Thoughts while buying my mother's birthday present

Some of you in more citified or western parts may not have heard of Agway, which is too bad, because I love Agway. Agway describes itself as "Lawn, Garden, Pet, Bird and Farm Specialists," which is about right. You can buy chicks, and dog food, and fertilizer, and ant poison, and rose bushes, and a shed, and a bunny hutch, and a roof rake, and and and and and. Great store.
So, just so you know, if you went in just for a sec to buy someone you love a gift card, and you found yourself looking at the "impulse buy" stuff by the register, you might find yourself looking at the pet tags, and you might observe one that is pink and sparkly, with "Sexy" written on it.
Here are my two thoughts on that:

• Do not not not buy your pet a tag that suggests that it is sexy. If a person wears a t-shirt that says, "sexy," there is some question about who procured the t-shirt, and therefore whether it is the wearer or some admirer who thinks the wearer is sexy. If a pet is wearing a tag that says, "sexy," everyone knows it was a human who bought the tag, and you will creep people the hell out if you tell the world you think your pet is sexy.
• If you decide to write a blog post on pet tags that say, "sexy," do not search the internet for "pet tags sexy." There are creepy people out there, and they have posted to the internet already. Some of you may be reading this post because you went looking for some similar term on Google. Sorry both to call you creepy and to disappoint you with the content of this post. I do still think you're creepy, but you don't need that kind of abuse, you have bigger problems. Please feel free to look around City Mouse Country (ugh; the name of my own blog now grosses me out a little) and see if there's other content you find hilarious and entertaining. I am pretty sure none of it is creepy, though my regular readers will probably correct me with links in the comments.

Where? Weare. Where?

Sorry, kids. Been busy. There are mountains to climb and bellydancing lessons to take and commissions of diversity and multiculturalism to co-chair. Anyway, you don't want excuses. You want lists that compare me to Supreme Court Justice David Souter, inspired by a conversation with my cousin on a hike on Monadnock today.

Things about me that are like Supreme Court Justice David Souter:

• We are white.
• We have winning smiles.
  
• We brought our belongings from New Hampshire to the D.C. area in a U-Haul.
• We never totally unpacked.
• We got sick of D.C., even with great jobs and friends there, and decided to return to New Hampshire.
• The middle school in Weare, NH, (pronounced, "where." Yes, it's hilarious.) is named after neither of us.

Things about me that are unlike Supreme Court Justice David Souter:

• Weare, NH, actually wanted to name the middle school for him.
• I lasted only 8 years, while he lasted 19.
• Republicans used to think he was on their side.
• He does not seem to want special treatment or deference.
• Anyone might be actually inclined to give him special treatment or deference.
• I beat him back up here.

Other similarities or differences you think worth mentioning?

Pot calling the kettles

OK, Internet friends, we have a crisis.
I have a pot luck to go to tonight.
Some of you may know that pot lucks are sort of my thing. Generally, I host them, rather than attending them, so that even if my dish falls a little flat, my guests are distracted by being impressed with what a good hostess I am (and I am).
But my go-to dish is my chicken chili with hominy in it. It's good, it's crazy-easy to make, and it goes in the Crock Pot.
And I have lost the recipe. More to the point, I have lost the whole book it was in, which includes all my backup go-to dishes.
So my plea is twofold:

1. Did I give you that recipe?
2. Do you have another backup recipe for me?

I need to be ready to go by 5, so any shopping and preparation needs to be done by then.

Ol' Lady [bzzzzgrrrl]

It's that time of year again, when my windows are open and the neighborhood kids are outside.
Just overheard this in my backyard, while I sat in the sunroom, out of view:
(wheel grinding noise)
"Quit it! Get away from there! [exasperated noise] Do we even know the people who own that property? No. They [mumble mumble mumble]."
Indeed I do, kid. Indeed I do.

The Doogie Howser line always works on strippers

This delights me. Very, very much.

Tea-ed off

I can't be the only person simultaneously amused and horrified by the sudden use of the word "teabagging" everywhere, right? I mean, regardless of who the teabaggers are and what they're trying to accomplish, it's funny, right? And also shocking?

No, of course I can't. (Arguably not safe for work, depending on how much more gross-slang-savvy your coworkers are than the Republican party.)

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

This one is definitely less safe for work than the one above.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	M - Th 11p / 10c
IndigNation! Populist Uprising '09 - The Enragening
thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Economic Crisis Political Humor

(Important side note: If you don't understand what I am talking about, please do not ask in the comments. I will in no way elaborate.)
(Less important side note: Ellen Degeneres once gave me a year's supply of teabags. For reals.)

Callus remarks

Warning: This post not for the easily grossed-out. It is perfect, however, for health inspectors, ladies with pretty feet, and health inspectors with pretty feet.

Those shavey things sometimes used in a pedicure? Are miraculous to me. For those of you who don't get pedicures, or who get them in the wrong states, they're a razor blade with a handle, pretty much, that shaves calluses and rough skin off your feet. They are apparently called "callus shavers." Which makes sense. For me, the callus shaver is the point of a pedicure, in fact. I can paint my own toenails, but I am afraid to shave the rough skin off my feet. That's a razor blade in there, people.

I have been told (though I cannot attest to the veracity of the information) that they are legal some places (including Idaho and Virginia), but not in all (including, apparently, New Hampshire). Bzh mentioned recently that they are not legal in North Carolina or Maryland.

So here's your question: How does a person find out what states they are legal in? I live so close to so many states that there must be somewhere around here I can get a decent pedicure. Right?

Anyone happen to know, for the benefit of all my readers, where that info lives? Or know, for my benefit, whether that is a service offered in any reputable (ah, hell, even semi-reputable) salon in the New England states?

UPDATE 4/15 4:27 p.m. Many thanks to bzh herself for finding us just what we were looking for. It seems Vermont is the place, for me anyway. Woohoo, and may you other seekers find a salon near you.

Love in the workplace

So, one of my work buddies just stopped by my office to say hello. After some quick chat about work stuff, on her way out, she said, "Hey, what was up with that crazy post on your blog?"

I had no idea what she was talking about.

She reminded me that over the weekend, I'd told someone I loved him or her. I laughed and asked if she clicked on the link. She said she did click on the link and saw that some anonymous person had said "I love you too," at which point she decided it was way too personal to get involved in.

"No," I said. "Did you click the link that was in the post?"

"There was a link in the post?"

"Yep," I said.

"But then it was your Facebook status, too."

"Right," I said. "There was a link there, too."

"I need to call [bzzzzgrrrl]," she said abruptly, which confused me, but I quickly figured out that she meant she needed to call another friend of ours; she was just flustered enough that she was getting names confused. And the reason she had needed to call that other friend of ours was that they had been speculating about my apparent sudden falling in love, and my apparent sudden willingness to discuss it here before either of them had even heard there was a candidate.

There are two potential takeaways here:

• During the time that I have had this blog, I have both been in love and not been in love, and you haven't heard much about either here. You won't the next time, either, unless it gets so serious that my real-life friends will already be well aware of what's going on.
• If I post something super-cryptic and very exciting here, look for a link. If you don't see one, ask. There is almost certainly a logical explanation.

Ten minutes late

I love you.

Travel Tips: Lessons from Lake Placid, New York

If you are driving from Keene, NH, to Lake Placid, NY, Google maps will get you there.

If you are driving from Lake Placid, NY, to Keene, NH, on Thanksgiving Day in hopes of getting home in time for pie, it is best not to just try to reverse your old directions.

If you do, you will hit Route 4 near the top of the parabola (that's for you, Chloe and Brian and Christina), but you won't know it, because it will just be a road, and you will take Route 4 "South," which will take you way, way out of your way.

You will not realize it until you will have missed your chance to participate in the Thanksgiving family meal even for mints, and although your aunt and uncle will be very gracious and will let you in when you do get there and will even give you pie, you'll all be too exhausted to enjoy the visit as much as you should, and the rest of the family will all be asleep.

At least, that's my experience. You could also just take 87 all the way south to 7 and cut across the bottom of Vermont.

Travel Tips: Lessons from Durham, North Carolina

If you are hoping for lots of activities in an airport, or even for an open bookstore in an airport, you should not fly in or out of RDU on a Sunday morning.
Even late morning.

Travel Tips: The series

It's been a busy several months for me in lots of ways, and sorry if I've been neglecting the blog as a result.

One of the things that eases my transition to a quieter, countrier life, is liquor.

Kidding.

But only a little.

One of the things that really does ease that transition (but increases my busy-ness) is travel — to all kinds of different places, depending on what I can afford. I learn things, some more useful, some less useful. It seems like it is my obligation to share these findings with you, my readers, and so I shall, in this new and occasional series.

OK, I'll say it.

I liked Watchmen. I've had two weeks to think about it, and I still liked it.

Ya wanna make something of it?

Bang, bang. I am the Warrior.

Sorry, this will likely leave people who don't know me (or haven't seen pictures of me) out. I don't try to do that, but sometimes, you can't help it.

Do you have an opinion on whether I should get a bob with straight-across baby bangs? Factors to consider: How it would look, how much care it would take, whether my hair is a good texture for that look, whether I am too old for that look, whether I can pull that look off in the country, whether I can wear my current glasses with that hair, whether my widow's peak will alter the wisdom of bangs, whether it is smart to embark on something that radical when I can't find a hairstylist I like.

For those of you who do not know what a cardigan is, and therefore may have trouble with "straight-across baby bangs," see this picture. I am thinking of bangs more or less like that, but with slightly longer hair.

Oh, Uncle O'Grimacey

You might think a Shamrock Shake would taste sort of like watercress.

But you'd be wrong.

More like toothpaste.

Milk and ice cream

Tonight, I had dinner with a friend, and then went to see Milk with her, and then got ice cream with her. I know that you are more interested by the inner workings of my brain than with the contents of my dinner, movies, or dessert, so here is a brief round-up:

• Everyone should see Milk. And also Dustin Lance Black's acceptance speech.
• The most perfect, radical, simple piece of queer activism a queer person can do is come out. But you unqueers aren't off the hook in that department. Come out, often, loudly, in our support. Do it when we are around, and do it when we are not around, and do it especially when you think we might be around but for some reason haven't said anything. There is, I promise you, some reason.
  
• Apparently, one of the signs that you are a New England driver is that you refer to driving distances in minutes, rather than miles. Is that true? I mean, I do that, but I assumed everyone did. Readers from other places, do you live X minutes from work, or X miles from work?

One of those things is not like the others, but it is all, I think, necessary for us to discuss.

Hold me closer, tiny pantser

This story told in honor of Adam Brecher and Steve Davolt:

So, last night I had a few people over for pancakes, because it was Shrove Tuesday, and that's what I do. People had a good but not raucous time; there have been Shrove Tuesdays, for example, that involved my guests belly-dancing. That did not happen this year. There was a mix of kids and adults, and many of the adults had a beer or two, but no one got too crazy, because it was a Tuesday night and we're getting older. It was really a very nice time.

But the line of the evening came as my last two guests were getting ready to go. One of my favorite former campers from Cabin 11 got to the entryway and said:
"Wait, what's this? Why are there tiny pants on my shoes?"

I do not at all know the answer to that question, but the tiny pants in question are now in my office.

If they are yours, you may claim them privately, or you may admit to having depantsed at a pancake supper in the comments.

I swear, I only had one drink. I do not know how someone was pantsless at my house and I did not notice it.

Cutting to the chase

As I mentioned several months ago, my sister and brother-in-law gave me a pair of scissors and a dress at the tea ceremony preceding their wedding. I was glib about it at the time, but the point of that was that, since my younger sister was getting married before I was, they needed to do something to ward off the bad luck that might befall me in relationships. Both the dress and the scissors are Chinese traditions, so I can attract a spouse of my own. Nothing so far, but to be fair, I've only worn the dress once since their wedding. And I hardly use the scissors, despite the fact that they are both very beautiful and ornamental, and also entirely utilitarian. They are probably the sharpest scissors I own.

In what would appear to be unrelated, but is not (I'll get there), my house is cleaner than usual these days, and I am trying to do as much decluttering as possible, which has extended to my trying to practice a little feng shui.

So here's the question for you, because I know somewhere in my readership there has to be someone who knows something about feng shui. Right?

I put the scissors in the relationship corner of my house. The idea was that, since they were given to me to bring me a relationship, and since they are a "pair," that would be good feng shui. It occurred to me this morning that since they are very sharp, and pointed, and next to my bed, that could be perceived as a little more hostile to love, and although I call them a pair, they're still just one thing, which you should never have in your relationship corner.

Any opinions on the wisdom of keeping those scissors there, or not?

Mindfulness

This week, I became aware that my dry-erase board, which is fine, is hung just a couple of inches too low to be ideal.

This morning, I became aware that if I stopped wearing two- to three-inch heels, my dry-erase board would become ideal.

These are the things I think about.

Dude looks nothing whatsoever like a lady

It's no, "I love you Pinky Ganesh," but here is the best sentence I have written today. It is both true and also sums up my entirely excellent Valentine's Day evening (though there may be another post coming on that subject):

I guess when you're a straight man in a red pleather miniskirt and a fitted t-shirt that says "puppy love" with a picture of sad-eyed puppies on it, you're not worrying that much about how classy you are.

Further evidence might include but not be limited to:

• your wearing a cheap long blonde wig, crooked
• your being both the bartender and entirely wasted
• your running around the room, grabbing women in pairs, and essentially forcing them to dance with you for a few seconds before you ditch them for the next pair
• your persistence in calling these women "ladies"