Monday, July 30, 2007


Okay, so we’ll start out with some bits and pieces.

I pass a Lowe’s Home Improvement Supercenter (TM, or some such, I'm sure) on the way to and from work. On my way home today, I noticed that one of the storage sheds displayed in the parking lot for your shopping and storage pleasure was painted red and shaped like a tiny barn, with a tiny cupola and a tiny weather vane. I wonder if it comes with a tiny farmer, to complete your own little backyard bucolic paradise.

I’m doing this “fitness boot camp” thing, which meets several days a week at 5:30 in the morning. So, it’s good and all, and I think I’m actually beginning to see some results. One of the lifestyle changes we’re supposed to make is eating six small meals a day, high in protein and low in carbs, and nothing after about 6:30 PM. I’m down with six meals a day, but it’s currently 9:00 PM and I’m getting ready to eat a bowl of pasta (following the glass of wine and the cheese that I’ve been enjoying as I type this) and after the pasta I’ll probably have some ice cream. The leopard can’t completely change its spots, yo. Not in three weeks, anyway.

How about a roster of frequent players?

We’ll start with the two guys who’ll probably figure most prominently in our little narrative: Wilbur and the Beast.

WILBUR is my husband. I will never refer to him here as my “DH” because frankly that makes me want to poke something sharp, like perhaps this cheese knife, into my eyeball. Wilbur and I have known each other for over a decade, but we haven’t been a couple for that long (you have to sow those oats before you settle down, right?). He is a consultant. Yes, that means that people pay him to tell them what to do. He will tell you what to do, too, for a fee.

He is also a volunteer firefighter and an erstwhile Jeep mechanic. He and his Jeep buddies like to get all hot and bothered talking about rear differentials and transfer cases and Dana-44s and shackles and leaf springs and angles of approach and descent. If you like to talk about these things, you should go to, the forum and club that he and aforesaid Jeep buddies have started to feed their obsession. I never have to worry if he’s going to be occupied by the Big Game all weekend – I have to worry if he’s going to be in the garage all day tightening a nut. (Oh, that was cheap, but I couldn’t resist.) Anyway, we have this unspoken agreement not to question one anothers’ purchasing habits. I buy shoes, he buys Jeep parts. But the cool thing is that he made a Jeep. See Exhibit A:


He made this from parts. It was nothing but separate parts, and now it is a real, live Jeep!

He gets to run the radio when we’re in the car because a lot of the music I like makes him want to writhe in agony. He watches Pixar movies with me, though, so we forgive him for that. Also, despite surreptitious enjoyment of Pixar movies, he’ll kick your ass, so don’t try anything funny. Also, he's pretty cute. And he makes me smile.

The BEAST is our Very Large Dog. He is a 115-pound redbone coonhound mix we adopted in early 2006 from Athens Canine Rescue in Athens, GA. Since Wilbur and I are childless and plan to remain so for the foreseeable future, the Beast is our de facto child. This may be unhealthy, but I figure we’re doing pretty well if that’s the most unhealthy thing we do. (Aside from the drugs.) For such a large and robust-looking creature, the Beast has a relatively delicate stomach and though he will try to convince you that whatever food item you are holding is, in fact, his very favorite, we try to be strict. He’s basically your garden variety cream puff, with a protective streak and a determination to rid the world of squirrels. He isn’t so much into “tricks” other than the expert manipulation of his hapless owners and adopting positions of complete and utter licentiousness. See, e.g., Exhibit B:


That’s the Boys. I’ll add more folks as they appear. Right now, I have a heavy date with my carbs and The History Channel. And the Beast would like to know if you’re going to eat all that.


Friday, July 27, 2007

For Really Real

This is it, y'all. I think I may be ready to do it.

I've conquered the exercise demon by sticking to a plan. I'm going to treat the blog demon the same way (pesky little jerk): a scheduled time in the evening to sit down and write, even if I don't think I have anything to say. We'll see what comes out of my head.

In the meantime, how about a picture of a deer?