Sept 19 - Talk Like a Pirate Day

Ahoy Mateys! September 19th is Talk Like a Pirate Day it is my favorite bizarre holiday (with Sneak a Zucchini on Your Neighbor’s Porch Night - August 8th coming in as a close second.) I’ve known about, yet not really observed Pirate Day for several years now, but this year it seemed like the right time to show my pirate-y side. My mateys and I decided to talk pirate-y all day at work for a short while there, we thought Pirate Day was 9-17, which is a Thursday. But we found out the actual day was a Saturday! Shiver me timbers!

While contemplating my future as a lily-livered landlubber, I found a treasure map that led the way to truly celebrating the holiday. Just follow the steps, X marks the spot …

Step 1 - Ducks
Deborah (“Deborarrr”), a saucy wench who I work with has been showcasing my rubber ducks each month at her desk here at KDDK because #1) she enjoys it and B) my desk has too many toys on it as it is, so the ducks tend to get lost in the process. (I will, however, maintain custody of the nativity ducks because I like having my nativity scene and I have a bunch of other scurvy dogs that sit in and watch the baby Jesus, including Batman, who protects Him from the Joker, a gnome, Darth Vader duels with Yoda over Him, a bobble-head penguin, and a stuffed vulture. But I digress.) When I asked her what type of ducks she wanted for September, since there’s no big holiday, she pointed out Talk Like a Pirate Day so on September 1st, pirate ducks showed up around her desk.

Step 2 – Chest o’ Booty
As I mentioned in a previous blog, I found the pirate chest/lunch box at Factory Card Outlet. The plan was to buy some chocolate dubloons to have spilling out of the chest but Deborarrr couldn’t find any when she went looking, and I never got back to Factory Card Outlet. But still the treasure chest full of candy has been quite a hit. Deborarrr makes anyone who comes for candy “arrr” for their candy or she forces them to walk the plank!

Step 3 – Inspiration
Then another matey, Kelly, told me that her sister loves Talk Like a Pirate Day and blogs about it every year. As she said this, a light bulb went on in my skull and crossbones. I needed to BLOG about Talk Like a Pirate Day! I had (at that time) 19 days to come up with my high-seas swashbucklin' adventure. But of course I’d need to be able to speak the lingo, so...

Step 4 - I found a website (http://www.talklikeapirateday.com/translate/) that translates anything into pirate-speak. I started my blog and translated it. So the blog was perfect. It only needed one more thing.

Step 5 – The Photograph
Like all truly talented photographers, I had to set the scene. Oh, I could have just posted a quick pic of the treasure chest and the ducks, but how bland.. If only I had a pirate costume.. Hmm… but wait! Do I not have an eye patch from my prior eye-goo problem? Does not a handsome young gnome of my acquaintance who generally dresses up as a pirate for Halloween have a hook? I mentioned my evil scheme to Deborarrr and then all we needed was for someone (me) to remember to bring in my birthday booty, er.. camera.

So long story short, below is photographic evidence of two hot, hip, happenin' pirates protectin' their loot. Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day!

100 Blogs Down... ??? to Go

This is my 100th blog entry and I thought I'd take this moment to take stock. I began my blogging in September 2007. In the past two years, I have lost a total of seven fish, not including all unnumbered fish progeny. And my father. I don't mean to sound flip, there, it's been a main topic. I've taken Sophie to the vet at least five times for hairballs. I've reviewed more than ten movies and correctly chosen one Oscar winner. I have solemnly shared with the world my addiction to both Webkinz (which has been beat, by the way) and to Farm Town (the jury's still out on that one).

I read a book about a woman who got fired and then got divorced and started a blog for 40-something women starting over in life and subsequently solved a couple of murders (my lifelong goal, BTW). And I went to see Julie and Julia (see my review) about this woman who writes a blog while cooking her way thru Julia Child's book. What I took from these two blog-related items was that I really want to become a famous blogger... and to solve a murder.

However, I'm not sure that my blog is famous blog fodder. After all, I don't see that my blog topics are generally very deep. In fact, I take pride in my general shallowness. I don't read books that have redeeming value - I go more for mysteries with some smut (although there has been a slight detour into vampire romances). I don't enjoy movies with a "point," I go more for movies with explosions and Gerard Butler's abs. I don't enjoy educational television, I tend to watch The Simpsons and music videos. I don't enjoy conversations about the economy or politics or, well, I think you get my point.

So what is my point? Well, I can't promise that my next 100 blogs will be filled with perspicacious insights regarding the economy, religion or politics. But I can promise more stories about me, my cats, my researching a decision to buy a new car in the next year or so, and my move back to W-ville. I'll also try to watch and review as many movies as I can afford to go see and Gerard Butler can make. Also, as Mom and I intend to travel some (once she gets her passport), I will attempt to regale you with stories of my travels and show lots of pictures along the way.

I promise you, my faithful readers, that this will NOT be a blog where I dig deep into my inner emotional thoughts. Instead, I will strive to merely scrape the scabby surface. I will not whine about the things I don't have, or try to figure out what could make me happier with my life. I'm generally a glass is half-full person and I try not to cry over spilt milk. And if there are cookies available to go with that glass of milk, and if I'm wearing my fuzzy bunny slippers with a warm cat by my side, my life is as good as it gets. And I'll be ok with that. My friends, this is the dawn of part deux of Rose's Ramblings. This is.. well, this is going on too long.

Thanks for staying with me this far and feel free to join me for future adventures. Feel free to leave comments - where are you from? how did you find my blog? Nothing thrills my shallow little heart like when I find a comment! And does anyone but me feed the fish?? What's up with that?

"You Can't Go Home Again" - Thomas Wolfe

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right. ~Maya Angelou

Back in February, when Dad got out of the hospital one time. He and I sat down and talked. I've mentioned it before. He told me a variety of things, but one of them was that he thought mom and I should sell the house in Wadesville and buy a condo or something in town and live together. I just sort of assumed that that's what would happen.

Mom and I have discussed it. With the current tax break to first time homeowners (and I would qualify) and the fact that it supposedly is a buyers market, it seemed like maybe this was the time to proceed. Now, I'm not going to say that we've looked hard. The house I grew up in has big rooms, a big backyard, a lot of peace and quiet. I drive around town seeing houses for sale that are so small and right up against its neighbor. Mom has a house full of stuff and I have an apartment full of stuff and collectively we have three cats which are NOT going to want to be close to each other, so a larger, roomier place is going to be necessary.

Mom knew that one of my main reasons for thinking condo was not having to be responsible for yardwork and house maintenance. I admit it, I'm generally lazy. I don't like to sweat or get dirty. I praise God for inventing air-conditioning and I firmly believe in taking advantage of His creation! So Monday, Labor Day, Mom and I went out to dinner at the new Feed Mill Restaurant in Poseyville. We talked about a variety of things, centering on Dad. There were tears, of course, and at one point we got to the topic of living plans and she pointed out that since the house is paid for, if I moved back home, I wouldn't be paying rent; and if I'm not paying rent, I can save up enough money that we could afford to hire someone to take care of the yard and other such things. It was like a lightning bolt hit me. DUH!

I've always been the type of person that I can make certain decisions easily. When I know what feels right, I go with it. What's the point of shilly-shallying? It just hit me that this was the right decision. I even talked it over with Dad on the drive back into the apartment. Mom doesn't want to leave her home.

Mom pointed out that I've been on my own now for 14+ years. Would I be able to handle moving back home. I told her that as long as she understood that the satellite dish and a black cat that sheds like nobody's business and yacks up the occasional hairballs come with me, and that I'm not a good housekeeper, and I am grumpy in the mornings and sometimes I might come home and grunt at her and then hide away on the computer/Facebook (Farm Town Rocks!) with the TV and my cats and not talk to her because I've had to talk to too many people and had too many people wanting too much from me all day and I just need some quiet, sane alone time, then I could handle moving back home.

So once I make a decision, I'm ready to make a plan and put it into action. So the first step of the grand plan is that Mom is going to move from the larger front bedroom where she's been sleeping for the past couple of years into the back bedroom where Dad had been sleeping and where had been their combined room for years before that. Then there's the extraneous furniture, including an organ (if anyone is interested), that needs to be sold or given away. Once the front bedroom is empty we'll have the 40-year old carpet taken up and replaced with something from this century. Meanwhile, mom will be taking her desk from the front room and moving her geneaology research into the computer room. Then I can start taking things out to Wadesville. Maybe if we keep our momentum going, we can get this all done by the end of the year. Sounds exhausting, doesn't it?

Anyway, long blog short, anyone want to help me move?

New Zoo Review or How I Revisited My Youth in 8 Hours

My Aunt Chris came up with her grandson Jaden Saturday to see the Zoo and the Children's Museum and she invited me to go with. I will be honest here (and if you're reading this, Chris, I'm sorry), I was NOT enthused with the idea because I'm not keen on children. Well, most children. There are the odd few who I can tolerate. Chris promised that Jaden was well-behaved. And I had not been to the Zoo since Brynn was about a year or so and we took the neices/nephew (as there was only one at the time) to Easter at the zoo. And I have this adorable pic of the kids attacking the Easter Bunny. My point is that it's been a while since I've been there, and they just opened this new Amazonia exhibit of the rainforest. And I've been interested in going. And then, despite the fact that it is in the building NEXT DOOR to my office, I've never been to the Children's Museum (CMOE). The building used to be the Central Library and I was there all the time. Maybe it's a subconscious boycott for moving my library, but I've also wanted to check it out. So I agreed to go with Chris and Jaden. And I will say that #1) Jaden is a very well-behaved kid; B) I did have a very good day; and finally, I looked adorable with my face painted. But I digress.

The weather Saturday was beautiful. The sun was shining and it was in the low 80's. In AUGUST! First things first, we hit the gift shop! Well, ostensibly, we went to get Jaden an hat and sunscreen as his mom had not packed any. I, however, was looking at the gift shop, since shopping is my avocation. But then, we were off like a herd of turtles to the Amazon! The Amazonia exhibit was nice, but small. I was very impressed with these pretty birds - Scarlett Ibises, I think - and they just roamed all over the rhino's rhoom. We saw the baby zebra, although we weren't sure which one it was. And several monkeys and big cats and a bunch of ducks/geese. The zoo had been a success although I don't know if it's just because I'm looking through 41 year old eyes or because it's been 17 or so years since I've been there, but I seem to recall there being more animals in the zoo. Of course I also recall there being a noxious effluvium all over the place and I only smelled that once Saturday!

Now what? Well, it was lunch time and my footies wanted a break, and my throat wanted some iced tea, so I suggested we go to Turoni's for lunch as pizza was one of the 4 things that Jaden will eat. (Don't ask.) We filled our tums and rested our footies and then we were off to the Children's Museum.

As I previously said, the building used to be the Central Library of the Evansville Vanderburgh County public library system, but it opened up when they built a new building and moved. The building is a big ol' art deco style behemoth. We started out on the second floor in the Live Big exhibit. This is the room that I can see into from the copy room at work and I've often wondered what this odd reddish thing hanging from the ceiling that looks like a bunch of puffed up plastic bags. In case you want to know, it's supposed to be a brain. And as you walk into the room there's a big nose shaped thing in the floor. I'm not sure what the point is, but we got Jaden to crawl in it and hang out one of the nostrils to look like a blond booger! In another room, they had a bunch of art-y type activities for the kids. That's where Jaden and I painted our faces! Aren't I adorable?

After the obligatory visit to the gift shop, where I purchased a dragon keychain for my dragon collection, and a few other areas, we left to go out to Wadesville for dinner. Jaden and I played with Winifred while Mom and Chris chatted. Then Rose, being pooped, left to go home. Speaking of poop, in the restroom at the Children's Museum, they had this sign entitled "Feces Facts" and I couldn't resist getting a picture. (I hope you can read it.) Enjoy!

To Be (Blonde) or Not to Be (Blonde)

Ok, for those who have known me for a while, you know that during the last seven months, I stopped coloring my hair. It wasn't a conscious decision, it was just that since Dad was sick, I didn't take the time, or it just didn't occur to me, to color my hair. I've been very ambivalent about the change. Frankly, once I realized what was happening, I could have done something to halt it, but I was intrigued to see what my natural hair color would be, since I'd been a Garnier Nutresse #100 for the past 15 years.

I had to get my driver's license renewed in July, and when the woman at the BMV asked if anything had changed in the hair, eyes, height, and weight categories, I spent more time considering my answer to the hair question than on the weight question - where my answer was a lie in 1985 when I first gave it. Is my hair blonde?

I think it looks ok the way it currently looks. There is definite gray/silver in there, and that doesn't bother me. It's the underlying tone of ... what? Is it dark blonde? or light brown? My friend Becky thinks that the color of her hair affects how people perceive her mood to be. Maybe Bonnie would stop making thinly-veiled comments about my mood if I went back to being a blonde. (I'm not in a bad mood, damn it!)

Last night, I went to Factory Card Outlet and bought me a pirate treasure chest lunch box to set on my desk and use as a candy dish for September - as September 17th is Talk Like a Pirate Day - and the cashier gave me a senior citizen discount! Again, for those who know me, my age doesn't bother me, never has. But I'm guessing she wasn't sure and their policy is probably when in doubt give the discount. And since it saved me $1.35 on my lunchbox, I was ok with it in general. But in specific, I'm thinking it was the hair. So I need some feedback - do I go back to being a blonde? I've put two pictures of me in here - one as my hair is currently and one from when it was definitely blonde. Can I have some input?

Now, Where Was I?

It’s happened. I think I’ve officially hit that age where forgetfulness is setting in. When I turned the Big 4-0 last year, I thought it was just the warranty on the physical parts that had expired, but it turns out my hard drive is going, too. Either that or I have too much stress in my life at the moment. I’ve been having problems with the English language or at least remembering words. I’ll be talking to someone and my mind will completely reboot and I have no clue what I was talking about. Or I’ll be talking to someone and try to remember a person’s name and it’s totally blank.

Not that it’s ever easy for me – especially in times of high stress, people’s names have always been the first thing to go. I liken the phenomenon to an episode of one of my favorite TV shows, Married … With Children. In this particular episode, Bud was tutoring dullard Kelly so she could pass her finals, so she could graduate high school. Unlike one of my other favorite episodes, where Bud was tutoring her in history by teaching her TV show theme songs (Thomas Jefferson => theme to “The Jeffersons”), he was taking this task seriously and she was actually learning the stuff. But they were finding out that as she learned more advanced information, the other info in her brain was dribbling out to the point where when the doorbell rang she had no clue what it was.

Now, my VERY favorite episode (“Hot Off the Grill” Season 4, Episode 1) is the one where Peg accidentally knocks over Al’s grill and loses all the ashes from previous grillings (which is the secret to his famous –if only in his mind- Bundy Burgers) and she sends the kids around the neighborhood to steal ashes from the people’s homes. And the dippy kids come back with the ashes of Marcy’s dead aunt Toonie… Wait, what was my point? Oh, yeah, so in times of stress, people’s names tend to be the first tidbit of info to dribble out of my brain. And although things are super busy at work, and there is still probably some residual stress from Dad’s death and being there for Mom, I don’t feel overly stressed, so I wouldn’t think that’s what’s going on.

But, see..Sunday morning, I woke up about 7:30 (Sophie let me sleep in, I suppose) and watched Vh-1’s weekend Top 20 Countdown while working on my farm. I was playing hooky from Sunday School class, but church started at 10:45, so I had plenty of time. About 9:30, I left my place, went to Walgreens, bought some shampoo and a monster bag of Tootsie Rolls and a bat Halloweenie Beanie from Ty. Then I hit a McD’s for a couple of Sausage Burritos (a big thank you to Haley for THAT addiction) – BTW, they got my order wrong and gave me a Sausage Egg McMuffin, but I ate it anyway – and then I drove to church. I got to the parking lot about 10am, but having plenty of time, I sat in the parking lot in the car for about 15 minutes reading my book. But then nature called, so I decided I could easily go on in, go, and then stake out a prime pew and read until Sunday School was over. Let me repeat that I KNEW church starts at 10:45… I firmly believed this, but when I walked in, I noticed that my Sunday School classroom was empty. Then I realized that I heard Pastor Dave’s voice on the sound system. I saw one of the deacons in the entryway and I asked him, “exactly when does church start?” He told me that it started at 10am. Whoops!

The thing is, this is not the first time this has happened. A couple of months ago, I arrived for Sunday School, and I figured I’d be late (as is my usual modus operandi) but when I plopped down in my seat, I received a look from my mother and she whispered that I was 45 minutes late! Whoops!

But the problem is that for at least 35 of my 41 years, Sunday School started at 9:30 and church started at 10:45. And then they go and change things on me? I’m not a big fan of change, unless it has pictures of presidents on it, but I can usually deal. So is it age, stress, or something else?

Wait.. now what was I talking about? hmmm...

Ode to a Peeper – by Rosemary and The Victim

Ok, so now that you’ve recovered from reading our first joint masterpiece... It took another year or so before Jennifer (a/k/a “the Victim”) and I were inspired to write another epic. It was entitled “Ode to a Peeper.” And again, some background begs to be sketched in, but I’m going to give you the poem first this time, and the background after:

Ode to a Peeper

BFOH has a sixth floor peeper.
He resorted to getting thrills cheaper.
He schemed and planned as he hid in the stall.
No feet could be seen, he was crunched in a ball.
So the innocent prey had not a hunch.
Soon to be spied, they returned from lunch.
The Victim’s behind was up in the air,
While Rose stood at a mirror and played with her hair.
Rose turned around, and what did she see?

But a sneaky male face watching The Victim pee.
Just then the perverted face disappears
When The Victim heard, she turned red to her ears.
The sight made Rose let out a screech
And the Peeper slithered out like a slug or a leech.
The moral of this story is plain to see
CHECK FOR MALE FEET BEFORE YOU GO PEE!!!!

So obviously, we returned from lunch one day and went to the restroom. Now, you have to understand that there were 4 stalls in that restroom, left to right, let’s call them A, B, C and D. B was open and that is the stall that Jennifer entered. C was closed and, it turned out, housed the aforementioned Peeper. D was open, but it had no paper. A was open, but it was what I lovingly referred to as the "mutant stall" because it was 2/3’s the size of the regular stalls and, while that might be ok for most people, I was not comfortable squeezed in there. So after whining, “Oh, man! That leaves me the mutant stall..,” I decided I could wait for one of the other two stalls and stood at the mirror by the door checking my hair. At this point, the Peeper must have figured it was safe to stand up and peep. I, looking in the mirror, saw this decidedly male head go up over the stalls behind me and I turned to see him peeping on Jenny-poo. I let out a squeak (it was more mouse-like than a screech, but for poetic license, we used ‘screech’) and he looked up, saw me, and smoothly hopped down (as he must’ve been standing on the toilet) and calmly exited the ladies room. The Victim knew only that I’d squeaked, so upon exiting her stall, she asked what was wrong. Obviously I told her and she was not pleased. But boy, was I happy that stall D had been out of paper and that I decided against using the mutant stall. In fact, I don’t think I ever used it again!

Around the same time, Georgeann had an encounter with possibly the same person. She was on the 9th floor and walked to the elevators. There was a “man” sitting in one of the guest chairs. He asked George if she had the time. Upon looking at him, George realized that his, uh… shall I say, "unit" was out flapping in the breeze. Poor George just looked at her watch and said, “Uh, 1:15” and then she used the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.

Upon hearing of these events, Mr. Hahn (the “H” in BFOH), asked Jennifer and I to provide him with a written report regarding our encounter. (I assume he had George write one up, too.) So again, we trotted off to Grandy’s and instead of coming up with a serious report, we came up with the “Ode to a Peeper.” We did write an actual report, containing a diagram of the stalls in the ladies room as we assumed Mr. H had never had the pleasure of seeing it, and provided both it and the Ode to Mr. H for his review. Come to think about it, I don’t recall ever hearing anything more about the report or the Ode. Poor Mr. Hahn was probably speechless! Although I think the lock on the restroom door was repaired soon thereafter. Now that I write this, though, I solemnly vow to NEVER complain about the ladies room here at KDDK being locked ever again.

This was the final poem Jennifer and I wrote together. After this incident, we decided to aim our creativity toward writing a best-selling murder mystery, with the heroine being a cute paralegal, taking place in a law firm. Hey, they say write what you know, right? We used as our inspiration the various characters at BFOH. But before we got too far, our murder victim (who has since been suspended from the practice of law) left BFOH and our murderous feelings toward him (which had been our muse, of course) ebbed. Ah, good times...

So there you have it, them, my brushes with poetry. I truly think my talents lie more toward rambling prose. But I may still try to come up with a haiku for that one blog's contest... assuming I can find it again. That's all for now.