Red Nose

It's A Crummy Commercial!

Okay, I'm idly playing a little Solitaire Scrabulous. Why Solitaire? Because I'm a scaredy-cat and do not wish my vocabulary skills against other people.

I think I'm getting better, though. When I first starting playing, I was lucky to put down words of more than three letters; now I have actually used all seven letters at a time.

Once, anyway.

But that's not what this is about. I finished up a game -- scored 502, by the way, not quite my highest but definitely up there -- and saw the clever ad at the bottom of the page:

Free IQ Test!

What the hell, I think. I'd kind of like to know my IQ.

So I click through and take the test. It's the usual mixture of Miller Analogies and Complete the Sequence and Math Stuff and Word Scrambles. Then I click the Get Results button.

Oh holy dear sweet Jesus! I don't get the results; I get page after page after page of "offers" disguised as a "survey." Most of these offers require you to divulge your email address to get crap or to immediately sign up for some kind of service (Only $9.99 month! Starting now!).

I click "No! HELL no!" on all of them, but it seems I have to at least look at one per screen. So I do, and I click "What part of 'NO' don't you understand?" on each of them. Finally the damn IQ Thing gets tired of me and gives up.

I swear, I would have quit after the first stupid offer but I really wanted to know my IQ. As I kept clicking "NO, DAMMIT!!" I began to wonder if there was any correlation between the IQ result and the number of online "offers" that a person accepted. For example, was the IQ result automatically lowered by 5 points for each offer a person fell for? What I lowering or raising my IQ by being so obstinate? Did people with lower IQs get suckered into accepting lots of these offers, or did people with higher IQs tend to do it?

There's a master's thesis in there somewhere. Possibly a doctoral dissertation.

Also, once the IQ Thing finally gave me the results, it invited me to copy a code snippet to put on my site so everyone could take the test -- or fall for one of the many offers.

So, no snippet. No link. I live to serve.

My IQ is 152. Is that good?

Mother's Day, Mostly

I had a friend many many years ago who fell in with some sort of odd cult that believed that the increase in earth disasters was a portent of the end of the world. She'd show us charts and graphs and data that proved it.

I wonder what she's thinking now. I mean, what the hell is happening? Cyclones in southeast Asia, earthquakes in China, fires in Florida, tornadoes in the midwest, monsoons in the mid-Atlantic -- Mother Nature is really out of control. My heart goes out to everyone who's been affected. I just had to deal with torrential rain and heavy flooding; I can't imagine being left with nothing, including clean water and food.

So. The dinner on Friday night with my sisters and brother went fine. We talked over everything and decided that we'd consult an elder attorney to see if we have any options other selling Mom's house. We also decided that my brother would be the spokesman because Mom actually listens to him. (Ah, the power of the penis!)

On Saturday we all convened at a restaurant that Mom likes. After eating and chatting, my brother brought it up and told Mom what we had decided. She admitted that selling her house would break her heart, but my brother was masterful. He explained, clearly but gently, that she really couldn't be by herself anymore, she was just too frail. It was our responsibility, he said, to make sure she had good care.

And, miracle of miracles, she agreed. I have a feeling she's still hanging on to the hope that somehow she'll be able to keep the house. We'll see what the lawyer says, but I have my doubts.

Mother's Day was lovely. Joe surprised me with a dozen lovely, pale pink roses -- what a guy! -- and SonnyeBoy checked in later with further tales of fun, including sighting a vanity license plate  that read "MLFHNTR*," which I got immediately. Evidently the little old lady who approves the plates did not.

We spent most of the day with Mom, just Joe and me this time. We borrowed a wheelchair from the nursing home, loaded it (and her) into the car, and tootled off to the mall. We had a very nice lunch. Then we rolled over to LL Bean, where Mom actually shopped from the comfort of the wheelchair. She exclaimed over the high prices while I showed her every pair of white pants in the store. We finally settled on a nice pair of capris, a gorgeous sweater in deep rose, and a pretty pink striped shirt for her Mother's Day present.

We got back to her place, put the new duds away, and bid her farewell. We got home just before the monsoon hit, which brings us back to earth disasters, and my feeling that I am really very, very lucky.

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*MLFHNTR = MILF** Hunter.

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**MILF = Mom I'd Like to Fuck. Such a compliment!

And It's A Suede Purse, Too

Okay, I am done with work.

I have not left work yet, but I am done, and I am not going home because I am meeting my sibs for dinner, but I don't have to meet them for a couple of hours, so... there you go.

Since our beloved Caps fell in the first round and the Canadiens fell in the second, Joe and I have decided that we are rooting for the Red Wings to win the Stanley Cup. We cannot bring ourselves to root for the Penguins ("Fuck a Penguin!" as Joe likes to say) or the Flyers ("Fuck a Flyer!" as Joe like to say), and it is against our religion to root for any Dallas team at all ("Fu..." oh, never mind), so it's the Red Wings by default. At least they wear red, so we can still Rock the Red.

My right arm is freezing. The heating and cooling in this building is totally wacked-out and goofy, such that we were sweating and dozy in January. We asked for coolth. Now, of course, we are regretting this request, as cold air is blasting out of the... air-blaster things... and the steady wind is aimed directly at my right arm. I keep meaning to bring in a shawl or a sweater, but I keep forgetting to do it. So I end up sticking my hand under my left armpit, which warms it up slightly, but I cannot quite fit my forearm under there.

Last Monday the building engineer came around investigating the temperature, saying that someone had called in with a complaint that it was too cold. My cubemate and I, however, happily told him that no, it was fine; in fact, it was quite comfortable for a change.

And it was. On Monday. But it has gotten progressively chillier in here as the week has progressed, and now my arm is freezing and my neck is chilly. Yes, yes -- I could call in another complaint, if I were willing to swallow my pride and look like an idiot. Or I could bring in a sweater, or even just a sleeve! No, that's ridiculous. Okay. If it's still cold on Monday, I'll call. I promise.

I'm glad it's Friday. The rain seems to have slacked off and stopped for the nonce, after a wild night of thunder, high winds, and heavy rain. A bunch of us went to lunch in a steady, misty rain, the kind of rain that defies umbrellas and gets you anyway. It was nice -- we are a convivial group and we had quite a nice time, even though we old farts had to put the smackdown on the member of the group who was not yet born when several of us were in college. We ate on the partially enclosed outdoor patio, the overhead heaters spilling out divine warmth, and I put my purse on a dry spot on the concrete.

Except it wasn't dry. At all. I hate when that happens.

And now, it is time to go.

There Goes Tokyo

Okay, by popular demand -- or at least because Steph is curious and Kitty wants to see it -- here's a picture of the Godzilla ring!

What makes this delightful piece of haute couture jewelry even better is that it's handmade from a Scrabble tile! This one is a "T", so it's only worth one point in the game. I got it here. Looks like I was just in time, too!

Yes, I was in my car when I took the shot, stopped dead in traffic. So I says to myself, "Take a picture!" So I did. And here it is! It came with a matching tie tack for Joe, so between the two of us, we can really do some damage to any unsuspecting cities that happen to be in our way.