Saturday, March 28, 2009


Who else has 8 inches of snow on top of a flood? NORTH DAKOTA. Because what doesn't kill us makes us go insane, slowly. Here are some things I've learned while sandbagging (3 million bags in 7 days) to save the world:

  • Sand is a great exfoliator. Just not for the inside of your nose, mouth or eyes
  • Sand dust and diesel fumes can make you giddy if you inhale them long enough. But so can a hot NYC man from the Wall Street when he interviews you. (Blogger note: no matter what the disaster is, you should always look your best. The national news always shows up. The day you wear a hat and look like shit is the day you are on camera)
  • Speaking of hot...The National Guard boys and the Fargo Fire Dept. boys were a nice diversion. Mother: "You should go talk to him. Or him. Me: "Umm....I think they have other priorities right now." Mother: "Now is the perfect time! This is your in! You have something to talk about!" (I need a flood as a conversation starter? I don't think she reads my blog)
  • Midwesterners are very concerned about feeding you. I think I gained five pounds from all the free food at the dome. Shoveling sand and lugging sandbags for five days did nothing to help me lose weight
  • I have no patience for stupid people. Nicole: "I wonder where (in the dome) Sarah is?" Bobby: "I don't know...just listen for her yelling at sandbaggers."
  • Midwesterners are very concerned about feeding you. "The Red Cross announced they have the situation under control, and do not need any donations." Some guy called the local AM radio station to tell us he had 1,5000 sandwiches made and needed someone to come pick them up. LOL
  • Every sandbag I filled or threw at some stupid giggly college girl who's make up was perfect, made me feel as though I was helping prevent someone's home from flooding
  • Every sandbag I tied, I thought, "What if this is the bag that leaks and floods someone's home?"
  • We're all in this together. (But if someone comes to sandbag your home, get your ass out there and offer them food, a bathroom, heat, gratitude, etc. Don't stand around and watch)
  • Style and disasters are cyclical. All week I wore my souvenir t-shirt from the flood of '97. "Fargo: Where the beach comes in a bag!"
  • My family and I are supposed to go to Orlando in June. I hope I don't have a "flood of memories" while at the beach

There is a street and the river behind that dike. The water came about 12 inches from the sidewalk about a block to the right from here, where a bridge to Minnesota starts, that I drove on, and took pictures, while research is dangerous, people!

I think the green galoshes gave me more street cred. And what post is complete without Gatsby?

It was just announced at 7PM that sandbagging will resume tomorrow at the dome, at 8AM. Shoulders all over the area just dropped, and sighs and groans could be heard in Canada. We filled 3/4 of the Fargo Dome with pallets. It was like an ant farm in there. We're so tired. But there will be free food....

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Withering Heights

Yeah, yeah...the title is obvious. Deal with it.

The photo you see is a plant hanging in my kitchen, over the microwave, near a window. I have a brown thumb and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

I know what you're thinking. "Doesn't she go into her kitchen or use her microwave?" Helloooo....that's where I stock the gin! Besides, this is the 21st century. You can't make popcorn without a microwave. I have no excuse. This is the second plant to wither and die in this pot in this location. I think something is cursed or diseased or slowly being radiated by my microwave.

Sometimes, no matter how much love and kindness and sunshine and CPR we pump into things, it's just not be meant to be. Some fights just aren't worth fighting any longer. You can put a new plant in the same old soil, but if the soil isn't healthy enough to keep something else alive, you will be disappointed eventually. The soil that should be nurturing the roots of the plant just isn't strong enough at the moment, and it needs something extra to bring it back to it's healthy state. Or maybe the plant is a life sucking parasite that needs to find some other soil to use up. Yeah, that's probably it.

Considering my ability to kill plants, I'm surprised my cats have survived their incarceration with me. (Their terminology, not mine.) Maybe this plant needs a vacation? A warm, sunny destination, perhaps? I should call the airlines. See if a pot of dirt is considered a threat this month.

Friday, March 13, 2009

LOL Speak

Bobby and I came up with new computer/text speak for the older generations. (29+ we'll say) The older you get, the more your body changes. A little bigger around the middle....bladder a little weaker...She said she LOL'd at my RAIN blog, and she even jiggled a little bit. Well, that made me laugh, and I realized I jiggled a little bit! (She could've been referring to her boobs, IDK.) So, instead of LOL, ROFL, etc,'s the new ones:

JAL: jiggled a little

PAL: peed a little

PMP: peed my pants (only if you totally LOL'd!)


I'm not sure if anyone noticed a woman named Braja leaving a comment on my blog...She's a blogger that I've recently discovered when she "guest blogged" for a very funny woman, Vodka Mom, and she was hilarious! Her blog goes back and forth between funny and spiritual and enlightening and sarcastic. Mostly honest. Her writing is so beautiful, I envy her talent. She's living in India, and often writes about the magic that is India. Did I mention I'm jealous?

Her last post was about how she was off to Bangkok. I was looking forward to pictures and stories of her travels. Sadly, Vodka Mom posted an update. On the way to the airport, she and her husband and the taxi driver were in a very serious car accident. Her husband has not regained consciousness yet. She is also in serious condition. I don't know her, but I'm so sad over this.

I hold onto the fact that she is a woman of strong faith, and she will be determined to see herself and her husband through this. But it also makes me take stock of what I have, and I'm thankful for all of it. Even PMS Man. I will visualize a healthy recovery for all three of them. Say a quick prayer, please.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


DISCLAIMER: This blog is merely a 33 year old's observation, and not to be confused with an actual review.

I won tickets to RAIN, a Beatles tribute band, from work. I asked my mom to go, and we had a pretty good time. Here are some observations from the show:

  • The audience was mostly 50+. They were pretty low key. This could be due to a number of reasons.....Age. Scandanavians are pretty reserved. We were all tired from digging out from under yesterday's blizzard. The show was scheduled for yesterday, and the poor bastards had to stay in miserable lock down Fargo for an extra night for tonight's show.
  • They sang and played the instruments live. Complete with British accents, mop top wigs, and costume changes to go along with the progressive eras.
  • "Rain" is the B-side to the single "Paperback Writer".
  • They did not sing the theme song to the show "Life Goes On". Yeah, remember Corky? I love that song.
  • When they sang "When I'm 64" (or whatever it's called) I turned to my mom and said, "He turned 64, this year, or last...?" She kept saying "Sixty....Sixty". She thought I was referring to her soon to be age. She's apparently going deaf in her old age.
  • There were screens on either side of the stage, and one on stage. They played vintage footage of the Beatles, and scenes from the era. The screaming, fainting girls reminded me of the New Kids on the Block concert we went to in September. After that concert, I said, "OK, now I understand Beatle Mania". That's why we're going again in April. (squeal)
  • They were good, but no NKOTB. I didn't lose my voice after this concert.
  • When it seemed like the show was nearly over, they walked off the stage, the lights were dim, and people were clapping and yelling. The old woman next to me started stomping her foot. Before I knew it, people all around us were stomping their feet, wanting more.
  • Alcohol was only $5.
  • Tshirts were $30.
  • Fake John Lennon sang "Imagine". It was a great moment. The old lady next to me pulled out her cellphone and was waving it in the air. The new millennium's version of holding up a lighter.
  • I nearly peed my pants at the NKOTB concert, as well as this one. This time it was due to too much beer and waiting for intermission.
  • The old lady next mom.
I do love the music of the Beatles. I took a few things away from the show: There were lots of teenagers there, and I realized their music transcends time and speaks to all generations. You can want to be loved, but it might be better to want someone to love. I get by with a little help from my friends. And all we're saying?...yeah...give peace a chance. Oh, and my mom may be nearly 60, but she can still rock. Unfortunately.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Holy Blizzard, Batman

They're not kidding this time. Usually, I tell people not to believe what they hear on the news. "No, we're not buried in 20 inches of, it's not -90 below....I don't know why they said that...Probably have the wrong zip code locked into their radar. Yeah, I think they have the North Pole, not North DAKOTA...yeah, a TYPO." But this's for reals...until it changes, of course. Because as we say here up north, "Don't like the weather? Wait 15 minutes."

Today of all days, I turned in my "Crunch Mobile" to have it fixed. (Got rear ended a week ago, because do to the economic crisis, Fargo apparently can't afford gravel on the ice rink we call streets.) I was given a "Toy Car" (Kia Spectra) to drive for the rest of the week. Of all the days to trade in four wheel drive....Got a call from Marcy on my way to the collision center. The spoiled brat who has underground parking had been stuck in her driveway for an HOUR, and she was slowly running out of gas. In a monotone voice she said, "This isn't how I was meant to die. I know it." We made it to work, but the conditions were getting worse by the half hour. Then, tragedy struck. What is the ONE thing that means the weather is BAD? The mall closed.

I called Kelley on the way home, to tell her not to come in. I was greeted with, "You woke me up out of a lovely dream. I had stolen someone's credit card." As I headed home in my clown car, white knuckled in near white out conditions, I thought of all the wrong things: I wonder if the pizza/chinese places are delivering? Maybe I should stop at the grocery store? No, I'd feel bad for the people trapped there. But they have food, at least...I wonder if the liquor stores are open? I'm out of wine...crap.

Don't just stand there, looking pretty...Get shoveling!

Monday, March 9, 2009

"Death Wish Kitty" starring: Gatsby

My cat, Gatsby, apparently has 9 lives. If the Humane Society had known at the time of his adoption that while in my care, this cat would “jail break” countless times in our various neighborhoods, unknowingly get locked in numerous closets and cabinets, almost suffocate under a plastic tarp (Jill found him with his little faced pressed against the plastic, eyes wide with fear, gasping his last dying breath….), and set himself on fire three times, they never would’ve let me take him home.

I adopted Gatsby from the Chicago Humane Society. I went there hoping to find a purse-breed dog…you know the kind….fits in your purse? More accessory than animal? Jill, my roomie, and I were perusing the cat department, oohing and aahhing over the friendly cats that were rubbing up against their cages, meowing, begging us to take them home, when I saw him. On the top shelf, of course. He was sitting in his cage, glaring at everyone with disdain. I’m a sucker for the mysterious, brooding, pouty types. He was black and fluffy and beautiful, so I asked if I could hold him. As soon as he was in my lap, he became a loving, rubbing, purring machine. There was a gay couple off to the side, mindlessly stroking a domestic short hair, but they had their eyes on Gatsby. Another couple walked over to his cage, and I heard the girl say, “He was up there. I don’t know where he went.” I suddenly went into “garage sale mode”. You know when you’re holding some random object that’s for sale, and you’re not sure if you want it or not? As soon as you see someone eyeballing you, waiting for you to put it down, you realize you’re probably holding on to the next best thing to the Holy Grail and dammit all to hell if someone else is gonna get it! Yeah. It was like that. A volunteer for the shelter walked by and I heard someone say “Excuse me, I’d like to take him.” Crap. Crap, crap, crap! That voice I heard was my own! I even had my hand in the air, just so he would know it was me claiming my prize, and not one of the gay guys! So my fluffy baby got neutered and named Gatsby, and came home a few days later. Instant parenthood. Crap.

The first (and third) time he set himself on fire we didn’t see it happen. There was a funky smell in the air, and a candle burning on the coffee table. Gatsby often enjoyed parading himself around on the coffee table for our benefit. He jumped up on table, next to the candle, and I freaked. “You’ll set yourself on fire!” I said. Then I realized he had already done that, about an hour earlier. The funky smell was burnt fur, and he had the singed tail hair to prove it. We didn’t learn, obviously. I thought I was being smart by putting a lit candle on the end table, one day. He never jumped on the end table. Unless of course there happened to be an open flame. Damn cat. His tail went up in flames in a second. Had this been a cartoon, “POOF!” would’ve flashed across the screen. I screamed, grabbed a toss pillow off the sofa, and starting running down the hall after him. With two flicks of his tail, the fire was out. His fluffy marabou boa of a tail was thinned and patchy, but at least he survived.

I was given two votive candle holders as a Christmas gift a few years ago. The giver included two battery operated tea light “candles”. Your cat sets himself on fire three times, and suddenly you’re not trusted with real candles?! I know it was three times because the signs were all there that day. #1: open flame #2: funky smell #3: Gatsby was M.I.A

(the picture above is him next to a HOT iron. damn cat)

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Princess Writer

Hellooo, sassy readers! It is I, Gatsby! I couldn't let my red headed step brother, Tigger, get all the fame of ghost writing! Mommy is passed out after drinking a bottle of wine (apparently there was a big sale at Empire Liquors cuz the girl stocked up), so I've taken over for the night. This will be short. I have some grooming and a nap to attend to. Did I mention how fluffy I am?

Anyhoo...the bitch left me this afternoon to have lunch with Kelley. I think she got tired of me climbing on top of her, and head butting her from the back of the couch. It was my way of trying to get her off her phat ass and find the hairballs I've hidden throughout. They went to the Olive Garden, and it was craaaazy busy! They waited for 30 minutes for a table, and when they walked to their table, Mommy Dearest had survivor's guilt. The antsy patrons watched them with hunger in their eyes. Mixed with jealousy. Hmmm...Survivor's guilt. Like when your co-worker gets the ax from the nation's 6th largest bank, and you didn't. Yeah, like that. But Mommy had a martini and dessert, and said something about "if you're going down, you might as well go down in flames". I love flames! Not only am I psuedo gay, but I've been set on fire multiple times. Stay tuned for my biography!!

Then Mommy picked up Crazy Marcy for a shopping trip to Tarjay Boutique. I loooove Marcy. She knows how to pet a sassy boy like me. Marcy likes to give Mommy material for her blogs. Last week, on their way to IHELL (IHOP, worst experience EVER), Marcy said, "A guy would be lucky to date me. I'm a cheap date. I chose cheap meals." Or something to that effect. She can correct me later. I think Marcy is with PMS Man tonight. He's another blog entirely.

When Mommy Dearest came home with kibble, wet food (loooooove the wet stuff!), and a new toy, she was shown our appreciation with two vomit patches on her rugs! Mommy swears when she finds kitty vomit. It's quite amusing. Tigger and I prefer the carpet to tile when we puke.

OK, readers...I'm bored with you. I hear the girl across the hall coming home. I need to go look pretty and strut my stuff in front of our door. It's what I do well. She can't see me, but I act sexy and rub against the door and throw myself on the floor and show my belly in case she has Xray vision and comes to rescue me anyway.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Ghost Writer

Mommy is taking some time out this week due to "mass firings" on Wednesday at that place she calls "work". She took a generic sleepy time ibuprofen, and let me, Tigger, write this blog.

Mommy has had a headache since Wednesday at noon when something about shit hitting a fan? She said me and my brother may or may not have to eat something called Ramen Noodles the last two weeks of every month. I don't know what that means. But it's ok if tastes like the spaghetti she made tonight! I LOVED it. She left her plate on the end table, so I helped myself as soon as she turned her head. Then, due to her weakened condition, she put the plate on the floor so I could lick the tomato sauce that was left! Such a nice mommy. I didn't even throw it up on the overpriced wool rugs! Maybe tomorrow I'll let her sleep past 6AM?? I don't want her to be fired, so I'll make sure I wake her up around 5:30AM. Yeah, that sounds good. Anyway, here's a picture of my stoopid brother, Gatsby, taking a nap in the most ridiculous and randumb spot in the house.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

CrackHead in the Kitchen

A blog I shamelessly cyberstalk is "Angel in the Kitchen". Her recipes are like food porn to me. I consider almost all of them to be comfort foods, simple to make, and all look delicious. Every time she posts a new recipe, I want to make it! Veruca Salt decided she wanted me to make the Oatmeal Chip Bars. You don't argue with Veruca. (Plan ahead if you want to make these: You need 2 sticks of artery clogging softened butter, and 2 eggs at room temp.) OK- I think I'm done with the hyperlinks now. If you made it back to this blog, thank you, and congratulations.

Step 1: Clean the kitchen. "^*&%$$#@^!!"

Step 2: Tell the kids to stay back at least 4 feet. (I can never get them to pose together and both look at the camera. Brats.)

Step 3: Make it, bake it, shake it. I use an Easy Bake Oven, but a full size oven works, also.

Step 4: Repeat Step 1, Clean the kitchen. "^*&%$$#@^!!" (The maid has the weekends off, and she's been harassing me to buy the Easy Clean Dishwasher)

Step 5: Try not to eat the entire pan yourself. Pack some extra in the kids' lunchboxes to share!

**Blogger Research Note: I used a combination of semi-sweet choc chips, and milk choc/peanut butter swirl chips. I don't know if you could add peanut butter to the recipe? That would be awesome! The bars will be gooey, so don't over bake them, thinking they aren't cooked. Like I did. And use fresh butter. Mine wasn't so fresh. But the co-workers will eat anything, so it's all good.

About Me