Red Nose

Stanley Cup, Here We Come!

The Washington Capitals are the Southeast Division Champions of the National Hockey League!

WOO!

Tomas Fleischmann, Sergei Federov, and Alexander Semin scored the three goals for our boys; Semin's slapshot for the insurance goal was a thing of beauty! So thank you, Florida Panthers, for beating the Carolina Hurricanes and for losing to US!

So now we're in the Stanley Cup playoffs! It's the Caps first appearance since 2001-2002. The first round starts next week; we'll probably play the Ottawa Senators. I will have to see about a friendly wager between my pal Jamie, who hails from Ottawa. Hmm -- perhaps he would be willing to put up some Timbits against some Munchkins? I shall have to think about this.

Meanwhile, I have already purchased our tickets to Game One.

Oh, take me where the hockey players
Face off down the rink!
And the Stanley Cup is all filled up
For the Champs who win the drink.
With a final flick of a hockey stick
And one gigantic scream --
THE PUCK IS IN! THE CAPITALS WIN
The Good Old Hockey Game!

(Apologies to Stompin' Tom.)

The Spillening and the Signening

I got to Saratoga Springs in spite of massive ice storms and pouring rains and delayed flights, and it was good.

Except I kept spilling stuff all over the place. Poised and graceful, that's me.

The first calamity happened at BWI while I was waiting to board my flight to Albany. I had carefully chosen my seat so that I could put my medium Cafe Dulce (another version of Crack-in-a-Cup) on the seat beside me. Then another woman ambled past me, excusing herself, and I went to pick up the cup to ensure that it wouldn't get knocked over.

Except I knocked it over. It landed on the floor, the top popped off, and the entire cup of coffee spread over the carpet. Luckily no one got hit by the tasty beverage, but I was very sad. The woman apologized profusely and offered to buy me another, but I declined because it wasn't really her fault. I told the Southwest folks of the accident, but no one seemed to care very much. Then the woman decided to make friends with me, which she also didn't need to do, but I was polite and discussed the relative merits of Janet Evanovich's oeuvre with her (funny, good for airplanes, isn't Grandma Mazur the best?, getting kind of repetitive but Lean Mean Thirteen is good, no I haven't read much James Patterson, blah blah blah get on the plane already). By the time we boarded, the coffee had become one with the carpet and the stain was actually invisible. Self-cleaning carpet! That's what I need!

So, I got to Albany without incident, although the landing was, shall we say, exciting (which is not necessarily what I'm looking for in an airplane landing). My ride, the tall Paul, was there to drive me to Saratoga, where we met my lovely and talented hostess, Phylise, who immediately escorted us to The Local for beers and bar food. Excellent stuff, except when I got up to leave I stumbled a little and...

Knocked over a half-full pint of beer. Again, no one got wet, but it was a close call, and I did moisten my coat slightly, but the slight drizzle on the walk back to the house took care of that.

So, the next day we did the radio thing (two minutes!) and then went over to Borders for the talkening and the signening. And it turns out that this big-time author, Russell Banks, is also having a book signing, but at 2:00 as opposed to mine at 11:00. Borders had the areas all set up. Here's the setup for Russell Banks, complete with comfy chair:

And here's the setup for me:

Yeah. Three chairs. Now there's a confidence builder right there.

But! People started to come! And we had to usurp the bigger space! And it filled up with kids and grownups! And it was fun! I told a bunch of stories, and I juggled at little, and people actually bought some books, and I actually signed them like a real live au-thor. I must admit that it was kind of neat to see this display:

After the signing, we partook of Chowderfest, a tradition in Saratoga Springs where a bunch of restaurants in town whomp up their best chowder, and offer cups of it to the hungering public for a buck. You get a sticker for your ballot, then vote for the best chowder, kind of like a chili cookoff. I passed on the vegan curry chowder (I don't do curry), but I had some lovely Seafood Chowder from the Stadium Grill, some awesome Southern Fried Chicken chowder from Hattie's, and two cups of Philly Cheesesteak Chowder from Bailey's Cafe. Yes, two cups, because I...

Knocked over the first and spilled it all over the floor. Go me! Once again, though, the only casualty was the concrete floor, and my shoe, which a very friendly (and hungry) Golden Retriever cleaned for me a little while later.

I swear, you can't take me anywhere. At least I didn't drop the juggling balls.

At Least The Commute Was Easy

I was so very careful this morning. In fact, I was an efficiency machine this morning.

I needed to be at work in time for a 9:00 meeting at the other building, so I decided to leave 15 minutes early in case the traffic was screwed up. I needed to bring some paperwork with me, so I gathered it all together in a folder and left it on the kitchen table so that I wouldn't forget it. I thought I might go to the juggling club tonight, so I put a tee-shirt on top of the folder. (You get hot when you juggle, so tee-shirts are the way to go.) My juggling stuff was already in the car.

I made the bed, I put out the recycle bin, I put food out for Inky and Stinky, I loaded the dishwasher. Check, check, check.

I even dug out a hat to wear, because it is butt cold here in Our Nation's Capital today.

At 7:15, I put on my coat and hat, grabbed my keys off the key hook, picked up the folder and tee-shirt, and left the house. I locked the door behind me, picked up the newspaper, and got in the car.

The commute, for a change, was an absolute breeze. I was well ahead of schedule! Even the left turn into the parking garage was trouble free -- and by "trouble free" I mean that the oncoming lanes were clear and there were no pesky pedestrians to nudge out of the way. And because I was so early, I had choice of excellent parking spaces. I pulled in, shut off the car, and reached for my --

Purse.

My purse, with my wallet, driver's license, money, credit cards, company ID badge, cell phone, camera, iPod.

My purse, which was still hanging on its special hook by the front door of my house, 15 miles away.

Oh well. It was another instance of the rule that states:

"If you have something in each hand, you have everything you need."

Luckily I have good friends with cash, so I'm good to go for lunch. Luckily, the security guards can look my up on the employee database and issue me a temporary ID badge. If I drive vewwy vewwy cehfuwwy on the way home, I won't need my driver's license.

Maybe I should just keep my keys in my purse.

Or put a big sign on the front door: GOT PURSE?

Can Peter Penis Be Far Behind?

Remember this post?

Thanks to a good friend of mine, I have found the female equivalent, at least as far as mind bogglement goes. (Warning: Be prepared -- it's graphic, but in a stuffed velvety sort of way.)

I'm wondering how I got along without this educational tool of female empowerment. I mean, I was deprived. I had to discover my own infrastructure with a mirror and a magnifying glass and a reference book and my own two hands. Stuffing my arm into a pudenda puppet in not my idea of expressing my womanhood.

As for turning "difficult conversations" into humorous intimate encounters, I can only imagine a scene where the woman pulls out her Victoria Vulva puppet and uses the ancient art of ventriloquism to educate her lover. Meanwhile, in order to really get the laughs going, the lover pulls out the Peter Penis puppet.

At this point my brain just melts and leaks out of my ears.

And really -- I do not need a throw pillow to teach me how to do Kegel exercises. Girls, it just ain't that hard! (So to speak.)

But lest I be too critical... no, never mind. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm too busy laughing.

I mean, it really gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "I think I'm going to snatch 40 winks" doesn't it?

Honky Tonk Heaven

You know, I never did much like going upside down on rides. But I could do it if the ride was cool enough. For example, witness The Zipper:

That's it, to the left, the thing with the cars going every which way. I've been on that -- 30 years ago or so. Once. And once was enough. I think I may have been under the influence of something or other as well, or I never would have agreed to it.

A boy might have been involved, too.

Right next to it is an instrument of torture known as the Inverto -- I got a little queasy just looking at this one in action. You can't see it in the picture, but it consists of a platform of seats that rotate around -- sounds harmless, no? Well, in addition to just rotating around, it also flips over, suspending the poor suckers on the seats upside down.

Umm, no. Not even if I was under the influence of anything.

I was even more amazed to see another new ride in Ocean City. At first I thought this ride was one of those horrifying things where you get strapped into a harness and hoisted to heaven, then dropped like a rock so that you end up swinging back and forth. (That ride actually is a tiny bit attractive to me -- at least the swinging part is -- but there's not nearly enough restraint around you. I want steel strapping me in, not a plain old harness.) But there was something different about this one. I watched a couple of times when I realized what it was -- first, the people were in some sort of basket, not just a harness; second, the force came from the bottom, not the top.

Yes, it was a huge giant slingshot, shooting the basket full of people up into the air, then bouncing them up and down until the force was spent.

And, of course, the basket immediately went upside down, giving the occupants a wonderful view of the pavement rushing toward them on the return.

No thanks.

Not even for a boy.

Do Not Disturb?

Sometimes you really should try to wake 'em up, I guess.

Ten Things I Did This Weekend, Including One Very Ditzy Moment

It's been quite the weekend, beginning with Friday evening and ending when I finally collapse into bed tonight. Shall I enumerate? Why yes, I shall.

1. I went to juggling club Friday evening, the first time in quite a while, and I'm glad I did. I got some good practice in and was pleased that I haven't lost too much ground, even with clubs. I'm still the "least good" juggler in the club, but you know what? My juggling makes me happy, whatever level it may be. I love plugging in my iPod, cranking up the Motown music and the funky rock and roll, and juggling to the music. I don't care if I never get good; I'm good enough to have fun and that's what counts.
2. When I got home, I watched the Oilers beat the Mighty Ducks in Game 1 of the Western Final in hockey. Go Oilers!
3. Joe made his special pancakes for breakfast. (Joe is a pancake expert.) I had a moment of angst when he couldn't find the syrup, because we cannot have pancakes without syrup. It simply isn't done. Luckily, the syrup was merely hiding out on the fridge door, so I was able to breathe again.
4. I got my hair cut, thereby rising out of Hair Hell. Given that I went to the local Hair Butchery rather than the Salon de Beaucoup Money, I was pleasantly surprised. I wouldn't say I was now in Hair Heaven, but it's fine.
5. I took Mom to lunch. It turns out that she discovered that her driver's license expired! It also turns out that she can still get it renewed without additional testing as long as she does it within a year of expiration. She's got until June 9. Is it mean of me to hope that she misses the deadline? She really shouldn't be driving, and she really rarely does. But just knowing that she can, if she needs to, means the world to her. There is so much that she cannot do anymore -- driving is her last link to independence. But -- at almost 95 -- her reflexes are poor, her attention span is short, her strength is waning. God. This is so hard. Perhaps a chat with her doctor is in order. Perhaps if my sisters and brothers talk to her together. Perhaps. But lunch, at least, was good.
6. When I got home, I watched the Sabres beat the Hurricanes in Game 1 of the Eastern final in hockey. Go Sabres!
7. We almost watched the Preakness Stakes, but we had to leave before the actual race. I'm kind of glad I missed it, because I hate to see animals injured. What a terrible shame.
8. We left to meet up with a bunch of Lulu folks -- both DC-area authors and Lulu staffers -- downtown. (Lulu had a booth at BEA, which was in DC this year.) We took the metro down, found the rendevous point with no trouble, but Lulu-ish folks were not there. Hmm. Luckily, I had Henry Hutton's cell phone number, so I called him up. And found out that the meet up was supposed to be tonight (Sunday), not last night (Saturday). God. I can be such a fucking airhead sometimes. So after I finished groveling and picked up my dignity, I suggested meeting and grabbing some dinner. Henry was wonderfully gracious and instead of laughing heartily at my idiocy, he readily agreed. (I might add that Joe was equally gracious.) Henry and his cohort Michael showed up shortly afterward and we repaired to an excellent Mexican joint for a great dinner and better conversation.
9. I painted the front door trim. One more thing done in the Get the House Ready to Sell quest. Only about 52,893 to go.
10. Watched my absolute favorite of all time Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers flick.

There was more -- but those are the highlights of a very full weekend. And it's not over yet; the Oilers and the Mighty Ducks are currently playing Game 2. Tony will have to wait for On Demand tomorrow night.

In the News

Okay! Okay! I'll eat a banana! Actually, make that Bananas Foster. Hey, it's bananas, isn't it? The delightful Lady Mayhem also suggested tonic water. Let's see... what goes well with tonic? Oh, I know!

Seriously, thanks for your sympathy and your suggestions -- I had quite the D'oh moment because I normally do eat a banana every morning, but they had all turned rather black and squishy, so I threw away the remaining ones and hadn't eaten one in several days.

See? Cause and effect. Ain't biology wonderful?

So, just to prove that The Office is not all that far from reality, how about this for a little employee motivation? I honestly have a hard time believing they got away with it for as long as they did. Although it would certainly motivate me -- to find another job!

Now, how about a little quiz?

Say there's a knock on the door, and you answer it, and here's this kindly looking old guy with white hair and a little paunch dressed in a polo shirt and slacks standing there with his little black doctor bag and he says, "I'm a doctor, and I'm giving free breast exams to all the women in the neighborhood, would you like one?", what do you do?

A. Invite him in and allow him to examine your breasts; after all, you've been meaning to get that mammogram and hey, this is free!

B. Politely decline because you do a breast self-exam every month, regular as clockwork.

C. Slam the door in his face and call the cops.

I thought so -- but two women actually took him up on the deal. Now, at first I thought "How dumb do you have to be to fall for this?" but then I read that the victims were recent arrivals in this country and really didn't know any better. At least one of them called the cops!

And I really, really hope his wife kicked his ass.

Let There Be Light

Having been slightly inspired by painting SonnyeBoy's room, we actually got it together to call a handyman service to come over and give us an estimate on some sniggly home repair stuff. It's all stuff we can ignore and/or live with (seeing as how we've been doing exactly that for a long time), but it's also all stuff that we would completely fuck up if we were to attempt it our own selves.

So. Handyman Guy comes out to inspect said stuff: replacing bathroom exhaust fans (one had become the Horror House of the Birds, one had just fizzled out, and one simply clattered loudly all the damn time), patching drywall, fixing the front door frame so that we didn't have to rely solely on the dead bolt, and repairing the wiring to the overhead light in the kitchen.

Ah, the overhead light in the kitchen. This light has not worked for about 16 years. I mean, it didn't work one day, and we tried replacing the light bulb, but that didn't work, so we figured it was the wiring. Neither Joe nor I like to work around electricity -- it's that whole electrocution thing; a silly fear, I know, but what can you do? -- so we never investigated beyond "Hey, it's not the light bulb."

About five years ago, we were talking about home repair stuff. I said, "I really want to fix that kitchen light!" And Joe plopped a lamp on the kitchen table, turned it on, and said, "There! Fixed!" And I said, "Well, okay!"

But we realized that potential buyers might be just a little pickier, so we asked the Handyman Guy to look at it as part of the overall home repair stuff.

He tested it for power with his Juiceometer and said, "Well, there's power in the line; are you sure it's not the bulb?"

And Joe said, "Sure I'm sure!" But the Handyman Guy, being very smooth and handy, said, "Let's just test it; got a bulb?" So Joe rustled up a light bulb and...

You know where this is going, don't you?

So when the kitchen light blazed forth in all its 100-watt glory -- after 16 years of hibernation -- Joe said, "Well, kiss my ass in the country!"

And that is why I love that man of mine.

No More Calls, Please

Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Erin go braless! Slainte! May you die in bed at 95, shot by a jealous spouse! (Can you tell I actually had a Guinness for lunch? I did. Shame on me. Hic.)

We have a local city rag here called, appropriately enough, the Washington City Paper. It features insightful articles, reviews, and lots of classified advertising for lots of different things, from "rooms for rent" to "spankings for rent." One section of the classified is called "Health and Wellness" -- it features ads for acupuncture, naturopathy, painless dentistry, and massage therapy.

Joe's starting up his own outcall massage practice, so he placed an ad in this section.

It was a good ad, too -- it specified that he is nationally certified, listed the types of massage he does (Swedish, deep tissue, pregnancy/post-partum, seated), stated that it was outcall only serving DC and Montgomery County, and that he is a male therapist.

Remember, the ad's in the Health and Wellness section. Not the Adult Services section. Yes, there is such a section; and yes, that's where you would find the spankings.

He got a call yesterday from a guy inquiring about a massage.

"Hello, are you the massage dude?" says the dude. Joe is already on guard. Most of the callers don't refer to him as the massage "dude."

"I'm the massage therapist, yes," Joe replies.

"Um, exactly what kind of massage do you do?" asks the caller. Joe knows immediately what the guy is up to, but decides to string him along.

"Well, as the ad says, I do Swedish, deep tissue, pregnancy and post-partum, and seated massage," Joe says, helpfully.

"Oh, um. I'd like to give my wife a gift, see."

"Yes, that's fine."

"See, we have this very open marriage..." says the caller.

"Good for you," replies Joe politely.

"...so do you, um..."

"Yes?"

"Um, would you have sex with my wife for $200?"

"No. I don't do that."

"What about $300?"

"No, I don't do that."

"How about $500?"

At that point Joe hung up.

Now, he's gotten a few other skeevy calls, but none have been as blatant as that. They're more like: "Do you do anything... special?" or "What other... services... do you offer?"

In any case, he's not renewing the ad.