(Click on photo for close-up.)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
My Ferret Milkdud's Cousin
My cuddliest ferret, Milkdud, is related to Star Jones!
(Click on photo for close-up.)
(Click on photo for close-up.)
The Shoes Of Joy
This is the story of my favorite pair of shoes. They are the most awesome shoes in the world. I first bought a pair of them at the New York State Renaissance Faire in September of 2003. My boyfriend and I go to Ren Faires, and we dress up in our Ren Garb; he attaches implements of destruction to his body (swords and knives) and I put fake hair made from designer yarn onto my head.
I paid $150 for these shoes.
ORIGINAL PAIR
When I bought them, the woman at the booth told me to get them a size smaller than I normally wear, because they stretch.
Well, long story short, they didn't. I wore them daily, I stuffed them with newspapers, I even wore them sometimes while I slept. I took them to a shoe repair place. It was some Korean guy. He was very kind but between the strangeness of the shoes and his lack of ability to speak English, we both suffered culture shock. At least we both laughed a lot! Anyway, the stretch he gave them didn't last.
But I loved them and I wore them anyway and I just suffered blistered toes.
Then in Feb. 2004, my boyfriend and I went to the Florida Renaissance Faire. Two women vendors were there selling these shoes! As I went over, my boyfriend suddenly disappeared because, as he later said, he was afraid there was going to be shouting, bloodshed, and carnage (well, what do you have all those stupid swords for if you're going to run from battle?) However, these women were very pleasant. I told them about the tightness problem.
"Who told you to get 'em a size smaller?"
"I don't know, it was a woman at the New York Ren Faire."
"It was probably that AMY!", said the one woman to the other.
Well, lickety-split they had me pick out a new pair in my size, which they let me trade for the old ones. You can see how well-loved these shoes are from the picture.
I wear them not only to the Ren Faires, but also to the supermarket, and any old time my feet want to feel special.
CURRENT PAIR
Aren't they most awesome magnificent amazing shoes ever?
Well, eat your heart out. Too bad for you, they don't make them anymore.
I paid $150 for these shoes.
ORIGINAL PAIR
When I bought them, the woman at the booth told me to get them a size smaller than I normally wear, because they stretch.
Well, long story short, they didn't. I wore them daily, I stuffed them with newspapers, I even wore them sometimes while I slept. I took them to a shoe repair place. It was some Korean guy. He was very kind but between the strangeness of the shoes and his lack of ability to speak English, we both suffered culture shock. At least we both laughed a lot! Anyway, the stretch he gave them didn't last.
But I loved them and I wore them anyway and I just suffered blistered toes.
Then in Feb. 2004, my boyfriend and I went to the Florida Renaissance Faire. Two women vendors were there selling these shoes! As I went over, my boyfriend suddenly disappeared because, as he later said, he was afraid there was going to be shouting, bloodshed, and carnage (well, what do you have all those stupid swords for if you're going to run from battle?) However, these women were very pleasant. I told them about the tightness problem.
"Who told you to get 'em a size smaller?"
"I don't know, it was a woman at the New York Ren Faire."
"It was probably that AMY!", said the one woman to the other.
Well, lickety-split they had me pick out a new pair in my size, which they let me trade for the old ones. You can see how well-loved these shoes are from the picture.
I wear them not only to the Ren Faires, but also to the supermarket, and any old time my feet want to feel special.
CURRENT PAIR
Aren't they most awesome magnificent amazing shoes ever?
Well, eat your heart out. Too bad for you, they don't make them anymore.
Friday, August 28, 2009
The Artificial Sweetener Conspiracy
This is my defense for still drinking TaB, which is in part sweetened with saccharine.
First, there was diet soda sweetened with "cyclamates." They still use this in Europe; it tastes the best, in my opinion, and your soda is palatable even if it's not directly cold from the fridge. Pictured is a German "Diet Coke" bottle from 2003.
[Click on picture for blow-up.]
Then they come out with "saccharin", and suddenly cyclamates cause cancer and are banned. Saccharin takes over the market.
Next, they come out with "Nutra-Sweet" (aspartame). Suddenly studies show that saccharin causes cancer, has to be taken off the market, and Nutra-sweet takes over. As a footnote, it is stated that cyclamates don't really cause cancer. The studies were flawed.
After Nutra-Sweet takes over the market, it comes out that saccharin doesn't really cause cancer. Those studies were flawed. (from Wikipedia: "The notorious and influential studies of the kind published in 1977 have been criticized for the ridiculously high dosages of saccharin that were given to the test subject rats; dosages were commonly hundreds of times higher than "normal" ingestion expectations would be for a consumer").
So who makes these decisions about what causes cancer?
Big Business, in my opinion. It's a conspiracy funded by artificial sweetener manufacturers.
And that's my theory about artificial sweeteners. Don't say I didn't tell ya!
Whatever you drink, remember that.
For more of my silly blog stories, click on "older post" below!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
My Last Life, with a break for Yoga class
I was once at a Neo-Pagan gathering where there was a guy offering to tell you what you were in your last life.
I was there with a girlfriend of mine, and I let her go first.
They went under a tree where I couldn't hear them and he told her she had been an Egyptian palm-frond waver.
Then he asked her what she thought she had been. She said, a Mountain Man.
Next, it was my turn. He told me I had been a Mountain Man.
A Mountain Man?, I thought. At least let me have been a mountain goat! Sheesh.
Anyway, I myself used to think I must have been a horse thief in my last life, because I can't stand things tight around my neck. Not t-shirts, not short necklaces.
Whenever I get a t-shirt I like, I take the collar off and hem it so it's larger in diameter.
This is the shirt I wear in my yoga class. I took off the sleeves and made it into a tank top while I was at it.
When I tell people the story of being a horse-thief, I put on a western drawl and say:
"In my las' life, I's a blacksmith's apprennice in Old Dodge City. And not just any apprennice, but a butt-ugly apprennice. They usta call me 'horse-face Hank'.
'Hey, lookee who's a comin' yonder', they'd say, 'Ol' horseeface Hank. Got yer poker there, horsee? Yer face is all a-covered wi' smudge. Good thing, you cover up that ugly horsee face there. You picked a good occeepayshun for a horseeface!'
Well, you can't go around being called that all the time without it 'fectin' you.
There I was being called a horseeface all the time and I couldn't even afford me a horse. So I stoled me one.
In fact, I got lucky at it and stoled me a whole bunch'um. Did right well for a bit. But then Lady Luck left me for 'nother, and I gotted me caught. Hanged me they did, hanged me quick 'n' high.
And that's why I cain't stand nuthin' tight around me neck, not even now, a whole 'nother lifetime later."
However, recent events have made me rethink my position,
and now I am convinced I was a frog in my last life. Here's my evidence:
First of all, I can sleep and sleep when it's cold out. I get so I can hardly move, and just burrow deep under my blankets and forget the world until the weather improves and it's warm again.
My next bit of evidence is what I go through every week in yoga class.
This is my instructor yelling at me:
"Straighten your legs, there, Dawnie! I know you can do better! Up and straight! Straight and out! Onward and upward! You can do it!"
"They are straight," I'm thinking. "Aren't they? I can't see them! They're behind me! My glasses are off! My eyes are filled with sweat! I feel like they're straight!"
But then again, I feel rather graceful in some of the poses, till I get a peek at myself in the mirror.
I try not to look in it very often.
Here's how I see myself:
Here's how I really look:
How'd we end up in my yoga class? Now we're stuck here for 90 minutes.
Here's the lady who stands in class next to me doing the Downward Newt.
She is a vision of grace and poise:
Sometimes my ferret Dipsy comes along, and here he is doing Cobra pose:
.jpg)
Here's me doing the Upward Otter, Bending Kneecrackle, Smell My Toes, and Tree poses.
My instructor calls this one Awkward Pose. I call it Public Toilet Seat Pose:
Now where was I. Oh yeah. So I'm thinking my legs are straight when they're not.
I'll bet this frog thinks his legs are straight. He's a frog! That's the best he can do!
And that's the best I can do. I think my legs are straight and they're not. Just like a frog.
[Look, he's wearing my blue and brown yoga shirt!]
My third piece of evidence that I was a frog in my last life is my singing voice.
Here's my rendition of the star spangled banner:
click here
The next part of my theory involves my feelings about metamorphosis.
Frog metamorphosis is so utterly dramatic that it kind of freaks me out.
I mean, we're not just talking about losing a few gills and having your skin get a bit warty.
We're talking about losing a tail, getting gigantic hopping legs,
and your whole digestive system going from vegetarian to carnivore.
When it happened to me in my frog life, it must have been so traumatic that it makes me shudder to this day. I wonder if that was in the old days, when it was considered improper to talk about the facts of life.
You know what I'm talking about, ladies. My mother tells me about how it was for her "becoming a woman" with no forewarning, one day she woke up and thought she was bleeding to death.
Well, just imagine being a tender little tadpole and one day you wake up with this leg sprouting out of your side, or you wake up and your tail has fallen off. Imagine how you'd freak out if you hadn't known it was coming!
To continue with my similarity to a frog. My skin looks pretty similar to the skin on my friend Frieda Froggy, who lives in my backyard pond:
And just like Frieda Froggy, I like hanging out on my patio too!
So there you have it. In my last life, I was a frog. Are you convinced?
Take your time. Meditate on it!
-----------------------------------------
(1) "Downward Newt": Image courtesy of my fellow salamander aficionado, Jennewt. Used with permission. Thanks bunches!
(2) Blue and Brown Frog: Image courtesy of another [there are HUNDREDS of us!] fellow salamander aficionado, Mark A-T. Used with permission. Thanks, you're a pal!
For more of my silly blog stories, click on "older post" below!
I was there with a girlfriend of mine, and I let her go first.
They went under a tree where I couldn't hear them and he told her she had been an Egyptian palm-frond waver.
Then he asked her what she thought she had been. She said, a Mountain Man.
Next, it was my turn. He told me I had been a Mountain Man.
A Mountain Man?, I thought. At least let me have been a mountain goat! Sheesh.
Anyway, I myself used to think I must have been a horse thief in my last life, because I can't stand things tight around my neck. Not t-shirts, not short necklaces.
Whenever I get a t-shirt I like, I take the collar off and hem it so it's larger in diameter.
This is the shirt I wear in my yoga class. I took off the sleeves and made it into a tank top while I was at it.
When I tell people the story of being a horse-thief, I put on a western drawl and say:
"In my las' life, I's a blacksmith's apprennice in Old Dodge City. And not just any apprennice, but a butt-ugly apprennice. They usta call me 'horse-face Hank'.
'Hey, lookee who's a comin' yonder', they'd say, 'Ol' horseeface Hank. Got yer poker there, horsee? Yer face is all a-covered wi' smudge. Good thing, you cover up that ugly horsee face there. You picked a good occeepayshun for a horseeface!'
Well, you can't go around being called that all the time without it 'fectin' you.
There I was being called a horseeface all the time and I couldn't even afford me a horse. So I stoled me one.
In fact, I got lucky at it and stoled me a whole bunch'um. Did right well for a bit. But then Lady Luck left me for 'nother, and I gotted me caught. Hanged me they did, hanged me quick 'n' high.
And that's why I cain't stand nuthin' tight around me neck, not even now, a whole 'nother lifetime later."
However, recent events have made me rethink my position,
and now I am convinced I was a frog in my last life. Here's my evidence:
First of all, I can sleep and sleep when it's cold out. I get so I can hardly move, and just burrow deep under my blankets and forget the world until the weather improves and it's warm again.
My next bit of evidence is what I go through every week in yoga class.
This is my instructor yelling at me:
"Straighten your legs, there, Dawnie! I know you can do better! Up and straight! Straight and out! Onward and upward! You can do it!"
"They are straight," I'm thinking. "Aren't they? I can't see them! They're behind me! My glasses are off! My eyes are filled with sweat! I feel like they're straight!"
But then again, I feel rather graceful in some of the poses, till I get a peek at myself in the mirror.
I try not to look in it very often.
Here's how I see myself:
Here's how I really look:
How'd we end up in my yoga class? Now we're stuck here for 90 minutes.
Here's the lady who stands in class next to me doing the Downward Newt.
She is a vision of grace and poise:
Sometimes my ferret Dipsy comes along, and here he is doing Cobra pose:
.jpg)
Here's me doing the Upward Otter, Bending Kneecrackle, Smell My Toes, and Tree poses.
My instructor calls this one Awkward Pose. I call it Public Toilet Seat Pose:
Now where was I. Oh yeah. So I'm thinking my legs are straight when they're not.
I'll bet this frog thinks his legs are straight. He's a frog! That's the best he can do!
And that's the best I can do. I think my legs are straight and they're not. Just like a frog.
[Look, he's wearing my blue and brown yoga shirt!]
My third piece of evidence that I was a frog in my last life is my singing voice.
Here's my rendition of the star spangled banner:
click here
The next part of my theory involves my feelings about metamorphosis.
Frog metamorphosis is so utterly dramatic that it kind of freaks me out.
I mean, we're not just talking about losing a few gills and having your skin get a bit warty.
We're talking about losing a tail, getting gigantic hopping legs,
and your whole digestive system going from vegetarian to carnivore.
When it happened to me in my frog life, it must have been so traumatic that it makes me shudder to this day. I wonder if that was in the old days, when it was considered improper to talk about the facts of life.
You know what I'm talking about, ladies. My mother tells me about how it was for her "becoming a woman" with no forewarning, one day she woke up and thought she was bleeding to death.
Well, just imagine being a tender little tadpole and one day you wake up with this leg sprouting out of your side, or you wake up and your tail has fallen off. Imagine how you'd freak out if you hadn't known it was coming!
To continue with my similarity to a frog. My skin looks pretty similar to the skin on my friend Frieda Froggy, who lives in my backyard pond:
And just like Frieda Froggy, I like hanging out on my patio too!
So there you have it. In my last life, I was a frog. Are you convinced?
Take your time. Meditate on it!
-----------------------------------------
(1) "Downward Newt": Image courtesy of my fellow salamander aficionado, Jennewt. Used with permission. Thanks bunches!
(2) Blue and Brown Frog: Image courtesy of another [there are HUNDREDS of us!] fellow salamander aficionado, Mark A-T. Used with permission. Thanks, you're a pal!
For more of my silly blog stories, click on "older post" below!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
When the Hairless Pink Monkey is Away...
I decided to set up a "Nanny Cam" to see what those ferrets get up to when I am away. Here's the results: may I present, "Ferret Cam."
You little rascal!
Those unruly little beasts!
Oh no! Cheese is going to give them diarrhea!
My fault, for forgetting my wallet.
Why those little wolves!
At least they are kind to their friends.
Little masher!
Oh, now they have the munchies!
Ruffians!
See, when I come home they're always sleeping calm, safe and sound, just like a little pile of furry angels.
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You little rascal!
Those unruly little beasts!
Oh no! Cheese is going to give them diarrhea!
My fault, for forgetting my wallet.
Why those little wolves!
At least they are kind to their friends.
Little masher!
Oh, now they have the munchies!
Ruffians!
See, when I come home they're always sleeping calm, safe and sound, just like a little pile of furry angels.
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