When I Am Old I Shall Wear Psychedelic--- And A Psychedelic Hat

*

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple....

("Warning--When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple", by Jenny Joseph)

*

Things I Do Which Blaine Claims Drives Him Insane

(or: Things I Do Which I Think Are Perfectly Fine But Other People Don't Think So But I Don't Give a Dang What They Think)

*

1. Blaine claims that I frequently "embarrass him" at Walmart.

Well, what the hell. Okay, so once when we were shopping there he made a rude comment about me "not having a brain" -- and in reply I energetically burst out singing the Wizard of Oz Scarecrow Song "If I Only Had a Brain" while merrily dancing down the middle of the canned foods aisle.

(And let me add here that I did get applause.)

He also doesn't like it when I sometimes make exuberant declarations which nearby Walmart shoppers can hear, like "For God's sakes, Blaine, why should we spend a fortune on brand-name cat food when the stupid cats aren't even GRATEFUL?"

But, truly, I think his complaint is completely invalid because there are times when Blaine creates a scene himself by farting loudly and then exclaiming: "Bo!" --- like it was me who farted, which usually results in both of us dissolving into waves of mad giggling to the stares of nearby shoppers.

*

2. Blaine complains that I talk to myself.... all the time.

Okay, they say that talking to yourself is okay just as long as you don't "answer yourself". But I will admit here that I not only answer myself, but I hold debates with myself, argue with myself, plead with myself, bargain with myself--- and sometimes hold a round table discussion group among several of my selves.

And well....like the other day. I may have been spotted on the makeup aisle in CVS Drugstore having a discussion with myself about the benefits of a new Covergirl foundation. I was debating the fact that their new foundation contains Oil of Olay Regenerist face cream, but their other foundation is much less expensive. However, I argued with myself, I needed to figure in the fact that I had a $2 off coupon for the expensive foundation---and that Blaine was going to get $3 off our total bill because he had accumulated store points with the use of his CVS "store card"---which would mean that I could get the expensive foundation for $13.99 minus $2.00, minus another $3.00 --- which comes to a grand total of.....

...and then Blaine spied me and rudely exclaimed: "What in the HOLY HANNAH are you talking to yourself about NOW?"

(Once I pretended to be talking to a potted plant when my therapist, Fred, came to retrieve me for our appointment. The utter mortification on his face was totally worth whatever crap he subsequently scribbled about me on his ever-present little notepad.....)

*

3. Blaine says my habit of talking "at" the television irritates him.

But I can't help it---things just burst out of me, you know? Like if we're watching the Nancy Grace show and it shows some heinous criminal denying everything, I might blurt out "Wait till the jury sees what's on your computer's hard drive, you MURDERER! "

Or, like when I see yet another fast-talking infomercial host talking about how some kitchen product only costs $19.99--- and then he adds that you can get a second appliance for free if you call "in the next ten minutes"--- I might holler out at the TV: "Do you think I'm stupid? It's not really 'free' if you jack up the 'shipping & handling' charges to TWICE the actual worth of the thing!"

(Which they do, you know?)

And about those ads which promise something if you "call in the next ten minutes" --- if I see one of those ads I might call their 800 phone number and ask: "Okay, did I make the ten-minute deadline?" And when the person replies with a yes, I'll blurt: "WRONG! You're lying! I waited a full 18 minutes to call! So if you guys are lying about the ten-minute thing, then why should I believe anything else you say about this product?" while Blaine rolls his eyes...

Or else when I'm watching "Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares" I might tell the restaurant owner on the screen to just "hush up and make the meatballs like Gordon says or your stupid restaurant is going to go bankrupt and your mother will be out on the street".

Blaine will invariably sigh and ask "Why do you talk to the people on the damn TV when you know they can't hear you?"

(I don't know. But I do know that a TV doesn't talk back.)

*

4. Blaine thinks it's "cruel" that I torment telemarketers or creditors who call our home.

The minute an annoying telemarketer asks for myself or Blaine, I quiz them with: "Are you a telemarketer or creditor?" and then listen to them squirm while making excuses.

Or else I'll say: "You just pronounced my last name wrong---and unless you pronounce it correctly I'm going to hang up on you." And then I'll laugh maniacally and say: "Nice try, but NO CIGAR, stoogerino!" each time they make another fruitless attempt to pronounce it correctly.

Another time I might feign timidity while fearfully asking: "Um...who is calling, please?" And then when the caller repeats themself, I'll suddenly SCREAM at the top of my lungs something like "DAMMIT, I ASKED YOU WHO THE HELL YOU ARE!" and then laugh like a hyena.

(But my favorite is when I'll ask in a friendly tone: "Could you hold on a second?" and then put the phone down....for several hours.)

*

5. Blaine thinks it's ridiculous that I send "complaint" emails to companies who irritate me.

Okay, so I sent one to Quizno's Subway Sandwiches because I object to their current TV ads where a sandwich oven is talking to the cook in an erotic tone, referring to how they "both enjoyed" some prior physical event (upon which statement the cook looks down at his private area)---and then the oven demands that the sandwich cook "put the torpedo-shaped sandwich in him". And then, additionally, the oven instructs the cook to repeat the cost of the torpedo-shaped sandwich in a "sexy manner".

For all that is holy, spare me this sordid type of advertising!!

I'm sorry, but I think that a sandwich oven lewdly begging to have a torpedo-shaped sandwich "put into him" is a disgusting method of advertising. Give me a break! What if children hear that? Call me a prude, but I think this commercial is just outright SANDWICH PORNOGRAPHY.

Because what happens if the poor cook refuses to be goaded into participation in such sexual activities? Would he then be discriminated against for his refusal? Would he be retaliated against by the "good ole ovens network"? I believe that this ad sexually objectifies sandwich cooks. And thus, I think that victimized Quizno's sandwich cooks have every right to sue for sexual sandwich discrimination.

*

6. Blaine complains that I like to buy "tacky", useless souvenirs whenever we're traveling.

So what if I like the typical "souveniry" stuff that you find in any airport, beach shop, or cruise ship dock? What's wrong with that?

(Is 'souveniry' a word?)

It happens every time Blaine and I go on vacation. He'll be in a hoity-toity shop buying some elegant Battenburg lace napkins or crystal candlesticks --- and I'll be outside on the curb bartering with a wizened old street vendor for a sugar bowl shaped like a big smiling lobster--- with matching salt and pepper shakers shaped like the lobster's claws.

*

7. Blaine says I have too soft of a heart and tip too much at restaurants and the beauty parlor.

Hey, those poor waiters and waitresses work their butts off for minuscule wages and so I feel sorry for them. And absolutely NOBODY in this entire town but Shirley knows how to cut my hair. She's the only hair stylist in Kansas who knows what the "Farrah Fawcett haircut" is.

(And I'm so very weary of teeny-bopper hair stylists who reply: "Don't you mean 'The Rachel'?")

*

8. Blaine thinks it's wacky that I believe in angels--- and that they are hanging around nearby.

But seriously, haven't you ever wondered what in the hell your stupid cats are looking at that YOU CAN'T SEE? My cats are constantly looking at "something" in the air over me--- and their eyes follow it all around the ceiling of whichever room I'm in---and it drives me crazy that I can't see whatever the hell they're seeing.

Because I'm telling you, they're definitely seeing something. Call me crazy, but I'm convinced there's SOMEBODY there.....and I have been told that it is angels.

And so I choose to believe that it IS angels. (Who else would it be?)

*

9. Blaine thinks I'm crazy for making remarks to the above-mentioned angels.

It just irks Blaine no end when I say to an invisible angel: "Hey--you there! Don't go telling The Lord that I covet our neighbor's new Rav4 Sport Edition with 4-wheel drive. My damn Jeep is shot to hell. And oh yeah--- please also don't tell The Lord that we never go to church..."

Blaine will always roll his eyes and sigh, while remarking something like: "I don't think the Lord needs a silly angel to tattle on you---He can see what you're doing His-own-dang-Self!"

And then I reply right back: "Hey, it says right there in the dadgum Bible that angels are MESSENGERS, Blaine --- MESSENGERS!"

*

10. Blaine doesn't appreciate my oft-used habit of heavy sarcasm.

For example, once, after tiring of Blaine's endless sophmoric attempts to amuse himself with loud farting, I thought I had devised a way to embarrass him. And so the next time he made a really loud and long fart-- and then looked at me with his usual idiotic proud expression--- I put on a bored expression and wordlessly held up an Olympic Games "score card" on which was written a shameful score of "2.5".

(But my tactic failed miserably when Blaine calmly retorted: "Oh, I think that one merited at least a '6'....")

*

11. Blaine thinks it's stupid that I ridicule TV commercials for not being more "honest" about what they're really trying to say.

I mean, for God's sakes, don't you get tired of those Activia yogurt commercials where Jamie Lee Curtis claims that the yogurt helps her "sluggish digestion"? Just once I'd like to hear her say: "This yogurt helps me poop better".

*

12. Blaine says some of my pranks are "moldy oldies".

Okay, I admit it--- whenever a hapless pharmacist asks on the microphone at the Walgreen's Pharmacy drive-thru window "Can I help you?" --- I nearly always reply with "Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon?"

(The other times I might reply with: "Uh..yeah... I'd like two Big Macs, a medium fries....um... and a cheeseburger Happy Meal with a female toy, two apple pies, and a Diet Coke. Thanks.")

) One time a sassy pharmacist replied with: "We have Pepsi, not Coke"...

*

13. Blaine claims that living with me is resulting in his being "color brainwashed", due to my love of knitting with bizarre, psychedelic color combinations.

When I modeled the just-completed Mystery Project (which he had previously ridiculed as looking like "Mrs. Bozo's Jacket") he was extremely surprised to find that he truly liked it---but then he just as quickly exclaimed: "Oh, geez--- either I'm starting to actually like your weird stuff..... or I'm just as crazy as you are!"

(I have NEVER claimed to be sane....but I do take offense at the words "weird stuff"...)

*

14. Blaine thinks it's ridiculous that I enter what he calls "dumb contests".

Okay, BIG DEAL---so I entered the "Design Your Own Dunkin' Doughnut" contest. I defy anybody to come up with a more delicious and attractive bar-shaped doughnut than my "Bo's Kansas Cornfield Silo".

*

15. Blaine doesn't appreciate some of my frequent practical jokes.

Okay, so one time I replaced the "wallpaper" screen on Blaine's computer with a photo I had taken of him bending over, revealing a large portion of his...um.... buttocks area.

But if you could have seen the mortified expression on his face as he watched his derriere appear on the screen--HEH!---it totally cracked me up.

(Get it? Cracked me up? Get it?)

(....I guess you had to be there...)

*

The Dream....

*

If you ever thought that dreams don't come true, then (grab your hankie) and listen to this wonderful lady---because after listening to her, you'll come to know that dreams really DO come true!

*

*

I dreamed a dream in time gone by

When hope was high

and life worth living,

I dreamed that love would never die,

I dreamed that God would be forgiving...

* *

Sing it, Susan!!! You sing it girl!

*

sshhh....Spring Is Coming.....

*

And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing...

("There's A Song In The Air", Josiah G. Holland, 1819-1881)

*

(See the birdie?)

I went for a walk today...

It had just finished raining...

And so I gazed skywards so that leftover raindrops would fall on my face...

I stomped in mud puddles on purpose, not caring a fig that people driving by probably thought I was nutsy-cuckoo.

I mailed Blaine's tax documents to the Infernal Internal Revenue Service.

I jaywalked...

I went to 7-11 and had a coffee while turning in the scratch-off tickets that I had found in my Easter Egg--- for which I won a grand total of $18.

(Eighteen bucks---not bad, eh?)

I took pictures of my fine feathered friends, the neighborhood's birdies.

(Too bad my inexpensive camera doesn't do "zoom" shots so well.)

Happy Springtime, everybody...

*

Hippity Hoppity, All The Way Down The Damn Green Bean Trail....

*

Okay..... deep breath here....

But you know, sometimes I reach the point where I just want to stand on my rooftop and scream out to the cosmos....

I want to scream out the universal, never ending, quintessential, penultimate (and so forth) question...

I want to know, by God!

WHY, Lord, WHY?

WHY?

I repeat--- why????

Why is it that for every single dang holiday family dinner I get ordered assigned to make the damn Green Bean Casserole?

Why can't I make something else for Easter Dinner?

Is this all because of that regrettable Cilantro Incident?

I mean, I've been assigned to make the stupid Green Bean Casserole for Blaine's family holiday dinners since 1993. Why can't I make something else? Would it tear a hole in the universe if I made the scalloped potatoes? Would it rend the fabric of the space/time continuum if I made the ham? Would it cause an international incident if I made the hot rolls? Would it worsen the national debt if I made the chocolate cake? Would it ruin political relations with Canada and Mexico if I made the marshmellowed yams?

Would it upset the ecology of the 2 million acres of Kansas wheat fields if I made the dadgum salad?

I ask you, WHY?

Bo's Cat Cam --- 4/7/09, 12:03 pm

The Greatest Knitting Show on Earth....

*

Jackie Blue...

likes a dream that can never come true...

("Jackie Blue", Ozark Mountain Daredevils) *

*

* Okay, they say everybody gets fifteen minutes of fame.

And, I.... um... was asked by a really cool online Spanish/English magazine, Yareah.com, if I'd like to be featured in this month's issue (Issue No. 6)--- in the "Art" section.

This month they are doing the Art Section on.... um... "Ugliness". And they wanted to feature my beloved Pinwheel Sweater.

Along with the photos of the Pinwheel Sweater and some information on my background, they also requested a photograph of me, and so I gave them one from my university cheerleading days.

(But I've gone double-colored blonde recently.)

Here's the link to my article (Article No. 7, titled simply "Bo") in Yareah.com.

Okay, okay. So it's in there under "Ugliness". I really don't mind. I mean, beauty and ugliness are relative terms --- and totally in the eye of the beholder, right?

Right?

Right?

But hey, I'm very flattered and happy to have been featured at all.

But, however .... all this talk about real or imagined ugliness doesn't help my growing fears and discomfort towards my current "Mystery Project" --- a knitting project which Blaine calls "Mrs. Bozo's Sweater".

The other day he actually thought he was hilarious for hollering out: "Bozo's wife called --- and she wants her sweater back!"

Very funny. But okay, so I may have gone a little too wild with the colors. I always have. My old knitting teacher, a darling German lady, used to say in her charming German accent: "Bo, you are so brave wiz zee coleurs--- you should haf been German.

And I'm proud to be brave wiz zee coleurs and told that I should have been German, truly I am --- and I don't give a tinker's damn that Fred, my therapist, regards my taste in colors as a "symptom" of my... uh... mental condition.

So, to that end, I have decided to continue knitting my Mystery Project defiantly --- into a sweater of which a clown's wife could be proud.....

( I wonder if Yareah.com would like to feature my Mystery Project in their next issue.... perhaps in a section called... say... "Apres Circus"?)

*

Weekend Warrior...

It was Little Baby who first alerted us to the threatening weather situation on Saturday.

I looked out the window and noticed that frozen rain had begun to fall.

I checked the weather channel on the television and found that, unfortunately, they were predicting the "Snow Storm of the Century" for all of Kansas. But when I nervously related this fact to Blaine, he casually shrugged it off and said: "No big deal. I was going to grill kabobs on the deck today but I can do it tomorrow."

"Grill kabobs on the deck?" I replied. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he replied nonchalantly. "I've been planning to do them all week. But I'll simply marinate them a little longer and by Sunday they'll be even tastier for grilling."

But I was worried about much more important issues than grilling kabobs on Sunday!

"You idgit," I said. "Grilling is out of the question in this weather. What we need to do is hurry up and get to the grocery store so we can stock up for this storm. The news says it will be a bad one. So we should go to the store NOW--- before the roads ice up and become impassable--- and grab everything we'll need to last us for the entire weekend."

But Blaine wouldn't be swayed from the idea that he was going to "grill on Sunday" , even though he did concede that it would behoove him to make a quick dash to the grocery store.

Blaine can be an obstinate bird, sometimes. Once he gets an idea into his head, he plows towards it like a stubborn mule, no matter WHAT anybody else says, come hell or high water.

And in this case, it looked like high water --- or high snow -- was going to be the problem. Because the freezing rain continued to worsen by the hour. And I fretted until Blaine returned safely from his trip to the grocery store. And he admitted that the store had been completely thronged with frantic crowds who all had exactly the same idea on stocking up on supplies that we had.

And as the weather deteriorated steadily, I couldn't help but to continue pointing out each new development to Blaine while repeating my notion that there was no way in heck that he would be able to grill on the deck come Sunday. In fact, weather conditions looked more and more "un-grill-able" with each passing hour.

"It looks like it might rain for forty days and forty nights...." I quipped.

"Cute," Blaine replied. "But I'm grilling come Sunday...."

Even when I directed his attention to the fact that his precious BBQ-PRO had now iced up to the point where icycles were hanging off of it and it was frozen shut, he never wavered in his determination.

I was really nervous about the ice. Ice storms can bring terrible consequences in Kansas.

"I hope this ice doesn't cause any trees to fall on the power lines," I muttered ominously. "The last thing we need is to lose electricity."

"I don't need electricity to grill on Sunday, " he retorted. "I just need propane..."

And as the day wore on it began sleeting, and soon a fine mist of whitish slush covered the neighborhood. I rather unkindly pulled the curtains open wide so that Blaine could see the harsh circumstances.

"Yep, it's sleetin' so hard out there that we'll be lucky if we don't have to start bringing in animals two-by-two...." I joked.

Then I put on my good ole Bass Pro Shop rubber boots and went outside to find the snow shovel. I had carelessly tossed it somewhere the last time I had tried to clear snow out of the driveway and God only knew where it was. I finally found it, frozen to the deck.

Even when the sleet turned to snow, Blaine wasn't discouraged. But I eyeballed the new development and turned to level a silent, yet meaningful gaze at Blaine.....

"It's only SATURDAY," he stated evenly. "And I told you--- I don't want to grill until SUNDAY."

Whatever...

I tried to entice Blaine into cancelling his grilling plans by making a huge pot of my bad-weather specialty, southern chicken & dumplings. I make my dumplings with Lo-Fat Bisquik, and the leftovers last for two days. But Blaine wouldn't budge in his plans.

By God, he was going to grill on Sunday....

Incidentally (and I don't mean to brag here) but I don't just make good chicken & dumplings --- I make EXCELLENT chicken & dumplings. I boil the chicken all day in the pot, adding lots of sage, chicken boullion, chopped onions, diced carrots, a handful of peas, salt, pepper, a little garlic powder, and a can of Cream O'Mushroom soup. When the soup is done, I thicken it a little before plopping in the dollops of dumpling dough. And I don't just mix up the Bisquik with milk to make the dough. I add things to the Bisquick powder first--- like salt, pepper, sage, paprika, parsley, garlic powder, and onion powder --- thus, making "herbed" dumplings, and THEY ARE GOOOOD.

As my southern grandmother would say about good chicken and dumplings: "It's lairpin'!!"

Anyhoo, by Saturday afternoon a true blizzard had developed, its windy gales blowing layers upon layers of wet snow on the neighborhod--- but idgity Blaine was nonplussed.

"I'm going to grill on Sunday...." was his mantra.

I braved the storm to stomp around outside in my rubber boots, trying to make sure that none of our neighbors had accidentally left their cats or dogs outside--- nobody had --- and I was finally chased back inside when the now gale-force wind got even snowier and the temperature dropped futher.

(Is 'snowier' a word?)

It snowed throughout the evening, and was still going strong when Blaine and I went to bed at about 10:30 pm.

And then....sure enough.....

We woke up on Sunday to find that the snow had stopped.... but the entire neighborhood --- and our back deck --- was buried under at least six inches of snow.

"It'll melt," Blaine declared before I even had a chance to say "I told you so".

"Maybe we should send a dove to fly out and see if there's any land which isn't buried under snow..." I remarked.

"You know, the Noah's Ark jokes are getting old," Blaine replied smartly. "And besides, Noah was in a FLOOD, not a blizzard..."

Stung, I briefly considered making a sarcastic crack about Donner Pass but thought better of it, since that would be in poor taste.

Get it? "Poor taste"?

I know, I know.... pretend I never said it......

Throughout the morning, as I sat knitting on my "Mystery Project" with a bemused expression on my face, Blaine proceeded to methodically lay out his ingredients for the kabobs--- the container of meat marinating in Blaine's own marinade mixed with "secret ingredients" (that he won't even tell his own mother), and a stack of pita breads to "wrap" the kabob meats with. Even when he asked me to chop up some onions and tomatoes for the "relish", I didn't comment--- but my smirk said it all.

And then , as Blaine waited patiently, staring out the window with an expectant look until about 4:30 pm.....

...suddenly, like magic.....

...the dadgum snow began to melt.

"But the BBQ-PRO is still iced shut and you'll never get that propane to flow," I reminded him, thinking a little snottily to myself that he was STILL foiled in his grilling intentions.

"No matter," he replied, unconcerned, whistling to himself.....

(I think it was the tune to "Day-O" by Harry Belafonte......)

Puzzled, I stared at him as he cheerfully whistled his way down the steps to the basement....

...and then returned with a bag of charcoal which --- after he daintily, and with a dandy wrist flourish, brushed the snow off a little appliance I had forgotten about --- he triumphantly proceeded to open --- and then began plopping charcoal chunks, one by one, into his portable table-top Weber charcoal grill....while loudly whistling the tune to "Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz, Oh What a Relief It Is" .....

... and danged if Blaine didn't proceed to GRILL ON SUNDAY.

(You know, those dang kabobs were lairpin'....)

*

Okay, So Isn't Everybody Allowed ONE Mistake Per Year?...

Note to Self:

The next damn time you lay (like a black widow spider) in wait for the damn ice-cream man so that you can accuse him of "reckless driving" on a "cul-de-sac chock full of little kids" (like you're the Nancy Grace of Overland Park)....

...and then after you finish your tirade you sanctimoniously ask for "one of them dang Bomb Pops".....

Do make certain that you didn't spend all your cash on things like groceries at Walmart... or a Coke at the Chick-Fil-A... and that you actually have some damn money in your damn pocket to pay for the damn Bomb Pop with....

Bo's Two Cat Cams --- 3/25/09, 10:23 a.m.

The End of an Era....

*

Oh my my, I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by, See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy...

("Ice Cream Man", Van Halen)

*

Dammit.

Two days in a row I have watched a Sheriff's Deputy squad car come driving ominously down our cul-de-sac--- and then stop in front of some unlucky family's home in order that he could deliver a foreclosure/eviction notice.

And these are families with children...

And each time it happened I stood on my front porch with my hand on my heart in sympathy for those poor people. And I also know that there, but for the grace of God, go Blaine and I. We barely dodged that same bullet last week during the Great Sprint Layoff, when Blaine managed to hold onto his job by the skin of his teeth.

And all this sadness is why, when I heard the sound of an ice-cream truck, I experienced a total surge in my spirits.

The ice-cream man was coming!!

But. things. didn't. go. very. well.

And I'm mad at the ice-cream man.

Again.

To me, there are few things as magical to hear on a sunny day than the sound of an approaching ice-cream truck, its cheerful silver bells playing a happy little ditty which acts as a Pied-Piper to draw forth hoards of neighborhood children, all waving their money in hand, anxious to buy all manner of delightful, frozen treats.

I remember when I was a very young child, before my family moved overseas, we lived in a little California neighborhood frequented by a Good Humor ice cream truck. Lord, how I loved to see that truck coming!

It would stop in the street and all the little kids would gather around its side window, screaming out which ice-creams they wanted. My mother would buy me one of the "candy necklaces", and I would purposefully take a really long time to eat it, "bead" by "bead". Hell, I loved ALL the things on the Good Humor truck--- wondrous things like Bomb Pops, ice cream sandwiches, Popsicles that turned my tongue colors, and those creamy Orange Dreamsicles...

(The trick to eating those double-sticked Popsicles was to figure out how NOT to let one whole half of the popsicle fall off when you had licked it down to a drippy, trickling mess....)

And, like a lot of my childhood loves, I held onto my fascination with ice-cream trucks long after I reached adulthood. (For that matter, I still adore watching the movie "Bambi", going to Knotts Berry Farm, and playing "Mousetrap".)

(Okay, and I also like to play with the Barbie dolls on the toy aisle in Walmart when Blaine is busy in the computer section....)

My trouble with ice-cream trucks began quite a few years ago, right after I had married Blaine. I'll tell you about it here so that you can understand my frustration with ice-cream men.

The Texas Ice-Cream Truck Incident:

At that time, Blaine and I lived in a suburb near Austin, Texas, called Pflugerville. And one day I heard the ice-cream truck coming--- and I ran out of the house barefooted like an idgity bat out of hell. But the minute I left the front door I knew I would have to speed it up even further because the stupid ice-cream truck was rolling down the street somewhat rapidly.

I soon caught up with three other little kids who were running after the truck too--- and the four of us raced down the street together. One of the kids was slightly pudgy and couldn't run as fast as the rest of us--- and I felt kinda sorry for him because I knew that he'd never catch that truck on his own.

Down the sidewalk we raced--- but the truck was going so fast that I feared it would get away from us. I knew it would be up to me---the fastest runner-- to catch the stupid thing. So, thinking I could cut it off at the streetcorner, I took a detour through a neighbor's yard.... not realizing until it was way too late that their unkempt lawn was chock-full of the dreaded Texan sticky-burrs...

... and I fell DOWN like a sack of rocks.

I had hit those sticky-burrs and instantly started stumbling--- then fell down altogether and started tumbling, rolling over and over myself while screaming in agony as my poor feet now had umpteen-eleven horrible sticky-burrs embedded in them----and then I screamed even more after all three of those other little kids--- who'd been hard on my heels--- all subsequently tripped over me when their own little feet were punctured by the evil sticky-burrs...

......and then all four of us ended up flopping around on that damnable lawn like beached flounder, screaming and holding our painful feets...

And none of us ever did catch that damn ice-cream truck.

Where was I?

Oh yes, I'm pissed off at the ice-cream man.

Again.

Anyway, so the other day I heard the ice-cream man coming for the first time in the season. And although I was happily knitting on my second Pinwheel Sweater (one into which I'm trying to put a lot of the colors black and red--- with some fair-isle patterns thrown in),

...and Leonard was innocently trying to sleep on me...

...I threw down my knitting and unceremoniously shoved poor sleeping Leonard aside---

...and I shot out the front door.

(Okay, and so I might have been using Little Baby as a footstool at the time--- and I may have accidentally stomped her in my haste to catch the ice-cream truck--- but I'm sure she'll forgive me come Tuna Time...)

But things did not go as I planned---

...and everything degenerated into a very bad deja-vu nightmare of that Pflugerville incident all over again.

Because that damn truck--- a "Frosty Treats" truck if I may say so--- came flying down the street like a dadgum NASCAR pacer vehicle, speeding six ways until Sunday just like that dratted Pflugerville truck had done!

Dammit---what IS IT with speeding ice-cream trucks?

Aren't ice-cream trucks supposed to drive SLOWLY around the neighborhood, stopping periodically when people flag them down to buy ice-cream? Why in the hell would an ice-cream truck SPEED?

I ask you, WHY?

This guy was flying down our street like the Dale Earnhardt of ice-cream trucks. But five or six of us hopeful ice-cream customers ran to the curb and obligingly waved our arms up and down, semaphore-fashion in the Internationally Accepted Flag-An-Ice-Cream-Truck-Down Language--- but it didn't do us the slightest bit of good...

BECAUSE THE GUY TOTALLY IGNORED US!

But as the streaking truck blasted his way towards the end of our cul-de-sac, his silver bells jangling so loud that I thought they'd jangle themselves right off the truck, our hopes rose a bit--- because it looked for sure that he would have to stop since the street culminated in a dead-end. Some of us even stepped off the sidewalks into the street, thinking he'd be forced to stop and we could approach him....

But no! As he neared the dead-end of the street, the driver then stepped on the gas and peeled rubber while making a fast and furious U-turn!

And I knew better than to run after him this time--- oh, how I knew. No more sticky burrs for me, by God...

As the truck left us in his dust, I figured the whole sorry episode was over....

But then.... one lone, brave little kid ran into the middle of the street and took a defiant stance, shaking his tiny little fist at the fast-disappearing ice-cream truck...

...and I held my breath to hear what profound anguish he would scream...

"You fartknocker!" he hollered.

Fartknocker??

That's a new one on me. Fartknocker? I was thinking something along the lines of "butthead", "jerk", or "idiot" (or, in my southern accent, "idgit".) But "fartknocker"? But I guess the terminology changes from one generation to the next. When I was that little kid's age, we had a totally different set of classifications for use when "calling names".

One time in the 7th grade I was sitting in a math class next to my cousin, Dana Cherie. Dana Cherie was always a total juvenile delinquent and that day I was trying to IGNORE her insistent elbow-jabs and whispers--- because the teacher was looking directly as us with a very stern look on her face, and I didn't want to get into trouble YET AGAIN because of idgity Dana Cherie.

Finally, since Dana couldn't get a response from me (because I was always a goody-goody in front of teachers) (see my post on Eddie Haskell), she passed me a large, folded note. Before I even had a chance to open it, the teacher was on me like a duck on a junebug. "BO--HEE--MI--AN!" she hollered, enunciating every syllable of my first and last names. "You come right up to the front of the class and read that note aloud!"

I knew the teacher probably thought that forcing me to read a note from Dana would embarass the hell out of me and Dana Cherie--- but I knew Dana Cherie only too well and dreaded reading the note for completely different reasons than simply the humiliation of being caught passing notes. So, reluctantly, I shuffled up to the front of the class and read the damn note out loud...

"Doesn't that Poindexter sitting next to you look like a total booger-head?"

Good Lord, where was I?

You'll have to excuse me, but this whole ice-cream truck thing has totally discombobulated me and caused me to re-live traumatic events from my childhood...

Anyway, the first thing I did after this whole upsetting ice-cream truck incident was to stomp into the house and sit down at the computer to look up the telephone number of "Frosty Treats Ice-Cream Company" on the internet--- because I was going to call those yay-hoo's, by God, and give them a hearty piece of my mind.

But when I typed in the words "Frosty Treats" into the Google search engine....

(And so it is Googled, and so it shall be done....)

...I was horrified by what I found.

First there was this distressing article in the news.

Eh?

And then this one.

EEGADS.....

Alas! What in the Sam Hill is going on in Ice-Cream-Truckdom?

I had no idea that the ice-cream truck business could ever be anything but happy, fun, and Mom's-Apple-Pie, you know? But I was undaunted. After reading those startling revelations, I called the Frosty Treats company on the phone and asked for the manager.

I finally reached someone who said they were the manager and I then politely explained what had happened. I reported to him that the guy had driven way too fast, which is bad for two reasons:

1) It's not safe to drive that fast because our neighborhood has lots of children playing on the sidewalks and in the streets; and

2) Ice-cream trucks are supposed to DRIVE SLOWLY in order that they may STOP easily when they see someone trying to get their attention. I reiterated that it didn't make any sense for the stupid truck to even COME to our neighborhood if the guy isn't going to STOP and SELL ICE-CREAM, right??

And after I explained all the above in what I thought was a logical, courteous manner, what do you think the manager of Frosty Treats said?

He shrugged it off by saying: "Oh well, there's really nothing I can do about it unless I know which driver it is. The drivers don't have specific routes--- they go wherever they feel like at the moment. But if you can catch the number of the truck next time he comes by, give me a call and I'll see what I can do."

* * * *

Epilogue:

That night I attempted to complain to Blaine about what had happened. But I had no sooner related the whole sad tale when he erupted in laughter and remarked: "Did you run after him and fall down on sticky burrs again?" And as I responded with a withering look, he added: "Look, just do what the manager told you and catch the number on the truck next time."

* * * * * *

Second Epilogue:

And so I wait....

*

It's a Bad Thing....

Bo's Words to the Wise......

If you're ever following a recipe for some type of Middle Eastern or Asian food that you got from watching a television cooking show, and the recipe calls for a big spoonful of peanut butter as one of the ingredients....

And even though that sounds like a perfectly logical thing to do--- a great idea, even--- because you have a desire to "try something interesting and different" , and the guy/gal on the cooking show made it look so fabulously delicious....

And no matter how much you think you have fooled your unsuspecting man by camouflaging "special" ingredients in his food before (and you got away with it)....

And most especially if you have dedicated yourself to gradually, and gently, teaching him to "expand his culinary horizons"....

Don't do it.

Bo's Cat Cam --- 3/17/09, 1:17 pm

Break Out The Knitting Yarn....

Blessed be the LORD my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight, my goodness and my fortress, my high tower, and my deliverer,

(Psalm 144, King James Bible)

*

So.... I was down on my knees in the living room this morning.

I was praying to The Lord.

I was praying very earnestly. I was asking the Lord to help Blaine get through what Blaine was positive would occur today--- the trauma of losing his job at Sprint, along with several hundred other hapless employees.

And I was praying to ask The Lord for the strength which Blaine and I would need to get through the subsequent financial devastation that would follow losing our only income--- and the dismal employment prospects Blaine would face in the current economy.

And not 15 minutes after I had gotten up off my knees and poured myself a cup of coffee, the telephone rang.

It was Blaine.

"I didn't lose my job..." he began.

Holy Hannah and Great Jehosaphat, he survived the job cuts!

"But I'm going to come on home in a little while," he continued. "They told me to go home for the rest of the day since it's such chaos and mourning over here--- hundreds of people are losing their jobs right and left and it's a total, sad mess--- there are people weeping in the hallways..."

But we are among the lucky ones!

And then, in my relief, my spirits were suddenly lifted up so much that I couldn't help myself--- because as a recovering alcoholic I can no longer toast good fortune with champagne--- and so I found myself blurting out: "Let's go get some yarn!"

Okay, in my defense, yarn is safe as a method of celebrating. Nobody ever got pulled over on the highway and then hauled off to jail for driving their vehicle under the influence of yarn, right? And nobody ever made a complete fool of themself at the company Christmas party because they were knitting, okay? And nobody has ever thrown up because they knitted too much yarn....

And, for that matter, I have never gotten a wicked, lay-down-and-die hangover from knitting too much yarn...

And one doesn't "see double" from knitting..... oh, wait a minute.... yeah, sometimes after knitting for about six hours straight without looking up from my work, I kinda do start seeing double....

You get the picture....

"Sure, Bo," Blaine said, chuckling. "We can go get some yarn... we can go next Friday, when I get paid."

He survived the job cuts!

Thank You, Dear Lord.....thank You...

And also, God...please help those who were not so fortunate...

*

It Tolls For Thee.....

*

Okay, folks.... it's finally happening over at Sprint.

As you know, just before Christmas, Blaine's employer, Sprint, announced that 8,000 jobs would be cut here in Kansas City by March. Some jobs were cut last month. But the remainder were left to be accomplished this week, a few a day until Friday.

It is now Wednesday... and so far Blaine has "survived".

But the hour is at hand.

Blaine came home from work today and related that about 200 more employees were given notice that they no longer had jobs. He said that the cuts were not discriminatory--- that both managers and "foot soldiers" alike were given their walking papers, one by one, all day long. The casualties were listed to stricken bystanders in hushed and terrified whispers throughout the sprawling Sprint campus' vast, technical maze of cubicles and corridors...

"You should have seen it, Bo," Blaine told me, his tired face pinched with tension, "It was awful. All my buddies---GONE. There's already one completely empty building over there--- and they say there'll be another one by the time it's all over on Friday."

(Each evening as I pack his lunch for the next day, I wonder.....is this going to be the last work-lunch I ever pack for him? Tonight I packed him a good one--- it's leftovers from tonight's dinner, shrimps cooked in a garlic/white wine sauce from a recipe I got from my mom, rice, and my famous green bean casserole. Dammit, the least I can do is give the boy some decent fuel for all that job trauma...)

Bless his heart, Blaine said that he just tried to keep plugging sadly along in his work tasks, trying to avert his eyes from the sad carnage of the daylong procession of dedicated Sprint employees who were called into private offices to be given the notification that they were among the ones who were being let go. Among those laid off were most of Blaine's co-workers, some of whom had been his friends for 10 years or more.

Blaine believes that the Job-Cutting Man cometh for him, too....

Perhaps tomorrow.....

Perhaps Friday...

*

*

It's Off With The House Sock Binge And On With The Pinwheel Sweater Obsession....

You're old enough some people say

To read the signs and walk away,

It's only time that heals the pain,

And makes the sun come out again...

("It's Raining Again", Supertramp)

It's raining.....

....and Blaine is waiting to hear from Sprint about whether or not he gets to keep his job... or if he will be layed off.

His department was told that they would know "one way or the other" this week. They told them that the ones who would "be kept" would hear something BEFORE Friday. But the ones who will be layed off will hear ON Friday.

Which means that they all have to wait, minute by minute, in suspense and torture for the whole entire week. And the ones who don't hear by quitting time on Thursday evening will probably spend a very dismal Thursday night....

Anyway, onwards I knit....

And I finished something.

And have you ever knitted something that you just LOVE to pieces?

That would be this Pinwheel Sweater for me. I love this silly thing. It is just over sized and "flappy" enough to wrap me up like in a cocoon---and it's comfortable as anything--- and I just love it!

Of course, I took many "liberties" with the pattern, and I know my haphazard, psychedelic methods of interpreting other people's patterns is not everybody's cup of tea--- but for me it "fits". And yes, just like my socks, the sleeves don't match--- and I just threw in the colors willy-nilly according to my "mood" --- but dadgum it, I LOVE IT!

I put random cables, bobbles, seed stitch, and fair-isle "dots" hither and yon, every which way but loose. And I finished off the edging with a crocheted pattern ("mock ribbing" via front post stitches), and I didn't put any buttons on it because I prefer wearing it manually "wrapped" around me.

I love this silly thing so much that I've begun another one, this time using the color black as the main color instead of the aran color.

Remember how my shrink Fred told me that my habit of knitting "bizarre and gaudy color combinations" was a "symptom" of my mental condition? Well, just to amuse myself, I am going to wear this thing to my appointment with him this week---- and I'm going to keep a straight face the whole time, like there's nothing wrong, even while he's trying to keep his own face straight, HEH!!!

Good golly, I just used the Spell Check function and practically one in eight words was spelled incorrectly. I used to be a good speller, but maybe I'm going even more bats than Fred says I am.....

Bo's Cat Cam, 3/9/09, 9:00 am