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April, 2008:

Toil and Trouble in Paradise

You know how when you’re really in the mood for a good hot pot of witch’s brew? I mean, totally emotionally invested in it, that nothing can stop you? And now your family’s happiness is riding on it because you promised them you’d make the best pot of disected animal pieces they’ve ever had? I mean, just the thought of Dragon’s blood and Toe of Frog makes your mouth water, doesn’t it?

So last night, I was adding the finishing touches to my brew when I reached into the pantry for the Eye of Newt, and wouldn’t you know it, the jar was empty. So I hopped on my broom, leaving the cauldron to simmer on the stove, and swept over to the local pagan grocer’s only to find the following sign taped on their front door (you can click on the pic to enlarge it if necessary):

Click to see enlarged picture

Normally, I always always ALWAYS have a potion or two on me, but I was in the middle of a quick run-to-the-store-for-this-one-thing-I’ll-only-be-a-minute shopping trip. I stood at the door, at a loss for what to do. If I returned without the Eye of Newt, my warlock of a husband would no doubt volunteer my ass as a soon-to-be-burning defendant at the next round of witch trials in Salem.

I flew around town, and while other stores carried Eye of Newt, it wasn’t organic. Meanwhile, I was running out of time, and I couldn’t just leave the cauldron unattended for so long.

It suddenly occurred to me that Poynsetta, my neighbor, might very well have some. Turns out, she had barrels of it, but again, not organic. “Don’t worry,” she said, handing me her copy of Spell Casting For Dummies. “Just use this. It works wonders.”

Well, let me tell you, casting spells was never so easy. I even got a little crazy with some extra ingredients. Chapter 6 on “Putting the Organ Back in Organic” was a Godsend. And the warlock will never be the wiser.

I’ll Have the Short NoFoam Extra-Dry Life, Please

I don’t know about you lot, but this Pasadena smoke is putting a damper on my plans for “going outside and getting some fresh air”.

I know you are all wondering about another item as well, but the jury is still out on what caused the power outage in my neighborhood last night. It could have been the copious amounts of air-conditioning that L.A.’s Westside was gulping but does not typically require. One nameless theorist suggested the Pasadena fire as the culprit (although it’s many miles away).

But I like the idea that the lights and the DVD player and the TV flickered off just after Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s and Laura Linney’s characters asked their Dad what to do if he was in a coma. My roomie and I were watching The Savages and it was a gripping scene. The three characters are in a coffee shop and the father yells, “Unplug me!” People at the neighboring tables turn their heads toward Hoffman and Linney and their father. Within seconds, our whole neighborhood was blanketed in darkness.

Perhaps we’ll never know, but odds are, some idiot was talking on two cell phones while leaning over to pull something out of his ass the glove compartment and plowed into another car which, in turn, smacked into a power pole.
And walked away from it.
And did not have a valid driver’s license.
Or insurance.
And will not suffer any consequences as a result of his or her bad (let alone illegal) behavior.
And will do it again in the future.
And will probably kill someone next time.

Tune in tomorrow for my lecture on Optimism: The Secret to a Long Life.
Unless of course, I should meet my demise before then, in which case, you’re all on your own.

Why Can’t We Be Friends?

Nobody ever talks to me at the gym. (Excuse me…the “club”. According to them, I don’t belong to something so common as a gym). I don’t know if it’s my scowling demeanor or my “Fuck You and the Horse You Rode In On” T-Shirt, but for whatever reason, I’m not verbally approachable.

However, the other day, some guy creaked over to me (he out-aged me by a couple of decades) and said, “Are you a Berkeley woman?”

First of all, what the hell kind of a pick-up line is that?

Second of all, why the hell would he think I might be a Berkeley woman? Did it show on my face somewhere? Was the question a veiled slight toward my hemp shorts? Was the fact that I’m too lazy to shave my legs all the time THAT obvious? What?

I mean, yeah, I went to Cal my freshman year, but where on my body did that manifest itself?

“Yeah, but only for a year,” I said to the sexagenarian. “How would you know that?”

“Well, it says so on your shirt.”

OK, first of all (or is it third of all) remember when I blathered on about how strangers will approach me if I’m wearing some big league school attire (or if they want 50 cents for the bus)? Well, here we go again.

Turns out, the laugh was on him, because I wasn’t wearing a Berkeley shirt. I was wearing a Barenaked Ladies shirt, and he realized his mistake and instantly started back pedaling. I stood up and tried to engage him in conversation and he merely introduced me to his wife at the next machine. Suddenly neither one of them were interested in talking to me, even though I actually attended their damn Alma Mater! The important thing, to them I suppose, was that I was no longer wearing THE SHIRT!

It was either that, or the goiter nobody seems to notice until I stand up.

Finally, Some News To Get Excited About

Yesterday, while walking my ostrich, Sheila, I discovered a new newsstand. That’s right. A newsstand that was news to me. It was one of those indoor magazine stores, Newsbeat or something, near Pete’s and Peet’s, and the urge to check the inventory for literary magazines overwhelmed me, so I tied the Feathered One to a bawling youngster outside and darted in.

Sacramento is not exactly known for its literary prowess, but this place carried more than the average Borders, which bordered on refreshing. And before you start snoring at the thought of all those obscure words, let me also inform you that this spacious and family-friendly place of business carried more than just your average lunch break reading material.

Say, for example, you’re surfing working at your desk and it’s 2pm. Time for your afternoon break. You’ve got 20 minutes to run down to the newstand and grab a mag, and oh, I don’t know, some anti-masturbatory cream. And not just any anti-masturbatory cream, but the fast-acting kind. The current stuff you use can’t keep up with you - you smear it on, and before you can say, “Oh God!”, you’re smoking a cigarette.

Well, have I got news for you. Lookee what I found there:

Click to Enlarge - HA HA! Get it?

Oh, don’t worry. If this New and Improved product still isn’t up to your speed, they sell cigarettes, too.

…IN OTHER NEWS …

My review of Tara Yellen’s After Hours at the Almost Home has been published on Curled Up With a Good Book. Click here if you wish to read it.

…IN OTHER OTHER NEWS …

The Princess and The Pea has been kind enough to add Nanny Goats In Panties to her blogroll. The Princess, a new addition to the Midlife Bloggerettes, explores the “Foibles & Fables on Being Female”. It feels like a nice morning chat over coffee and you feel like you’ve walked away having learned something.

Peet and Repete Are In a Boat

If you blink in Sacramento, you can miss spring entirely. This desert city that ironically boasts the most trees in the world, flips from winter to summer before you can exclaim, “What a nice day.”

So it was in awe that my friend and I walked around the city after a late breakfast, only to be assaulted by corporate expansion gone awry. I give you Exhibit A:

Just because Starbucks and McDonald’s (the Starbucks of hamburger joints) sees fit to open up stores across the street from each other, I was dismayed to find out this unforgivable sin didn’t stop with them. Shame on you Peet’s. Or Pete’s. If that is indeed your real name(s).

Actually, I have a good mind to lease a 3rd corner here, open up a gardening store and call it “Peat’s”.

IN OTHER NEWS….
Nanny Goats In Panties debuts on BlogHer today. In the forum introductions, I noticed that the prevailing tone seemed to be somewhat timid, so I decided to bust in like a loud obnoxious Neanderthal. Perhaps the others will think “Uh oh, there goes the neighborhood.” What do you guys think? Too pushy?

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