On Many Subjects

• My new job is going well. It is so nice to be in a place where your employers really want you to be there. The service performed is invaluable to the school: Helping students arrange for financing so they can pursue their dreams of landing a job on the Food Network.
  
• 
  
• I am getting my own office this week. I have seen it. It is shiny and new and never been used. I am already breaking in a brand new, never before used computer. Also, my deskin my new office is right under a sky-light. It will be Friday before it is wired in so I can move there. (Jumping up and down and clapping my hands: Oh goody, goody, goody!)
  
• 
  
• The novel I have written is nearly ready to go to a publisher. Never give up! What a cool way to make money.
  
• 
  
• Working in a culinary institute will prove interesting because most of the instructors are CHEFS... oh, the possibilities.
  
• 
  
• Heard from a friend(?) who says that he doesn't want anyone to know that I know him, referring to his on-line presence on Facebook and MySpace. OK. Maybe not so friendly after all.
  
• 
  
• Finished the Divine Miss M's quilt and it is really pretty. I haven't heard from her Mom and Dad to find out any further details. I have been busy with my new job.
  
• 
  
• My neighbor stopped me in the parking lot:
  

Neighbor: How's it going?
Me: Really good. I got the new job at the Culinary Institute.
N: I thought so. You have been gone during the day.
Me: It is nice to have a regular job.
N: I am still laid off.
Me: Sorry to hear that. Any job prospects?
N: Yeah, I got one or two. Going for an interview tomorrow.
Me: I hope it goes well for you.
N: Hey, I wanted to ask, since you have a job and all. Can I borrow $10?
Me: I haven't gotten my first pay check yet.
N: Oh. OK. I just thought... you know... that since you were working and I am not that I could have some money.
Me: Are you trying to make me feel guilty?
N: Yeah, I am.
Me: Guilty for what? Because I have a job and you don't or because I have money and you don't?
N: Well, since you put it that way... Look, I am sorry.
Me: No problem
N: So, can I borrow $10?
Me:.....
N: Bad idea. Sorry.

I have actually discussed refrigerator magnets before. Read about it here. The latest tally on my fridgie magnets that hold up scraps of paper with my version of the Daily News has risen considerably.

Currently, I have grocery lists--"Buy Milk" and the scrap of paper towel that has scribbled on it, "Buy paper towels" and the note pad that sticks to the fridge that says (at the moment) Coffee filters, Garbage Bags and Shampoo. I have pizza coupons and a Christmas card from my Mom and Dad--Great picture this year! I love it! I have a business card from a travel agent, directions to the library, a picture of St. Petersburg, FL, a Calvin and Hobbes comic, a photo of Jon, and a 20% off coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Pretty standard refrigerator fare.

I have a new addition to my list of fridgies and that is those little flat magnets with words on them that can be combined into sentences to express thoughts for the day. The overall theme of the word magnets I have is confidence in yourself as a woman. In the past, I have created sentences that say things like "Your body is beautiful." "Brains are pretty." "I love myself and my life" and "Fun is having funny hair."

Over the weekend, #2 son came to my apartment, with the Divine Miss M, I might add, so he could help me repair my computer whose power supply went down the river. At some point, he combined my little word magnets to say, "I want good body love."

Well, OK. I decided to leave it. I even added, "Right now," to his sentence.

And that, folks, is the latest Daily News from Kay Four's Kitchen.

There are two kinds of people in America: Those that hunt deer and those who wonder why there are deer hunters. Oddly enough, you will find both kinds of people living in the same household more often than not.

So, deer hunting season is upon us and I have noticed that a lot of people have taken to wearing very brightly colored clothing while going out to get the mail. I assume the two are related. (And this is not as much of a stretch as you may think.)

My argument:

I used to work in a convenience store in a small town in Clay County, Florida and, by coincidence, it was the only thing that was open after 11pm. Because this store was open after midnight, this is where all the hunters came to get their provisions for the trip into the woods. They would buy tiny cans of beanie weanies, Dinty Moore's Beef Stew, pacakages of bologna, but no bread or mayonaisse becuse they were going to HUNT, not make dinner, or breakfast.

I would have to make several pots of coffee because they would fill up large thermoses of coffee to keep themselves awake. This brings two things to mind, immediately. First, they would build a fire in the forest to sit around, but they didn't know what to do with it because none of them made coffee, boiled water for instant coffee or heated up their beanie weanies. More than once, they all complained about having to eat cold food. The other thing the enormous thermoses reminded me of is that every hunter had anywhere from 4 and 10 hunting dogs all in cages and all in the back of the 4-wheel drive trucks and all howling. The dog of choice being a Beagle and most aren't cute like Snoopy, but rather they are loud and they howl. So, if these hunters with thermoses wanted to stay awake, all they had to do was to stand out in the parking lot of the convenience store and listen while the dogs howled at each other.

But, as ususal, I digress...

These hunters, typically, would go into the forest, turn their hunting dogs loose, then proceed to sit around the fire and talk about yesterday's hunting, eat their provisions and drink their coffee. Somewhere close to an hour before dawn, they all get up and start to round up their dogs. If they happen to run across a deer while trying to find the dogs, they will shoot at it.

I think I must explain that the definition of a deer is ANYTHING that moves in the forest. A light breeze could rustle a hand full of leaves on a bush and the hunter would shoot the bush because he thinks it's a deer. Or at the very least, he thinks a real deer probably just passed that way and rustled the leaves on the bush.

So, that's why people are wearing brightly colored clothes this time of year because no one wants to be shot while walking out to the mailbox and they happen to rustle a handful of junk mail.

Which is great news for a certain segment of the population. That is people with heavy ankles. I must confess that I have heavy ankles. My mom has heavy ankles. My daughter has heavy ankles. Someone told my mom once that our state in life is the result of hailing from "sturdy peasant stock." That wasn't even remotely flattering no matter how many times I think about it. When I was in High School, I had a friend who teased me unmercifully about my heavy ankles; she being one of the skinny-limbed bitches. (On a side note, it gives me a moment of satisfaction every time I think about the fact that she had to drop out of high school for getting pregnant in an era when it was totally UNCOOL to do that. Karmic payback, I think.)

At any rate, I have found out they actually have a name for ankles that are the same size as the calf... cankles.

The area in affected female legs where the calf meets the foot in an abrupt, nontapering terminus; medical cause: adipose tissue surrounding the soleus tendon, probably congenital, worsened by weight gain and improved in appearance only by boots. From the English "calf" meaning wide portion of the lower leg, and "ankle" meaning slender joint of leg with foot.

I LOVE this one:

Also known as “peasant ankles” for the ostensible stability and hardiness afforded by the wide, steady base of the legs, which aids in long hours of tillage and harvesting. As such, the condition is most prominent in women of Russian or Italian ancestry.
It is the condition where the ankle girth is equal to or indiscernibly less than the girth of the widest part of the calf. It is not ankle fat per se, but rather a state of being “big-boned” in the ankle region while simultaneously experiencing gross muscle atrophy of the gastrocnemius.
Symptoms include: deep elastic grooves from socks, increased razor wear-and-tear, ability to reap 20 bushels of grain per hour.

Man 1: "That girl's wasting her time on the calf machine at the gym--there ain't no cure for cankles"
Man 2: "Hopefully she'll marry a farmer"

So, dear readers, I have learned to "disguise" my cankles with long pants, even in the summertime, and never, oh never, wear a dress unless it has a long skirt and I am wearing black hose. No shorts for me and I wear capris only in the privacy of my own home. Such fashion restrictions! And strappy shoes? Never. Totally cute shoes that tie around the ankle? Absolutely not! Short skirts? Not on your life!

What can you do about cankles? Nothing. If you have them, you are stuck with them and you will always be a pariah until society decides that cankels are more fashionable than the sleek and slender cousins of cankles that mini-shirt wearing women have.

But, the gods of the weather are shining down on us and making the earth colder so every woman with cankles can wear pants and not have to worry about heat stroke in the process.

The new job is going great. The only downside is, I leave my apartment at 7:45 in the morning and I don't get home until around 7 in the evening.

That means I have been neglecting my blog, and my cat.

She isn't happy about this new situation and she is stressed, again. The fur fell off her face and her tummy. My poor kitty!

I promise, more exciting entries to come.

I listened to A Prairie Home Companion on NPR more than once, but it wasn't until I saw the movie, A Praire Home Companion, that I finally subscribed to the podcast so I could be certain to never miss an episode of A Prairie Home Companion.

There is something about the wonderful, down-homeiness of that show and the slow moving pace that is terribly appealing. I loved the movie and I love the radio show.

So, after listening to an older podcast of A Prairie Home Companion, I now have the Rhubard Pie Song stuck in my head.

But one little thing can revive a guy,
And that is home-made rhubarb pie.
Serve it up, nice and hot.
Maybe things aren't as futile as you thought.

DUET:
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.

Last week I had the song that is up for a Grammie Award stuck in my head: "My D*ck in a Box." View the YouTube video here, which is, in a word, hysterical, but not for the sensitive, conservative readers (Are you paying attention, Mom?) or for children under thirteen because of the explicit lyrics--as you have probably already guessed. But, if you want some silly Saturday Night Live fun, watch the video... but be warned. That song will get stuck in your head and you will find yourself humming it in public restrooms and elevators. And you will find out just how many other people have seen the YouTube video.

Lady in the bathroom: That song is so funny, I peed on myself when I heard it the first time.
Me: Me, too. That's why I am humming it in the bathroom.

Of the two little ditties, I am not certain which one is MORE annoying to get stuck in my head.

Actually, any song that gets stuck in my head is annoying.

My pretty kitty, Evelyn, is suddenly possessed to the point, I wouldn't be surprised if her head spun around backward and she launched pea-green gross stuff at me from her mouth.

#2 refers to her as Evil-Lynne and he may be correct. I have long known she is one half Evil and one half Nutro Natural Choice Complete Care Adult Weight Management cat food (which, I might point out, hasn't controled her weight in the least because it is still out of hand.) She is Evil because she frequently buries her claws in my thigh when she thinks she is being totally neglected... a thing that happens often enough that I have permanent puncture wounds. She is Evil when she decides that tonight she will sleep in the bed with me, perches on the pillow next to my head and proceeds to groom/lick/wash and purr, all at four-freaking-am. I love cat purrs and Evelyn's purr is very loud. I think she must also be half lion.

So that makes half Evil, half Cat Food and half lion. Well, if you take into consideration that cats reportedly have nine lives, then I still have 15 halfs to go to make a whole cat, so I don't want to hear anything from all of you mathematical geniuses out there who have quickly deduced that three halfs make a whole with a half left over.

But, I digress.

I do love cat purrs, but I don't enjoy inhaling cat fur all night and I further don't enjoy when anything decides to lick their genitals/anal region about five inches from my face. I mean she slurps. It is a praticularly gross sound. That doesn't make her Evil... that makes her a fur person mammal with rather disagreeable habits.

At some point in the Great Move to Virginia, she picked up a flea infestation that I have been keeping under control with the regular use of a flea comb. So what has that to do with anything? I stayed a night over and #2's house because Clover and I decided to have a SLUMBER PARTY, there by leaving Evil-Lynne at home alone.

Clover and I tried to have a slumber party, that is. #2 went to bed at midnight, and Clover and I stayed up for an extra two hours, dicussing all manner of things that girls discuss when they are having a slubmer party... that is clothes, hair and make-up, really hot guys on TV and in Movies, the general state of the world, quantum physics, and string theory.

Opps... off the subject again...

Evelyn ran to me when I opened the door at 1 pm Saturday afternoon and then proceeded to anticipate where I was walking. Twice I tripped over her, then I gave her some food and fresh water even though she still had plenty of both, the whole time swearing at her because if I fell on her, I would have killed her and broken my hip. I was away for about 20 hours, so her behavior was uncalled for, in my opinion. I left the TV on for her, on her favortie station--Animal Planet. Anyway, she jumped into my lap every time I sat anywhere. Even when I put Advantage on her that didn't deter her from annoying me to death. Advantage kills fleas within 12 hours, but it completely pisses them off first and they began biting her. I combed the staggered and dying fleas out of her fur and she still wouldn't get out of my lap. She twitched and washed, but she didn't get out of my lap.

So, resigned, I allowed her to stay in my lap while I tried to watch TV, but she doesn't SIT comfortably. She walks around in my lap. She climbs up my chest to sit, albeit briefly, on the back of the computer chair and then back down my chest. She does the marchy thing where she adds additional puncture wounds to my thighs, completely annoying me. Every time I threw her onto the floor, she hopped back into my lap, usually with the addition of more puncture wounds and slash marks and purred and marched some more.

OKAY, already. I know she loves me, but too much of a good thing isn't always the best thing for us.

I think I am going to see how much trouble it is to keep her in soft-paws, so we can alter Evil-Lynne into Wimpy-You-Can't-Hurt-Me-Ever-Again-Kitty. Unless, she decides to take up biting me, instead.

The things we put up with all in the name of love. If she was a man, I would have thrown her out months ago.

I still have a cold and I am curing it the "natural" way... that is waiting very impatiently until it goes away.

Because I have a headache and my throat hurts and my body hurts, I decided to cheer myself up with watching some video clips of Eddie Izzard, who is, far and away, my favorite comedian.

In this particular clip, he is learning to speak French from an audio tape and it is subtitled in Dutch. Being mono-liguistic, I can watch this video and feel dumb in two languages.

The clip is 46 minutes long, so sit back and get comfy before viewing... make a coffee, get some biscuits and jam ready and turn on the video feed. That last bit was for the Europeans who read this blog. In America, we say, "Make some coffee," and "Grab some cookies and jelly."

Now, that we all understand each other, happy viewing.

Oh, a note to all of you. Eddie Izzard may be a bit offensive to some because of his use of some of the more more colorful metaphors, so get your children, small dogs and grandmothers out of the room before clicking the link.

In yet another in a long series of things I do to keep from being bored I made a startling discovery. You can actually create ARTon an Excel spreadsheet.

That's right! Art in Excel.

It is a great thing to do when you are stuck in a boring board meeting and you want to pretend you are diligently participating. It is even better if you telecommute because then you can create art during the entire meeting and no one is the wiser.

I did not create this little gem of art during a meeting. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Digitaljon called it the Divine Cold because I got it from the Divine Miss M, who I am happy to report, is feeling much better.

But, I have been going to bed EARLY. I mean earlier than normal.

Normally, my brain starts shutting down around 9 PM and by 10 PM I can normally manage to read one or two pages in a book before falling asleep. Then, I wake up between 7 AM and 8 AM. I don't have a clock in my bedroom because I work from home and I don't HAVE to be anywhere at any particular time, so it is always a surprise when I am up and moving around and I look at the clock in the living room. Today, for example, I was up at 6:30 AM.

Don't get me wrong, I have pulled all-nighters before, chatting with friends until dawn's early light, or just staying up to watch the sunrise, but not in a long time. If I did that now, I am afraid it would take me several days to recover. I am getting older and it seems like I am going to bed earlier and earlier. I am afraid if this keeps up, eventually, I will go to sleep and wake up and then be ready to go back to bed an hour later.

There was a time when I could stay up all night to finish my school work, the bounce into a college class the next morning and the essay I finished at 3 AM was Pulitzer Prize worthy. Now, any essay I write at 3 AM would like have all the same rhetorical clarity as a Dali painting.

With this current ailment, I am ready to go to bed at 8 PM, which means I miss all the really good night-time TV. But, not to worry. I have a DVR and can record any show I happen to miss.

But, my bed is SOOOOOO comfortable. I have been up for an hour now... maybe it is time to go back and sleep some more.