Springtime for Zombies: A Lake Tahoe Travel Diary

At the little Welcome Party/Orientation for us the night we arrived at our "resort" in Lake Tahoe a couple of weeks ago, they tell us that the temperature at the bottom of the lake, the second deepest lake in the world, is fifty-two degrees. A nasally-voiced lady seated in front of me pipes up in dissent.

"That can't be right", she says. "Because that's too warm and dead bodies would release gas and float up to the top all bloated." This prompts a discussion about some sheriff who is rumored to be at the bottom of the lake. I'm wondering how these people can talk like this in front of a child I see in the front row, but if his father isn't saying anything, then whatever, man.

On another day, out of earshot of children and pedantic tourists, one of the resort guys tells me that he's convinced the casinos were at one time run by The Mob, which in turn meant that there were a lot of feet chained to, or encased in, cement blocks at the bottom of the lake.

We were also told at some point that Lake Tahoe was 95% pure.
 
So if you do the math, five percent of that lake is dead bodies, right? What is that, maybe 8,000 dead bodies or so? Do you know how many potential zombies that is? I can't do the math that fast so when you figure it out, let me know.

A couple of days later, I'm at a restaurant atop Harrah's Casino and a woman at the table behind me is loudly asking her tablemates, "Who's that guy? You know, that gangster guy. Really famous..." and then the waiter comes up and she asks him too, "Who's that guy, the famous mob guy? The one who went missing and they think he's in the bottom of Lake Tahoe..."

Nobody. Nobody at the table can help this woman. On the inside I'm all Horseshacky, squirming around, my inside voice is all "ooh-ooh-ooh!". My Jeopardy clock is ticking down like I've only got three seconds to answer the question. Adrenaline courses through my body but I resist the urge to turn around and blurt out the answer because I don't want to look like some desperate Blanche of eavesdroppers who depends on the conversations of others.

But I can't stand it. My mind won't think of anything else until I extricate the correct and final answer from my body like the demon that it is. I turn around in my chair.

"Excuse me," I explode, panting. "It's Jimmy Hoffa."

Whew! There. I got it out of my system. Except that my know-it-all ego wants seconds. I tell it to get back in its cage and take a nap. It's done for the evening.

Hey, I took a picture from our dinner table, wanna see?

From the someteenth floor of Harrah's

Just think, five-percent of that water holds a future pack of zombies, biding its time, waiting for the right moment to spring up, take over and eat everybody.

You knew it was Hoffa, right?

Kentucky Derby Parties: They Wear Dresses, Don't They?

Ah, Spring. The twittering of birds. The blooming of flowers. The attending of parties. What's not to love?

WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE??? I'll tell you what's not to love. It's that part about the attending of parties. I'm either whining that I don't get invited to parties, or I'm whining that I got invited and don't know what to do about it.

Saturday afternoon about 2:30pm, I'm beginning to fret that since the party my husband and I were invited to starts in a couple of hours, and since said party is a Kentucky Derby party, and since the invitation to said party distinctly reads: "festive attire is encouraged", that maybe I ought to wear something other than a T-shirt and sweatpants. I Googled "Kentucky Derby Party" images and quickly realized that there is actual fashion for such events. Like hats. And dresses. ACK!

And then!... Then my husband comes into my office while I'm Googling party outfits and tells me that the race is at 3:30, one hour BEFORE this party starts. Well, THAT doesn't make sense, so I pick up the phone and put down the phone and I pick up the phone and put down the phone. Because who am I, a mere acquaintance to the hostess at this point, to have such audacity telling her how to throw her own party? Then I pick up the phone and call the hostess and say something inane about how her invitation stated that we would watch the race at the party. Come watch the fastest 2 minutes in sports, it said, but how can that be if the party doesn't even start until an hour after the race is over?

Our gracious hostess may have rolled her eyes and questioned her sanity at inviting us as she explained how there's this new technology called DVR and blah blah recording blah blah and I hung up feeling like an idiot with control issues. I'm already two notches down on the party point scale and it hasn't even started yet. Did I mention that I didn't RSVP until the day before the party? Make that three notches.

So I spent the next hour wondering how many people were going to be there and were they really going to dress up or would I walk in looking like a dork in my Sunday-go-to-meetin' get-up at a party where I didn't know ANYBODY.

I scrounged around the piles on my closet floor, and pulled out something mint julippy and threw it on.

Hey y'all.

So while I felt a bit prepared wardrobe-wise, I went back to worrying about a party of fifty, maybe even a hundred strangers, wishing I knew more about the drugs that people take to calm themselves down.

I didn't want to get there too early, so we left at 4:30, which was when the party started. We got there at 4:33. Ack! I thought, that's too early! Look! There's no one parked in front of the house.

"Let's go run an errand", I begged my husband.

That took five whole minutes. Even driving slowly. Ever notice there's never a red light around when you need one?

Yes, the party was fantastic and yes, I met some really nice people and yes, I had a good time, so why do I always worry so much beforehand about being perfect? What horrible childhood trauma occurred for me to be so anxious about these things? And exactly which drugs should I take for this condition?

And who won the Kentucky Derby, anyway? 'Cause we had such a blast, that high-tech DVR thingie never got turned on.

Goat Thing of the Day: Ringtones and Laundry Day

A local fan here in Sacramento (thanks, Tye!) set 11 seconds of bleatable bliss to some classical music and made a goaty ringtone for me and I'm here to share it with YOU. How nice am I?






If you can't view the video from here you can go to the NGIP Ringtone on YouTube. Also, the more I listen to it, the more I wonder if it's sheep, but I wouldn't know the difference, so today and for the next 300 phone calls I receive, they are goats.



And then Teri from Snarky Mama sent in a picture of one of her goats who is clearly taking a break from her (his?) panty laundry duty.

And no Goat Thing of the Day would be complete without the requisite baby picture...

These kidlets, Stitch and Lilo and no I'm not kidding, were born at the Circle D Corral at Disneyland park this week. You can see more goat babies at the Disney Blog. (Thanks, Monica!)

Anger Management Issues with Boxes (and NGIP Merch Debuts)

I bring to you today the latest engineering in Kraft Macaroni and Cheese packaging. Remember the ridiculous request to "push in" as if the perforation would actually perforate? And am I the only one who "pushes in" with a frickin' steak knife?

Well they must have gotten enough complaints (and broken nails, and bloody fingers) and think we're all doing it wrong because they've added a second step to help clarify this complicated process:

So now you must "tear back", because apparently, we were trying to pour all the macaroni and squeeze the powdered cheese packet out of the little hole that we "pushed in". Well thank the Lord in Heaven they opened my eyes with a new set of instructions because look at what a difference it makes!

Now where's that frickin' steak knife?








I would like to thank the mailman for relentlessly throwing all our packages over the fence and right into the dirt, particularly after a good rain and also particularly when the box says things like "FRAGILE".

Can you guess who is NOT getting a box of ThanksALot Girl Scout cookies this year?

But aside from the bitching, I have to say that Zazzle does pack things well because look what didn't break!

Right now, you're probably saying to yourself, "Gosh, how does Margaret get all this cool NGIP paraphernalia and I don't?" Well the good news is....NOW YOU CAN!

That's right, the NGIP Merchandise Booth is now open at Zazzle.com. You can get NGIP coffee mugs, T-Shirts, Sweatshirts, postage stamps and more! Wearing an NGIP T-Shirt or Hoodie will bring a smile (or a look of shock) to everyone around you. But YOU will be in your very very happy place and that's all that matters anyway, right? Why, just look at this nameless high-paid model and the utter joy on his face because he is wearing an NGIP sweatshirt.

Commute to work with this lovely travel mug amidst the stares of your car pool buddies.

Host your next holiday with this lovely apron that virtually guarantees your food will never ever burn again!

Also? If you want something with the NGIP logo on it and you don't see it in the store, just let me know, I'll be happy to make it and add it to the store if it's offered. Or tell you that it's already offered, sillypants, you just need to select a different style or color. But I wasn't sure if you would even want an NGIP shirt for your dog. Or your goldfish. Or whatever. So I'm holding off on that until somebody asks for it.

Also? In celebration of Mother's Day, you get FREE SHIPPING (ground) until April 28 (that's Wednesday) for any orders over $25.00. Just use order code: MOMDAYGROUND.

Visit the NGIP Merch Store.

Goat Thing of the Day: Baby Pictures

Bust out the pink cigars, cuz it's a baby girl! Say hello to Pinta...

This cutie was sent in by Michelle of Goat Berries. Here's the birth story of Pinta with her mother, Pasqualina.


Lorie of The Shewbridges pointed me to this little floppy-eared adorableness over at the Daily Squee: