I got home from my weekend in Yakima to find the house was practically spotless and the laundry was all done! Needless to say, 90% of my reaction was being incredibly bowled over with surprise & delight, and very impressed that my beloved had gone to all that trouble. The other 10% was a rather wistful (and yes, I realize, vaguely irrational) wondering if there was some kind of unspoken message that I’m not really all that needed. So guys, if you’re going to do a sweet something for your lady that involves lots of time & effort, don’t downplay it! Make a presentation out of it so she can be cued that it’s time to gush over it! That way women know your effort is a gift. (No, taking out the trash or loading the dishwasher doesn’t count. It has to be a big deal to merit gushing.)

Then we were cuddling & watching TV and a diamond commercial came on. Geoffrey’s reaction to the woman’s reaction of whispering her feelings to the man who’d just given her a diamond ring was, “Bitch.” I informed him that she was whispering because she was overwhelmed with joy. Haven’t you ever been so overcome with emotion that you could barely speak? Sheesh. And he had a secondary complaint that she only reacted that way because he got her a diamond. Y’know, I doubt that. I bet she reacted that way because he finally wised up and bought her a ring. The truth is, if you say you love a woman and have a commitment with her, you buy her a freaking ring! No excuses. Period. (Yes, Geoffrey bought me a ring, the weekend he moved in with me. However, getting engaged, living in sin, or other similarly significant steps need not be the only prompting for ring-buying.)

A bit later, I was reading my Glamour magazine, and saw the utterly romantic & heart-touching feature they have every month where a man holds a sign that spells out his feelings, or a marriage proposal, or a request have his sweetie move in with him, or even just to ask a woman out on a date. It’s fucking precious, and I love seeing it every month. Geoffrey did not get it, and said the guys in question looked like losers. *sigh* Hey, guys, listen up: advertising your love for someone (at least, for someone who presumably you have good reason to believe returns those feelings) isn’t stupid, crass, creepy, or lame. It’s a gutsy, touching, romantic, outrageously cool, terrific thing to do.

Thus endeth the advice.

Mari took the AD&D Alignment Test. So did Karel, Dawn, Geoffrey, and even my eldest spawn (all of their results are here).

I’m Lawful Good. Well, of course I am. I’m a Herald of Valdemar, and I have been since 1995.

The wicked Molly (“wicked” because she keeps tempting me with home-baked treats that she brings into work regularly!) laughed when I told her I was going to Yakima, WA for the weekend. She called it “Yuckima” (for those non-Pacific Northwesterners, Yakima is pronounced “yak” like the animal, “i” as in the word “is,” and “maw” as in a big mouth, with the accent on the first syllable). Having never been to Yakima, I have no idea why she says that. But I’ll find out!

Yes, I’m accompanying a friend (who I met online, at the always-terrific pool) to his high school reunion, where hopefully I will be good arm candy for him, and help keep him from being bored in what I’m sure is a not-so-bustling metropolis. I’m really looking forward to having a weekend away to kick back and relax with no kids, no housework, no hassle. (Yeah, I’ll have all of that avalanched on me when I get home, but oh well.)

And any reason to have a 3-day weekend (that doesn’t involve injuries, psychotic breaks, or natural disasters) is a good reason!

I’ve been watching, with avid interest, the progression of hurricane season in the southeast this year. Mainly, it’s because one of the call centers that Deathstar Int’l has is in Orlando, and whenever they get shut down, my workload increases tremendously as customers get routed to my call center.

(Okay, and also because I’m a sick puppy and I like looking at the carnage photos of the aftermath.)

Hurricane Charley was barely a blip on my attention radar, but I followed Hurricane Frances’ progress with some interest. It was also fun to tease a co-worker named Frances about all the havoc she was wreaking. She’s a big black woman with attitude, so she joked right back that “Hurricane Frances” was going to be her new rapper name.

“Ivan the Terrible” is, of course, the natural succession for Hurrican Ivan. We didn’t have an Ivan at work to tease, unfortunately.

Now there’s Tropical Storm Jeanne. I’ve been entertained by CNN.com’s remarks, such as, “Jeanne caused heavy flooding over much of Puerto Rico on Wednesday and was expected to hit the Dominican Republic on Thursday and the Bahamas on Friday.” Another good one was, “Jeanne was just below hurricane strength with 65 mph (105 kph) winds. Forecasters said Jeanne could become a hurricane by early Thursday.”

I am so fucking amused I could utterly hurt myself laughing!

It’s my youngest spawn’s 12th birthday, so I have birthday-type stuff on the brain. Hopefully this question isn’t too difficult…

What memory do you have that involves a birthday and music, but not the old standard song “Happy Birthday to You”?

When I was a kid in Hawaii, my birthday was a big deal because it was King Kamehameha Day, and so there were lots of Hawaiian celebrations with traditional Hawaiian themes, including music. That’s why hearing ukulele music always reminds me of those childhood birthdays in Hawaii.

A round dozen years ago today, I spawned the second (and last!) of my offspring. Anxiety, as she is fondly called online, popped out after a harrowing & medically-alarming pregnancy (I’d developed toxemia and was in danger of kidney failure by the time she was born), but luckily only 9 hours of drug-free labor. She arrived a week before her due date, but was a healthy sprat weighing in at 9 pounds even – and she gained a full pound by her first newborn checkup at the age of 11 days. (You can’t beat mothers’ milk!)

Now she is a lanky (and leggy) 5’6” and about 115 pounds. She still has blue eyes, and her natural hair color is just a bit darker than the golden blond fuzz on her head when she was born. (Of course, she currently has it dyed bright raspberry-red.) The darling combination of lovely young lady and goofy little girl that she is keeps us all smiling…even if sometimes in exasperation.

Happy Birthday, Boo-girl!

Twice in twelve hours, I fell badly enough to hurt myself. Now, I learned to walk about 34 years ago, so I don’t know what the problem is. But it’s seriously pissing me off that I’m too badly hurt to go to Curves, I’m walking at half-speed, and I’m going to bruise spectacularly.

The first time was last night, getting home from dropping off my Number One Internet Fanboy back at his place after hanging out & having dinner at my house. As I was getting out of my minivan, my left foot got caught under one of the tree branches Geoffrey tossed next to the fence after cutting it down last week. I didn’t realize this until I tried to lift that foot, which caused me to drop like a rock. My entire right side hit the ground, resulting in having dirt smashed into my right shoulder and ribcage, but the bulk of the impact was taken by my right knee.

Trying not to scream, or whimper too loudly, so as not to alarm the neighbors in the middle of the night, I spent a solid couple of minutes on the ground assessing the damage before I tried getting up. Once inside, I slowly & painfully got undressed so I could look at my knee. It didn’t look too bad, although there was the hint of bruises to come. It felt like someone had mistaken me for Nancy Kerrigan. Over twelve hours later, despite Aleve & hot packs, it still hurts to walk or bend the knee.

Then this morning as I was walking in from dropping Anxiety off at school, I set my foot wrong on my front walk, fell (doing my best to catch myself with my hands this time), and bashed the top of my right foot on the edge of the concrete walkway. I have some lovely little abrasions, and probably will have bruising on the big toe knuckle.

Damnit, if this is a foreshadowing of things to come, I’ll be visiting the ER before the week’s out. *knock wood against that*

5> We go to Orange Alert when the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars.

4> Recently received video claiming responsibility for the killing of the radio star.

3> Tom Ridge keeps trying to TiVo the new “Friends” season.

2> Intelligence shows terrorist Fred bin Flintstone is planning to hijack a pterodactyl and fly it over key bowling alleys.

1> “Be on the lookout for Egyptian terror leader Hassim el-Rashid Imhotep, a.k.a. Birdie Eye Leaf Leaf Squiggle Birdie Kneeling-Guy Bent-Stick Lion Squiggle.”

My youngest demonspawn just started middle school. Sixth grade, ah the memories…

Hey, wait a minute, I don’t recall anything at all about sixth grade, or seventh grade either. It must have been a couple of atrociously boring years. Right, then.

My daughter is going to a magnet school, which means (as far as I can figure out) that: 1) you don’t have to be in a specific neighborhood to go to a magnet school (you can apply to attend), and 2) there is a “theme” for the core curriculum. Apparently the elementary school that she used to go to was a magnet school for arts & music, and both girls attended that one when we first moved to Portland simply because we lived near the school.

This school has an “environmental sciences” core curriculum. Basically, that means they are only actually in a classroom 3 days a week, with the other 2 days a week spent doing out-of-class activities such as “plan, care for and maintain the school gardens which include native plant, wetland, historical and cultural gardens,” “fulfill a certain number of community service hours each year,” and “a social studies curriculum which integrates art, literature, research and writing to answer the key question: ‘How does history influence the environment and how does the environment influence history.’”

Yes, Virginia, it is a Hippie school. The students call their teachers by their first names. The students are allowed to chew gum and have snacks in class. The students attend mixed-age classes and attend writers workshops. During their eighth-grade year, they will be travelling to the Catalina Islands for a marine biology project.

After a middle school experience like this, I hope high school won’t come as a crushing disappointment to Anxiety.