I think I'm hungry.

Is there anything that doesn't go with bacon? Really?

Yes, I was a nerd. Probably still am.

Last month I posted a story Rachael and I wrote way back in 2004. Today, I found more of our disastrous creativity on a piece of paper shoved inside a book that hadn't been read in a while. (I love it when that happens. I think that, from now on, I'm going to leave notes and newspaper clippings inside every book I return to the library just in case someone else loves silly things like that.)

For your amusement:

May 17, 2004: Obituaries.

Boromir, Son of Denethor, aged 41, died February 26, 3019, of wounds sustained in battle at the Fields of Rauros. The oldest son of Denethor II, he achieved fame through his military prowess. Preceding him in death are his mother Finduilas and his grandparents. Surviving are his father and younger, cooler, cuter, nicer brother Faramir. Services will be held Sunday at the White Tower. Memorials may be made to the Gondorian Restoration Fund or Poppies for Pelennor.

Smeagol/Gollum, age unknown, died March 25, 3019, of severe burns sustained at the Cracks of Doom. A long time resident of The Misty Mountains, his previous residences are unknown. Preceding him in death is his friend Deagol. There will be no services. Memorials may be made to the Ring Addiction Awareness Foundation.

The Ring of Power, born cir. 1600, the Second Age, at Orodruin, died March 25, 3019. It spent many years with Smeagol/Gollum, after being found by Deagol in the Gladden Fields in 2463, the Third Age. The Ring abandoned Gollum in 2941 to live with Mr. Bilbo Baggins, now of Rivendell. It was given to Frodo Baggins, a relative of Bilbo, in 3001, and it continued in his company to the end, at which point both the Ring and Gollum suffered severe burns and perished. No services will be held. Memorials may be made to the Barad-dur Reclamation Fund.

Arwen Undomiel, age 1300, died of unknown causes. Born in year 241 of the Third Age in Rivendell, to Elrond Half-Elven and the daughter of Celeborn, she lived in Lothlorien for many years before returning home. She married King Elessar in 3019 on Mid Year's Day. Surviving are her brothers, grandfather, a son, and several daughters. Preceding her in death is her husband. Gone to the Grey Havens without here are her father, grandmother, and mother. Services and burial will be held in Lothlorien on Sunday afternoon. Memorials may be made to the Hope Foundation for Underprivileged Hobbits.

I am not sure I've ever seen a stranger juxtaposition than that which I saw at a gas station in Columbia City this evening. Pulled up outside was a truck from "Suzy Q's Escort Service," occupied by two incredibly vapid-looking, overly made-up, silicone-adjusted "ladies." Standing a few feet away, waiting for their driver, were two Old Order Amish women and their children.

I just wish my camera had been along.

While I was sitting at work today, trying desperately to forget how tired I was, I thought up the best idea for a blog post. It was funny, it was thoughtful, and it was way better than anything I've posted in a long time. I had it all planned out and was geared up to write it all out as soon as I got home.

Yeah. Whatever my brilliant idea was at 12:00, I don't remember it now. It's gone.


So, in place of the brilliant and striking piece of prose that is now forever lost in the ether, I'm going to say just how thrilled I was when I opened my September issue of InStyle this evening. "Thrilled?" you wonder. "What could Bethany possibly have found so exciting?" I'll tell you.

I am officially avant garde without making any effort. In fact, a positive lack of effort has led to me being at the forefront of fashion. According to that fount of knowledge, InStyle Magazine, paleness is officially attractive and smooth ponytails are the last word in hairdos.

This is fantastic news. Now, when I wake up in the morning, pasty white after yet another sunless week spent locked in an office like a vampire in a coffin, and too tired to do anything but throw my wet hair up into a severe pony tail, I can be confident that I do not look lazy or harried but chic and up-to-date.

I think I'll re-enable the snooze function on my alarm. This discovery merits an extra 15 minutes of sleep, at least.

I should do this more often!

My room wasn't really all the messy today, if you don't count the pile of clothing that had accumulated on my bench or the pile of pillows in the middle of the floor.  Even worse than just messy, it had gotten disorganized.  The books were on the bookshelves, just not in their proper places.  All of my purses and tote bags were put away, but with things in them.  Things I've been looking for.  Cleaning those bags out felt like Christmas .  My closet yielded up a missing hairbrush, Mambo Surf tote, a missing (and much needed) lint roller, my missing iPod, an unopened box of Rock'n'Roll magnetic poetry, and a bag of dark chocolate M&Ms.

None of these things had been missing very long, but I was still  very glad to see them.  Especially the chocolate.

Learning to. . . wait.

I decided a few days ago that I wanted to try sewing again. My last attempt was somewhat less than successful.  The apron I made as a Christmas present for my grandmother ended up being so large that it would have fit three of her.  (What's that phrase going around right now? Oh yeah. "Epic Fail.")  

Yesterday evening, I thought it would be fun to work on another apron while watching movies with my mother and brother.  We had picked out an old-fashioned half-apron pattern a while back and I had some sweet, equally old-fashioned fabric just waiting for me to get up the courage to make a second (or third, or fourth... I've lost count) attempt.  The pattern-pinning and fabric-cutting part went very well and I now have a nice, orderly little pile of apron parts waiting to be assembled.  That's splendid.  Now I just have to figure out what the heck the pattern is trying to tell me to do with them.  The packaging says "easy," but in this case, I believe they mean "easy if you have someone to translate seamstress-speak." (Jenny? Anna? Someone?) 

Even if I could read the instructions I would need to wait to put everything together.  Somehow, when we got the fabric, we failed to get the necessary finishing touches: bias tape and some sort of ruffly trim stuff.  For now, I just have another unfinished project (like my  paintings and my quilt and my scrapbooks, and my and my embroidery. . . .)

Photo taken today, just down the road from our house:

Isn't that special?

For some reason, this reminds me of the time my (Lutheran) kindergarten class baptized a clutch of newly hatched chicks.   

Wooohooo! Project Runway returns in one week! The new season (on Lifetime) starts on August 20.
Advertisement over.

There are things one knows better than to leave in the car on a hot day.

Kids.

Pets.

Ice-cream.

Expensive electronics.

Car keys.

 

Somehow, leaving a book sitting on the dashboard did not strike me as risky or unusual when I went in to church this morning.  I take my books with me everywhere, in case of emergency.   One never knows when one may be stuck someplace and need entertainment or stimulation. In this case, I had brought along a fairly new library paperback that my mother had checked out last week. (We share our books... by which I mean my mother and I check out our own piles of books and I end up reading both piles.)

You may imagine my surprise when, upon getting back in the car and picking up my book, all the pages fell out, trailing wisps of melted glue across the dashboard, my hands, and my purse.

Wait....Books can MELT?!?!?!?

I attempted to replace the pages, squeezing the still-gluey inside edges against the still-gluey spine, but to no avail.  The pages stuck to each other (and me and my clothing and the car) but not to the spine.

Next up: the part where I throw myself on the mercy--and sense of humor--of whatever friendly-looking person is working at the library circulation desk.

snicker

My father and brothers are leaving early tomorrow morning for over a week at the fishing cabin in Canada.  I can understand the appeal, I suppose: peace and quiet, water, fresh air, trees, outdoorsy activities, time to read.... And they do have plumbing now.  Fishing might even be fun for an hour or so.  But a whole week dedicated to sitting in a smelly boat with five even smellier men? No thanks.

My mother and I make good use of our week.  This year, it will include an outing to see "The Producers" at the Civic Theater with our good friend Nancy, some really good food, at least one viewing of "Pride and Prejudice",  some more really good food, general goofy girlyness, and, oh yeah, some really good food.  

This year will be a little different because --shock-- Patrick will be staying at home.  He is hoping to find a job and thought that it would be a good idea to stay in the country in case someone decides they want him.  He'll get to share in the good, clean, non-smelly fun with us and I know he'll even a good enough sport to take part in some of it (especially the really good food).

I don't watch American Idol anymore, so the make-up of the judging panel really could not matter less to me.  But Posh replacing Paula? That's just funny.

On a Lunch Break

Is it very strange that, as I review employment records, when I come across the word "receptionist" my first thought has nothing to do with the person who answers phones?

This is something like what happens in my mind:

"Dooodoodoooooo....
Indianapolis bank....
$14/hour? Not bad....
Hey, that's a funny name....
Aw man, only 1:30? 4, no, 3 1/2 hours to go....
Works at a law firm....
Receptionist??? What does that have to do with anything? Why does her employer need to know her views on the Mass? Besides, isn't she, like, Baptist?
Oh. Yeah. That."

?!?!?!?

As we drove through the grocery store parking lot this afternoon, my mother and grandmother and I saw the most peculiar sight.  Peculiar and disturbing.

As we drove past the entrance, a woman walked out.  The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing a black motorcycle helmet with the visor down.  She didn't walk out of the grocery and put the helmet on; she was wearing it inside the store.  And it wasn't a little helmet, either.  This woman was not very tall and she had a thin neck, so the helmet gave her roughly the proportions of a bobble-head.

The next thing I noticed was the roll of fat hanging out over the top of her shorts.  She wasn't that large, and had her stomach been covered, there wouldn't have been anything to notice (well, except for the helmet).  But no.  Her stomach was left free and open to the eyes of the world by her polo shirt which had been most inexpertly cropped away just above her navel.  

Then, I tried not to watch as she tried to figure out how to secure four plastic sacks of groceries on her motor scooter.

On the Town

We went to Buskerfest in downtown Fort Wayne this evening. It was sort of my suggestion, so I felt responsible for us having a good time. There wasn't a whole lot to do, exactly, but there were some interesting things to see. 

--The Fort Wayne Hip Hop Crew: Yes, Fort Wayne has a hip-hop dance collective. (No info online yet, but one wicked awesome "website under construction" page.)  They drew the largest crowd, so I wasn't really able to see the dancers until near the end.  It was then that my father pointed out that they were reflected in a few angled windows of the nearest high rise.  

--Juggling giraffes: Yeah. Involving stilts. 

--Foo Fighter Wanna-be live music: He really wasn't bad, but he was trying so very hard to sound like every other growly derivative indie/alternative rocker.  But then, it was hard to hear him over the music blasting over the local pop station's speakers. Pink, All American Rejects, The Fray. Totally not busker worthy.

--Flute girl: She seemed a little out of place, playing her Mozart sonatas (trying to drown out both the live singer AND  Pink on her own) and her flute was a little shrill, but she had some serious skills.  Give that girl an alto flute and a concert hall.

--THE MIME: . . . .

--Rhythmic Dancer-Lady:  First, I almost ran into her.  That could have been 1) embarrassing and 2) dangerous.  She looked ferocious.  I was going to say that she looked like a failed ballerina, but then I shouldn't make fun of failed ballerinas.  I would give a heck of a lot to be any sort of ballerina, failed or otherwise.  

--Gardener Statue:  This guy was what I think of when I think of buskers (and you know I think of them all the time).  He was doing the human statue routine and really confusing the poor little kids who gathered around him.  The funny thing is that he looked a lot like my Uncle Sean.... I actually have a picture of him posing as a statue. 

The best part of it all was just seeing all the people downtown.  It was a gorgeous evening and, besides Buskerfest, there was a TinCaps game going.  The restaurants were packed and the sidewalks were full of people out enjoying the evening.

I just can't believe I didn't have my camera along.

For your reading pleasure....

I had an urge this evening to go through one of the boxes under my bed.  I tend to be a bit of a nostalgic pack rat-- I hate getting rid of things that could potentially possibly at some point in the future remind me of that time I did that thing with that person.  I have managed to pare my hoard down to two medium-size rubbermaid boxes that fit under my bed.  I pulled one of those out just to remind myself of what was in it and see if there was anything I could finally let go of.

I have to say, I refound some pretty special stuff. 

Like this gem (oh Rachael, I hope you read this), vintage 2004.  Double points if anyone can tell what on earth we were thinking.

PEYES Case File One (or, "Watch Out for that Iceberg")

By Agatha Holmes [aka the brilliant and beautiful Bethany Casey and Rachael Soyk]

A Good Old-Fashioned Serial

First Installment--

It was a normal day in the office.  Not that any day is normal, mind you... not for the PEYES.  (That's Police Investigators, for the uninformed.  We decided against going into the private sector, seeing as how this way we have the FBI, CIA, and those dudes in the black suits and dark shades at our beck and call. Someday we'll figure out who they are and when we do, we'll take a nice long vacation in the Caribbean, where we'll drink all the rum.  And the rum will be gone.)  But we digress... something we plan to do quite frequently.

It was a normal day in the office.  Then it happened!  One of those dudes in the black suits and dark shades walked in, slamming the door behind him.  He didn't take off his glasses, regardless of the fact that the office was ridiculously dim, being lit only by a single candle.  (We forgot to pay the electric bill, having been in attendance at the King of Denmark's wedding.  Charming affair, that.)  But we digress.... again.

He pulled a plain manilla envelope out of his jacket and tossed it onto the desk in front of us.  We opened it.  Inside were some black and white photos.  The first was of an unremarkable looking older man with close set eyes.  He looked oddly familiar, but we couldn't think why.  The second was of a large ocean liner with the word, "Titanic" written across the side.  The third was of a friendly looking sea-captain.  The fourth was of a strange figure, cloaked and riding some sort of disturbing creature.  It reminded us of a certain pink dragon thing that befriended a little boy. (Very cuddly looking, unlike the disturbing creature.)  But we digress yet again.

The fifth photo was of the captain again, this time dressed in kingly robes and not looking quite so friendly.  The sixth (and thankfully, the final) photo was the strangest by far.  Six hundred sixty-six wooly mammoths were shoving huge chunks of ice into a frigid looking ocean.  (We also noted a little squirrel carrying an armload of nuts, not realizing he was about to step into the ocean.  Maybe he hadn't seen the light.  Can I hear an hallelujah?)  Again we digress.

We looked at the man in the black suit and ridiculous dark shades for an explanation.  He began, "The King has just been slain by the Fell Beast.  The King is also this captain, in a parallel universe.  We have reason to believe that something dreadful may happen to this ocean liner.  The captain must die within twenty-four hours or time and space will be torn apart and everything we know will cease to exist."  He pointed to the first picture.  "A rogue agent of the CIA, Jack Bristow, has taken it upon himself to ensure the captain's demise.  He, with the help of these 666 wooly mammoths, is setting a trap for the ocean liner, The Titanic.  Using technology acquired from the Russian Mafia he will guide at least one of these icebergs into the path of the Titanic.  Unfortunately, we disagree with his methods.  It is your job to find the captain and warn him so that he can avoid the icebergs.  Get going.  You have a lot of work to do.

To be continued. . . . 

Of course, the story never resolved. Really, though, we set our main characters up for failure (yes, I'll give it away--the Titanic did sink), so it couldn't have had a very satisfying ending.

Sunshine! Warmth! Fresh Air!

I was grumbling to myself today at work about so many different things.  My two greatest complaints, however, were 1) that I didn't have enough to do and was soooo bored and 2) that it was freaking cold in that office.  Seriously... I spent the day taking breaks from typing to chafe my hands. My coworkers should be thankful that I am constitutionally disinclined to go out of my way to talk to people, because I was having a cranky day today.

So, 3:30 rolled around and I could feel the end of the day coming.... And my boss called me in for a conference in her office about one of our cases. I came out 45 minutes later (with 45 minutes left to go before the end of the day) with piles and piles of very urgent, very important things to do. Problem #1 solved--boredom banished. I ended up staying an hour late to get a head start on the most time sensitive projects. (Staying behind after everyone else has left is quite an eerie experience. I swear the chairs in the other--empty--offices were rolling around. And I thought I heard someone cough.)  

Now I'm going to go on a long walk, which should solve problem #2 and banish my snarkyness. 

The danger of word games.

Note to anyone who doesn't know any better: That's The Onion.  It's not serious and it isn't real news.

Mmmmm....Summer Food.

My mother and I spent quite a bit of time playing in the kitchen this afternoon and evening.  Of course, we had to play with our blueberries.  Yesterday, they turned into boy bait.  Today, we teamed up to make a really nice blueberry cobbler and my mother froze several quarts of berries. 

We also made up a recipe for potato salad. Actually, my mother did most of the creative recipe creation; I just chopped and stirred. 

I already posted this on facebook, but it was just too good not to share again.

Blueberry Boy Bait cake.

I more than doubled the blueberries and cinnamon ('cause you just can't have too much of either).  The end result is moist and oh so buttery. Mmmmm.

I think I'll go hide the leftovers.

NOTE: If anyone wants to know, NO, I did not catch a boy with my boy bait cake. Not a bad idea, though.