of me, or for anything I ever write to be published, and I'll be okay.  :)