The smell that woke me up at 3:10 this morning was one of the following:

a) someone wrapped a skunk in rubber and set it on fire
b) someone outside was smoking some really bad pot
c) one of the bedroom fans was overheating

After careful hands-on observation--none of the fans were overheating and nothing else in the house was on fire--I went from window to window, sniffing and squinting, peering out into the dark.

I couldn't see anyone outside; there was no tell-tale red-ash-glowing tip of a blunt being sucked on.

I had by this point determined the burning odor was coming from outside (we will not discuss the fact that I sniffed at a closed window on my first search around the house. It was after 3 a.m. and I was sleepy...) and since none of my fans was overheating and no one was out there smoking pot, I can only conclude that there are sick, sick people around here. I mean, I'd eliminated 2 out of 3 possibilities...

So really, who would wrap a skunk in rubber and set it on fire? And why at 3 a.m.?

Inquiring minds want to know.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand...

Blue...


What is that dentist doing...?


I'm not feeding this to my kid...


And there are some things you don't recycle...


Just clicky to biggify the pictures...

Searching For Shiloh

When the Boy was around 11 years old, we lived in Illinois, spitting distance from St. Louis, Missouri. It was perfect; we were close enough to see the sights--the Arch, the killer park complete with incredible zoo, awesome art museum, and a wonderful kids' science museum--but far enough away that we didn't have to put up with the traffic, congestion, and crime of St. Louis.

We didn't live in the sticks, but we might as well have. The mall was just far enough away that I didn't go on a whim, and the shorter the drive, the better. So on one blustery fall day (all right, it could have been spring, maybe even summer...I don't remember exactly but for the sake of your imagination, it was fall and it was blustery...) the Boy and I headed out, destination Mall, and I opted for a shortcut.

Yes. A shortcut.

It took, oh, two hours to get through this magical shortcut. Normally the drive took about 20 minutes, but somewhere along the way I turned left at Albequerque, and we wound up driving through this quaint little town called Shiloh.

He has never let me forget.

Every time he's in the car with me and it looks like I'm the least bit lost I hear, "We're going to Shiloh, aren't we?"

Over time, I've decided that's not a bad place to be looking for. Shiloh was a sleepy little town, painted in shades of Old Towne; the houses still had expansive front porches, some with lazy swings hanging by room-width windows. There were real yards for kids to play in, and massive trees overlooked lawns that were not-too-manicured, but neatly trimmed and well cared for.

Today the Spouse Thingy and I headed out on our bikes with no particular destination in mind. I started out in the lead position and followed familiar roads until reaching an intersection I normally turn at; on a whim I went straight, and we rolled on for several miles, until it occured to me that we could get far enough out that the Spouse Thingy's bike could run out of gas before we could get back, so we turned around.

This time he was in the lead, and again we bypassed the turnoff, heading towards more unfamiliar territory. Over a hill, the road began to twist and turn, winding through neighborhoods that have been there for decades; some houses were dots in the middle of vast fields, others were street side with pastures behind them. We rode until it seemed like a good time to turn around again, just in case.

We headed for the familiar; after a quick stop at the Factory Store Outlet's restroom, we wandered the back roads of Vacaville, zooming past the landfill (never again, holy crap that smelled like...crap), turning around and heading back...where the Spouse Thingy missed the turnoff and headed straight for Shiloh.

He says it was intentional and he was pretty sure the road would connect with where we wanted to be sooner or later; I didn't care. This time I knew where I was and knew how much time we were adding to the ride, but on the off chance we might find Shiloh here, I went with it. We rode a little over 70 miles all in all, then stopped for food and gas.

Somewhere in the back roads of Solano County, there's a Shiloh to be found. I'm just hoping we don't stumble across it too soon.

If you read the Spouse Thingy's blog today, then you already know he spent some quality time at the ER yesterday. It was Pukefest 2006, complete with Someone Is Sticking A 32 Inch Knife In My Gut...he was miserable. The fact that he called me to come home told me he reallllly didn't feel well.

Yes...I heard him barf around 10:15 in the morning, so what did I do? I went out to gas up his car and then headed for the library to work on my next masterpiece. Because that's how nice a person I am. Barfing? No problem! I'll just be back in, oh...3 hours.

To be fair, I heard him but it didn't click in my head, muffled by the walls between the bathroom and my office, that he was sick. It was more like "eh, he's up for a minute" and I didn't think anything else of it. Not until I answered my cell phone and this tired voice was asking, "Can you come home?"

Nothing personal to the Spouse Thingy, but damn...he really looked like crap. As we sat in the waiting room (when he wasn't running for the bathroom to hurl [and oblivious, I suppose, to the echo created in the men's room near the ER]) he looked more and more haggard, as he walked back to the exam room he was sagged and shuffling... but ten minutes after getting an anti-nausea medication and a pain reliver in his IV and he looked 80% better.

All hail modern medicine.

It should be pointed out that by 9 pm last night he looked really bad last night, but I suppose anyone who had worked the night shift (if working includes sitting around, watching 8 episodes of Smallville on DVD...) and then spent the day turning their guts inside out would look pretty bad.

He looked much better today. Tired, but better. He needs to be recovered by tomorrow so we can go on a long bike ride. It's been like 4 days! Our bikes might think we've abandoned them...

Oh, and for your enjoyment, I bring you How To Freak A Cat Out:


Get 'em a mousie as big as they are...

No, it's not my helmet.
I haven't wrecked.
Yet.

It's a picture emailed to me by a friend when I first began to muse over the whole motorcycle thing, and one I've seen in a couple of places online since.

His reason in sending it to me: a visual on Why Full Face Helmets Are A Good Idea. He also espoused fullgear:

• a leather or mesh jacket (with armor)
  
• gloves
  
• good boots
  
• heavy jeans, though leather chaps would be better
  

And I do all that. I wear a full face helmet. I wear a fully armored mesh jacket, even though I would be more comfortable without, especially at stoplights where there's no moving air to cool me off. I wear motorcycle-specific gloves, with knuckle and palm padding. I wear leather boots that go up over my ankle, even though they give me a bit of a rash.

For me, it's not a choice. It's wear it or don't ride. Most of the riders I see around here don't wear all the gear; most have helmets on, but they ride in t-shirts and shorts, tennis shoes or--though I can't fathom how--flip flops. The mother in me wants to say I don't understand how they can do that to themselves, but as sweat pools in my hair, I totally get it.

It's fricking hot out there, and they've made a choice. Granted, they may not understand what will happen to their skin if they go off the bike at speeds even as slow as 25 mph, but they've made a conscious choice. Comfort over safety.

The ones who are sans helmet...those are the ones I don't understand. At slow speeds if you get knocked off the bike and hit head first, you're going to have some damage, possibly irreversible damage. Like, ya might get yourself dead and stuff.

Yet...I support the choice. I support the right to be totally, incredibly stupid.

I don't support what that choice might inflict on someone else: picking up your medical tab. Agonizing through your post-accident care. Saddling someone else with the financial burden of long term rehabilitative care, or with long term personal care. No one else should have to bear the brunt of your decision to ride without a helmet.

There are a couple of states that, where they normally require the wearing of helmets, provide for an element of choice. If you can prove you have adequate medical coverage, you can ride lid-free. You get a neat little sticker for your license plate to avoid being pulled over by the cops, and you can ride your little heart out with the wind blowing though your hair.

As far as I can see, it's a fair compromise. You prove you won't be dumping all the burden onto someone else (no way round the emotional aspect, I don't think) and you can set the skid lid aside.

I will always wear a helmet. I'll always wear a full face helmet, if for no other reason that I don't think I'd enjoy bugs and other things bouncing off my face at 45 mph. And there's that whole Keeping Of My Face thing. If I'm ever tempted, all I have to do is look at that picture.

But that's my decision.

The politicians can create all these laws about what riders should do, pontificating over protecting people from themselves, but in the end it doesn't help much. Riders who hate the idea just go out and buy these thin little novelty helmets that don't do anything other than keep cops off them. They might as well be not wearing anything.

Or you wind up with this person.

She is wearing a helmet.

Yep.

I don't think wearing it like this was exactly a choice, though...

Nope.

See, The Government Is Considerate...They Warned You



Warned Me, Too..



What...you doubt it?

Overheard in the library yesterday:

• Oh I'll read the book but I'm not writing a report on it. School is OUT!
  
• Um...the toilet in the men's room is stopped up and overflowing but I didn't do it.
  
• Mommy when you fart you suppose to say EXCUSE ME!
  
• Who the phck was Dewey anyway?
  
• I'm going to count every book in here!
  
• So help me God if you don't get up right now...
  
• Can I get a book if the title is weird?
  
• But I'm not done counting!
  
• Mommy the boy's room floor is wet and I can't go in there but I really hafta go!
  
• If I eat all my lunch can I have ice cream after?
  
• Can we go to McDonald's for lunch?
  
• Excuse me...the men’s room seems to be flooding.
  
• Mommy...mommy...mommy...mommy...
  
• But I don't want to get a movie here I want to get a book!
  
• My shoes are wet now.
  

Feeling Like Longfellow Frost

Her name is Millie
Goal reached
I have no doubt expenses will continue to mount
Malcolm gets props
Most people would have left her
Or put her down.

Twice today I rode
Once with windshield on
Once with windshield off
Then left it off, because it’s cooler without
Physically cooler

I realized as I was leaned over
Taking a corner
That I was smiling in my helmet
Where no one else could see

Now I understand the want
Of learning how to fly

Buddah, commando cuddling
I sit, he stomps up my body
Where he can curl on my chest
My cupped arm holding him up
And he purrs
So hard that it feels like my heart vibrates

He talks to me now
Long conversations, the way Max does
For a small kitty, he has a lot to say
And I have time to listen

I wrote this week
Just a little
Just enough
Library Bob was not there
I think he’s read all the books by now

For a brief moment tonight
I felt like a failure
Looking in the mirror
Pissed off at weight gained back

And then I thought
Mirrors just don’t matter
Because they don’t show
Everything that’s right
Like the feeling of flying
Heart swelling commando cuddle purring
Stringing words together

And I heard a cat outside the bathroom door
Calling out as if saying
Either come out or let me in
Because I want to be with you
The cats don’t care what I see in the mirror

After a moment, neither did I
So I opened the door
And realized it was not me that was wanted
It was my opposable thumbs
10 pm
Snack time

:::checks date:::
Happy Canada Day
Even though it’s almost over
Eh?

Hey...go to Dropped In and if you can, toss a buck or two his way. He saved a kitten that had been hit by a car and is trying to scrape together the resulting vet bill. She looks a lot like my little psychokitty, so I'm kind of partial to her already ;)

When two cats are engaged in conversation, and they stop as soon as you walk in the room, and then they both look at you like you interrupted something important, should you be worried?

I thought so.

I'll go hide in the bathroom now...

4

Today we shall have cake. Or cookies. Or a donut. Or maybe just some frozen yogurt from Costco. But we’ll have something, because today is 4 years out from having my head probed as proof that I really do have a brain.

Go on. Go have something yummy and sweet and totally not diet worthy. Use my brainiversary as an excuse to pig out, even if just for a snack.

Assorted Cells Of Grey Matter Explodeth In My Head

• I hate super-hot weather more than I hate super cold weather. With a projected high of 108 for Vacaville today—hotter than Sacramento and even Fairfield, which is within spitting distance—I think I will stay inside and contemplate all the work I should be doing.


• That doesn’t mean I’ll actually do the work. I’ll just think about it while I sit here and play online.


• I did venture out long enough to go to WalMart to buy a mop (that I may never use) and two 12 packs of Cherry 7-Up Plus. Because, you know, life without soda is not life worth living.


• I had a moment of panic when reading an email from Murf this morning; he wanted to know where in my archives to look for a eulogy-for-the-living I had written for his dad and my heart damn hear popped until I read further that he just wanted to print it out… Note to Murf: don’t do that again unless you preface it with “He’s not dead, but…”


• Back in February I posted about scoring this little gem on eBay, thinking I was just bidding on the cables that connect it to my computer…I already had one. Several people emailed me, asking if they could buy the extra, but I had already promised to sell it to someone.


• The person to whom I had promised to sell it needed a little time to scrape the money together, but promised she would pay for it in time for us to include that money in what we owed on our taxes. I took her at her word…Here we are in June, and I still have it. So, if you were one of those interested, email me. I’m looking to sell for $50. It's spoken for, thanks for playing!


• It’s a PDA that functions as a nifty word processor; you don’t need the serial cable that connect it to a computer if all you use it for is writing—it has a compact flash slot and you can use a card to move files back and forth—but I’ve noticed cables on eBay now for about $20. The case is a little scratched up but it works just fine.


• If no one wants it, I’m just gonna put it on eBay.


• No, I don’t know why I bulleted all this. I like bullets, I guess.

Once Again, My Brain Done Melted So I Bring You Cats To Look At...

Ya know what? When it's 104 degrees, it's just too hot to ride around on a motorcycle.

Please send cooler weather...75 would be nice. Thank you.

You know how you feel really bad when you forget someone's birthday? Like you just kicked their puppy because for some stupid reason you thoughtit would be funny, and all it did was made them cry?

That's normal.

But please tell me why I feel bad because I forgot that yesterday was Max's birthday. It was his fifth birthday, I forgot, and I honestly do feel bad about that.

We'll make it up to him (oh stop rolling your eyes) with shrimp. But making it up to him impies I think he really cares... Oh, Lord, I am really losing it, aren't I?

Don't answer that.

Nope, still haven't really cleaned.
Nope, still don't really care.
However, nothing that's growing in the kitchen is actually moving, so it's all good...

I am a horrible housekeeper.

Hell, I feel like I should stand up in a group, everyone in those uncomfortable metal chairs used in school auditoriums and gyms for mass overflow to open events, all lined in a perfect little circle, a paper nametag stuck to my chest, as I fold my hands before me and utter, “Hello, my name is Thumper, and my house is disgusting 95% of the time.”

Everyone will then clap and praise me for my honesty, because they, too, suck at keeping a clean house. We would all smile and support one another, but because we’re all there with our butts plastered onto hard steel, no one’s house is getting any cleaner.

I walked into the bathroom today and realized I had to do it. I had to not just pick up the dirty towel on the floor and the empty TP rolls that were lined up on the counter, but I had to get down on my hands and knees and scrub. I needed to clean the toilet. I needed to wipe and clean and then wipe and clean the vanity some more.

While I was on my hands and knees, trying to get behind the toilet, I had two thoughts:

1. Whose bright idea was it to place toilets so close to bathtubs and vanities, or even walls, that getting behind it is a royal pain? Did no one ever stop to think that someday someone would be contorting themselves in order to scrub the nether regions of the throne?

And

2. This is all my sister’s fault. I suck at housecleaning, and it’s all her fault. Oh, she doesn’t know it’s her fault and I’m sure she would vehemently disagree, but I know it’s her fault. It’s her fault because, during those years when we shared a room, I never had to clean it. Now, we were both sent to our room to clean it, but after 5 minutes, she would place her hands on her hips, sigh hard, and say, “Just get out. This will be a lot easier without your ‘help.’”

Heh.

It made me very happy then, but the long term effect is that I did not learn how to clean. I learned how to avoid cleaning, and that I am very good at.

Now, don’t get the idea that there was no parental instruction involved in learning how to clean. We had to take turns setting the table, clearing the table, and doing dishes. I can do dishes. Or if I didn’t have a dishwasher, I could do dishes. But since I have one, that’s a moot skill. The thing is, by not having a dishwasher as a child, I did not learn that there is no kitchen fairy who loads the dishwasher, hence sometimes (read: often) stuff sits in the sink over night, waiting for that elusive fairy to show up.

When it came to other household chores, I was a master of getting out of it. I’m not even sure how, but I suspect it had to do with lots of whining, lots of foot dragging, lots of pointing out that my friends were outside and they needed me to play shortstop.

Oh, and did you know there’s no laundry fairy, either? Damn, was I ever surprised to find that out…

Would I like a clean house? Heck, yeah. I’d love for it to be all shiny and sparkly and fresh smelling. But getting that is work. On the whole, I’d rather be out riding or driving around topless or playing online.

Hey, I never said I was mature.

I am immature and my house is dirty and I don’t really care most of the time. Thinking about it, I don’t need the support group. Those of you with sterile, clean houses should actually envy me. While you’re vacuuming and wiping things down and dusting this and that, I’m out riding or driving, and I have a frickin’ huge smile on my face.

Yep, clean is over rated.

:::wanders off, debating: clean the kitchen, or go for a ride… :::

It’s just a little warm out there right now…

Earlier, when it was only 95, I decided to put on all my gear—jacket, gloves, boots, helmet—and take the bike out for a spin. I’m not nuts; it was intentional. I wanted to see how miserable it would be riding in the heat, and if it’s something I could routinely do. I figured if it was bad, I could turn around and be home in 5 minutes.

While the bike is moving, it’s not bad, not bad at all.

Even stopped at lights, it’s not bad. The jacket keeps the direct heat off my skin, and I’m moving before I can feel it too much past the mesh. My face did start to sweat after about five minutes, and after 15 or so I stopped at KFC to get a soda. I figured I’d drink that and then head over to the library for a while.

I was only inside KFC for five minutes; when I came out and sat on the bike, the seat wasn’t just hot, it was hot.

I’m surprised my butt doesn’t have blisters.

Well, ok, I’m not limber enough to look and see, but it doesn’t feel like there are any. I’m not asking anyone to check for me.

I rode over to the library and rolled through the parking lot; all the spaces that were in the shade were taken, so I turned around and headed home.

The idea of leaving the bike sitting there in the sun for so long, the seat getting hotter and hotter, just wasn’t all that appealing. I’d kind of like to keep the skin on my backside.

Next time, I’ll take a light towel and keep it in my backpack. Or just keep riding. Riding is still a lot more fun that working.

Max has discovered a new way to wake me up at Way Too Early in the morning. He takes his little paw, curls it into a furry little fist, and pokes me in the eye.

Seriously.

The first time I thought he was probably just touching to see if I was alive. Second time, it was just luck . But when he did it five mornings running…he knows exactly what he’s doing. Even when I dragged the squirt bottle out and had it ready, he poked me in the eye with that furry fist of fury and then ran as I reached to spray him.

I am not a morning person and he knows it.

But this morning…I woke up at 4:15. He was curled up on the dresser, saw I was awake, and practically squealed as he jumped onto the bed and raced towards my head. I was prepared for the clawless jab to my eye, but instead he plopped down, put his head on my shoulder, and squirmed to get as close as he could.

It was still the middle of the night for me, he wanted attention, and I was not going back to sleep until he got it.

So I rubbed his little head and scratched under his chin, and tried to fall back asleep. He jammed his cold wet nose into my armpit and started to purr, but I couldn’t even manage to doze. I stayed in bed--with the exception of 30 seconds when I had to go get Buddah off the Boy’s doorknob (he wanted in and was determined…)--until 6:15, long after Max had left the bedroom.

It’s now 5:30 in the evening, and my poor ass is dragging. I don’t know how the rest of you manage to wake up at human hours.

On the whole, I think I’d rather have Max poke me in the eye at 6:30; at least then I seem to be able to get back to sleep. This cuddling crap just throws me off completely.

I may never get to ride my own bike again...

Poor Spouse Thingy.

Today my favorite new toy needed to go in to the dealership for its 600 mile checkup and maintenance, and because I did not want to sit there for 2 hours, he was obliged to follow me there (woohoo! I went on a road I was avoiding, and it was fun!) with the car, and then amuse me until time to pick the bike up.

Chewed off the morning, for sure.

Then we got home, opened the garage door, and realized the front right tire on my car was flat. So he had to wrestle with the jack and the lug wrench thingy and put the spare on, then go get the flat fixed (for free!)

By the time we got home, it was just about time for him to leave for an evening the Boy and I think should be called That’s Five Hours Of My Life I’ll Never Get Back.

Yep. He’s now off trying to stay awake through the class room portion of the Basic Rider’s Class.

His reward for today will be the riding part of the class tomorrow and Sunday, where he will get to go zoooooom, and where he will learn to weave through cones, take 90 degree turns, and try to do 2 U-turns in a tiny-tiny box.

I have no doubt he will pass. He’s played with my bike in the church parking lot, and he did quite well with it.

Stay tuned for the list o’things I’m gonna stick on eBay* soon…Gotta get the boy a bike of his own, because I am so not about the whole sharing thing…

*Like a nifty PDA (um, yeah, one I was going to sell back in January…the person who HAD to have it never paid for it…), womens size 10 inline skates, DDR for PS2…

How many people are freaking out over the date?
OMG THE WORLD IS GOING TO END!
No. No, it’s not.
It didn’t end a thousand years ago when it was 06/06/06.
It didn’t end a thousand years before that on 06/06/06.
Besides, today is not 6/6/06.
It’s 6/6/2006.
An arbitrary number on a calendar created by mere mortals.
That ’06 is a truncated number for convenience.
The Apocalypse does not begin today.
It might have started a few years ago and we just don’t know it.
But it’s not today.
Today is not the Mark Of The Beast.
Today is Tuesday.
Today is the day we go to the commissary.
That’s evil enough for one day.

Know that uneasy feeling when you're driving and you realize there's a cop behind you, even though there's not a thing wrong with the way you're driving?

Imagine that...only you're on a motorcycle, and there's a bike cop right behind you...he's not trying to pass, but he's wandering back and forth in the lane, taunting you. It's like he's chanting, "I know you're a newby...I know you're a newby..."

I did not wet myself.
Nope.
I took the first right I could find.
Yes, I'm very brave...

BEHOLD! Found On FARK, The Wheels The Spouse Thingy Should Get...

Not just him, but every red blooded man with a taste for da beer.



Holds a case of beer and 8 pounds of ice, and cruises along at a nice 15 mph. Really now, what more could a guy ask for?

Hey, Father's Day is coming up...

Obviously, it was evident that I was having way too much fun, out there putt-putting around the streets of Vacaville on my bike. So, the day before yesterday, the Spouse Thingy went to the DMV and got himself a learner’s permit, and will be taking the MSF basic rider’s class weekend after next.

I am not so mean that I would not let him sit on my bike. Heck, I even let him start it up, find the friction zone, and first gear. And then I made him get off of it. My bike. Mine!

No, actually he’s been zipping around the church parking lot quite nicely and got the hang of it without a lot of effort. By the time the class rolls around it will mostly be an exercise in reinforcements for him, plus how to swerve and not run a Rider Coach over. The day after the course is over he’ll be quite capable of riding around town, I think.

So I’ll have to share my bike.
Dammit.
:::wanders off to find tons of stuff to stick on eBay:::