When Legos Take Over

My son, the Boy, is a Lego fanatic.  I cannot think this is merely a normal interest in Legos.  When he has spending money, he spends it on Legos.  He wants Lego books and figurines.  He wants to buy Legos for other people.  He checks out Lego books from the library.  Not just the stupid Ninjago or Lego City books with crappy plots and photos of Legos in various poses to support the crappy plot.  No, he checks out books on building new Lego creations.

I, on the other hand, think Legos are cool...but in a general way.  I love that he is interested in Legos over, say, football, or Pokemon, or Nintendo DS.  I love that he can look at a picture of a Lego creation and figure out how to build it, and sometimes adapt it to his wild and crazy 6 year old point of view.  (Why wouldn't a Lego dinosaur have wheels that fold down out of his tail?)  He says he wants to be a Lego Creator, or an engineer.  No arguments from me.

The Boy has been dying to have girl Legomen (that's what he says). So, the Husband, being at a mall in Detroit, visited a Lego store.  You can build your own Lego people to spec!  So, he came home with a Valentine present for his boy... not one, not two, but THREE Lego girls built just for him.  He also bought me a Lego Forest Warrior Maiden...which the Boy covets.  I put her on the shelf, since he rarely lets me play Legos with him.  And I would love to.  Building is cool!

But, I gotta tell you.  I hate how they spread.  The Boy builds something crazy cool, and then it must be left up.  On display.  And then he builds another wild creation, which must be left up on display.  Soon, there is an entire shelf full of colorful flying machines, wheeled vehicles, and buildings resembling a pot-smoker's mushroom garden.

So, before you know it, he's reduces his stock of available pieces by half, and is desperately unhappy because he doesn't have enough spare pieces to build his new creations, because he needs the flat blue piece that has a connector on the side.  And nothing else will do...  And heaven forbid I suggest he look at his museum of creations.

I am a mean mommy sometimes.  If I have been getting on his case with too much frequency, and he still won't clean up, I will warn him that I will wreck his creations.  And if I have to make that threat too many times, I do it.  There is wailing and gnashing of teeth for twenty minutes... and then new creations begin to emerge from the replenished loose Legos bin.

He has a million pieces.  I am not exaggerating too much.  He has gotten big kits and small ones, general collections, and specific pieces.  He inherited his father's collection, which included some of his grandfather's collection.  The organization was killing me.  Seriously.  So, I looked around for a sorter-- this cool sifting box, which organized by size.  It was too small.  I got him a BIG craft sorter with three slide-out bins and a huge open top.  It is kinda cool.  Not big enough.  He now has two.  TWO!!  Almost big enough.  Legos are now sorted by COLOR...

But, I finally found what I've been looking for.  It is a four sided cloth bin, with zippers at each of the four corners.  You unzip it and then it folds flat to be a rectangular floor mat.  When it is clean up, you zip up the corners again, and yay! The mess is already contained!

The Boy doesn't understand why I call that a Lego accessory for me. Anything that means I am not yelling at him to clean up his building materials is a win to me.

Moving Sucks

Moving sucks.  You go through everything you own, and wonder why you own so much shit.  You throw stuff away.  You pack the items you know you want to keep.  You make huge piles of items to sell or donate.  Then you pack up everything else, knowing that you probably don't need it all, but loathe to toss it before you have a chance to go through it all carefully.

And then you move.  And the unpacking begins.


Me:  So, we have like 8 quart size storage containers without lids.
Hubby: Should we get rid of them?
Me:  I dunno.  We might use them.  Maybe?
Hubby:  Maybe we should toss them.
Me:  You may be right.
Hubby:  Did you find the yellow cups yet?
Me:  No.  I hope they didn't get tossed.  They were a matched set!
     (These yellow cups are 32 oz. yellow plastic with the logo for a coin operated laundromat in Nacogdoches, TX.  They are tacky as hell, but they are big and perfect for a big glass of water.  Plus they are dishwasher safe.  Oh well.  Then there were fourteen boxes marked "Master Bath".)
Me:  So, what is in this box?
Hubby:  What does it say?
Me:  Huh.  There are four different labels.  Mather bath.  Kitchen.  Hubby shoes.  Misc.
Hubby:  I am pretty sure that kitchen one is from when my grandmother moved.
Me:  So, Master bath or shoes?
Hubby:  I think my mom packed that box.
Me:  ...Oh.
Hubby:  What's in it?
Me:  I haven't opened it yet.  I lost my screwdriver.
Hubby:  (whipping out his pocketknife)  I'll get it.
Me:  Nonono!  My screwdriver is here somewhere!
Hubby: (opening box)  Huh.  I guess I didn't need to buy another package of razor blades.
Me:  (looking in box)  You bought more blades?  So we have eight thousand blades for you.
Hubby:  Where were these?
Me:  It says master bath.
Hubby:  Huh...
     (And then there was the kitchen I spent hours organizing early one morning when I couldn't go back to sleep.)
Hubby:  Where did the plates go?
Me:  I moved them to the cabinet over there.
Hubby:  But I thought you put them over the dishwasher.
Me:  Well, I did, originally.  But then I thought it made more sense over there.
Hubby:  So where did the Boy's medicine wind up?
Me:  Over the coffee maker.
Hubby:  Okay.  Hmmm.
Me:  What?
Hubby:  I cannot find the silverware now.
Me:  (exploding)  I just put everything where it was in the old kitchen!  It makes perfect sense!
Hubby:  (backing away) But the layout is different than in the old kitchen.
Me:  Well, yeah.  But the order is the same.
Hubby:  Okay, look, I will try to figure this out.  Now where did the cereal go?
Me:  In the pantry.
Hubby:  I don't see it.
Me:  It is right in front of you!  (looking)  Huh.  Wait, I know where it is... It was in that box marked Kitchen items.

I have made enough trips to Salvation Army that the old guy, who seems awfully reserved when he takes your bags and items, actually smiled at me the last trip.  I think he is gonna smile again when he finds me buying back the yellow cups that we cannot find and are certain wound up inadvertently in the 'Donate' box.

For Want of a Snail...

I want to tell you a funny story.

(I know, beware when someone begins a story by declaring it a 'funny story.'  But this one is more funny as in "wow, that is kinda whacky", although it certainly has some "wow, that is hilarious!" parts.)

Two Christmases ago, the Husband's sister sent us a thoughtful gift of a hummingbird water fountain.  It was a graceful bit of copper sculpture that requires only a body of water and electricity.  The hummingbird gracefully hovers over the open petals of a tulip, from which flows a charming cascade of water, hitting one of three leaves....Can you tell I thought it was a bizarre gift?

It sat in a box for a few months, until the Husband decided that we ought to get something to put the fountain in, so we could enjoy it.  Running water makes me have to pee (as does laughing, yelling, coughing, having sex, and peeing), but I thought, why not? Running water is also supposed to be soothing, right?

He came back from the hardware supercenter with... a red flowerpot.

I liked the flowerpot.  It was red.  I like red.  But it was not exactly appropriate for the 18 inch tall Hummingbird Water Fountain... Notice that the sculpture now has capital letters. That is when it began to assume a life of its own.

It distressed me, but we returned the beautiful flowerpot.  I would rather have kept the flowerpot and returned the Hummingbird Water Fountain, but alas, it was a gift, and we didn't know where to go to return it, whereas we knew where we bought the flowerpot.  Byebye, little flowerpot.

Hello 35 gallon pond.

We put the Hummingbird Water Fountain in the pond.  We had to experiment with bricks and cement blocks to get the height right, but soon, we had a lovely pond on our back deck, with a copper fountain splashing prettily.

It looked empty.  The Husband noticed, and soon, the pond had plants.  Three water plants:  a lily, floating water hyacinth, and a water lily.  And then, we added pretty gravel and pebbles to the bottom of the pond, and then some big rocks for variety.  And, the coup de grace... the rock with the Chinese symbol of balance.  Here is what we had, by the beginning of June.  Pretty, no?  We had a lovely place to display the Hummingbird Water Fountain, and make the birds happy.

One day, that summer, I was having my zen moment, kneeling before the Hummingbird Water Fountain, enjoying the tinkle of water before the run for the bathroom... when I saw something...something in the water... something moving.  A bug?  The Hummingbird Water Fountain kept the surface too busy for mosquitoes... or did it?

Tadpoles!  We had done a good job, and created a viable ecosystem for wildlife!  Amazing!  Frogs had come into our backyard, and hopped up onto our desk, and laid eggs!  Except...they weren't tadpoles.  Unbeknownst to us... one of our three water plants had carried a bonus.  A cluster of fish eggs.

Koi!  We soon had tiny fish all over the place!  Cool!  This led to frantic research, visits to the pet superstore, the purchase of additional water plants for the fish to eat, koi food, and endless speculation on what variety of koi we had.

Look carefully at the picture.  You see that the pond is on a deck.  A deck.  As September turned cooler, we began to recognize the implications of a 35 gallon pond with fish and water plants on a deck.

We set up the fish tank that the Husband had used back in his youth, which had until this point in our marriage held only a tennis racquet and collected dust.  This necessitated the purchase of a new filtration system, of course.  And modern chemicals, new water plants, and indoor gravel.

We successfully transitioned the 16 fish inside and figured out how to store the plants for the winter (5 gallon buckets of water in the garage).  At this point, we discovered that we didn't have true koi, but shubunkins, a different variety of goldfish, but lovely and thankfully not as large as koi.

Fast forward a little.  Spring arrived, we scrubbed the gravel from last year, and set up the pond again.  It was lovely, and the fish were so happy to be back, and they grew.  How they grew.  They also had fishy sex, apparently, because part-way through the summer, I noticed there were some tiny little fish as well.

Shit.  We bought more food, and new plants, and continue scrubbing away, and taking care of the damn pond... the damn pond that we only had because of the Hummingbird Water Fountain, which was no longer as happy as it once was, what with all the fish shit and algae filtering through the water.   Plus, the Hummingbird Water Fountain lost one of the three leaves, and was not shiny and pretty anymore.  Oh, and it made noise.

Summer ended, and we captured the fish again, and set up the plants, and all was well.  Except we now had well over twenty shebunkins, and the biggest guy was attacking the other fish, and we had to fucking clean the tank every three weeks to avoid the stinky aquarium smell.  The algae was awe-inspiring, and we briefly debated adding an algae eating fish.  Error check, and I instead sent out a plea over the Borg to see if anyone wanted some fish.

One of my girlfriends has a proper outdoor pond, and was happy to take some lovely shubunkins.  I let her pick out the prettiest ones, and encouraged her to get the big ones.  We were left with a more manageable 15 (or so, have you EVER tried to fucking COUNT fish?  Really?) and the fish society seemed happier.

Two weeks ago, I was drinking with Wine Friend and the Husband.  I was tipsy, admittedly, so the guys can be excused for laughing at me when I suddenly exclaimed, "Is that a fucking snail?"

Funny jokes ensued.  But, the truth of the matter cannot be denied.  We have a snail somehow.

I threw away the Hummingbird Water Fountain.

Don't Let The Door Hit You In The Ass On Your Way Out

I am not sure if I have an appropriate mindset for blogging, truth be told...  I have been treating this as an online journal, which works for me.  I have told almost no one about this blog.  And I get kinda cranky when unknowns stumble across it.  Mostly because they comment by leaving SPAM.

SPAM sucks.  So, SPAMMERS... this is for you... (she says with an evil smile):

Dear Jay /Mike /Other "casual" name,


Yeah, I kinda noticed that no one reads my blog.  Do you really think I ought to use the service you used to increase your hits?  'Cause, wow, wouldn't it be awesome to get a dozen or more hits in a day!  Zowee...  Where have I been going wrong?  


Oh wait.  I know.


I don't promote my blog.  Anywhere.  Not on Faceborg, not to my friends.  Hell, most people don't even know I have a blog.  And, see, you just MIGHT have noticed that it is kinda hard to comment on my blog.  I set it up that way...so not just any jackass can leave comments, or, for example, SPAM on my on-line journal.


Huh.  Do you kinda see where this is going?  Yeah.  I don't give a shit if you think I can increase my traffic.


I haven't exactly laid out the welcome mat, have I?


Thanks ever so!


Yours truly,
Zombie Grrrl

Clerics and Divas

My life is weird.

The husband and one of my best friends play DnD, and have pulled me into it.  I mostly get it... kinda.  I am learning.  I mostly play because I enjoy the company and the wine.  The Friend is a true wine lover.  He brings amazing wines, way better than the stuff I stock my (now empty) cellar with.  He and I can put away two bottles over the course of an evening.  And so we roll dice and play DnD, and I sit there smiling with my buzz as we slay the Undead.

Yeah, that is how they piqued my interest.  I mostly thought DnD was for crazy nerd guys.  Friend corrected me in that... or rather, he confirmed that it is for crazy nerd guys, but chicks play too, and it can be fun.  Still, I was resistant and reluctant to try to decipher all the code (2d8+Int mod.).  And so they dangled zombies before my eyes.

I cannot resist zombies, apparently.  So, we are playing this crazy campaign in which we are serving the Raven Queen (goddess of death, but not the dead, an important distinction, apparently), and on a mission to eradicate that which defies nature by not remaining dead.  I am playing a battle cleric.  I heal party members but I also hurt stuff... mostly the undead.  I have been dragged kicking and screaming into playing a second character-- a warlock.  I am basing her on Hermione from the Harry Potter series, but apparently that is going to wreck havoc on the party.  Nerds...

I am a week away from opening the show I have been rehearsing.  The entire process has been a reminder about why I don't do community theatre for me.  Apparently, one of the actresses had a MAJOR blowup last night at rehearsal.  I wish I'd been there.  But she made another actress cry, and upset the director, and has set my friend (a third actress) on edge.  She also threatened to drop out of the show... the show that goes up in, oh, NINE DAYS....  My friend is convinced that I could take the role if that actress carries out her threat.  Sigh.  I just wanted to do my job-- walk on and off, deliver my character and lines with precision and attention, and support the show.

I once directed a production of Our Town here.  The week before we went up, I told the actress playing the Stage Manager to just use the script, which was part of her props anyway.... She got her knickers in a twist and dropped out of the show.  I was the one who came out badly from that-- I was difficult to work with and unreasonable and mean.  She did no damage to her reputation whatsoever.  

Community theatre kinda sucks.

The through line here, and there is one, is that DnD is better than community theatre, at least at my house.  There is more wine and less whining.  There is good company and no dysfunctional theatre companies.  And all the divas are actual characters, rather than divas PLAYING characters.

I really need to retire from acting.  Roll a d6....

Destruction and a Hard Cider

I sit here before the computer, on a rainy Tuesday evening. I have half a hard cider remaining, and I just read the fucking funniest blog in the world. Probably the most offensive too, to about 33.3% of Americans. Mostly the Morman and Muslim ones. Oh, and maybe the Southern Baptist ones. Oh, and maybe the Catholic ones. Okay, so maybe it would be offensive to more like 66.67% of Americans.

I am pretty darn close to being ready for my touring class, which begins on Monday. The Boy is sleeping sweetly in his bed (I know 'cuz I just checked), and the Dog is done with her Chicken Dog routine, since the thunder is passed. The Husband is probably sitting in front of his laptop in the Windy City, or maybe enjoying a rare evening actually watching TV on the television. (He can only watch DVDs on on the TV at home. We didn't ever get around to purchasing the whatever you have to have to get television for free now.)

My one-act plays are cast, and I have read several pages of our final issue of Newsweek. Not that it is especially newsy, now. I am considering a switch back to Time.

Again, the mellow woman speaketh. However, don't worry. Was I mellow before? Just ask the Dog Cabinet. I threw away about seventeen pounds of shit. I found an expired can of dog food, rock hard dog biscuits, several old sippy cup lids.... (Just the lids, mind you. Why?) I recycled even more. Why did I keep just one plate of a stupid set of paper plates? Why did I find three bags FULL of plastic knives? Does anyone use plastic knives? Really? Do they cut?

Calming down. More cider.

So, after I cleaned out that cabinet (WHY DO I FUCKING HAVE THREE DOG PRESCRIPTIONS THAT EXPIRED IN 2006???), I next tackled the Boy's closet. I don't know why the top of his dresser was completely covered in over a foot's worth of stacked and semi-folded clothes, but it was. I don't understand. When I fold the laundry, I put everything in the drawers. So what was this stuff? I found a pair of girl's pants, a hanger without the hanging bit, and two opened containers of baby wipes. And that was all before I tackled the mess on the floor. I found a red sweater with clowns on it... the Boy won't fit it for maybe another two years, and would probably slit his wrists before being seen in public wearing it. Clowns, I ask you... Anyway, I filled a ginormous bag with items that the Boy cannot wear anymore, and are now in the basement awaiting the looming yard sale (or moving truck to Salvation Army).

And for the coup de grace, while the Boy watched his evening videos, I tackled the master bathroom. I am not sure why I found four empty bottles in the shower, other than the maid sucks and needs to be fired.

[That is a running joke in the house. I tell the Husband that the kitchen looks like ass, and that our maid sucks, and he needs to fire her, the joke being that I am the maid. He just gives me one of his patented "That's my Gracie Lou" looks, and ignores me.]

It was kind of funny. I honestly had NO idea that the glass doors to the shower were NOT frosted glass. (giggle) And I had forgotten what how shiny the floor tiles look when not covered in a soft cushioned carpet of black dog hair.

So, yeah, I went a little nuts today. I know that many people consider cleaning to be a Useful Task and Necessary. I think of cleaning as destructive. Honestly. There is nothing better than throwing shit out. I LOVE aggressively scrubbing something. When the Husband's boss was acting like Stalin, I tackled the heavy saute pan with a scrubber, and imagined that the stained and scummy surface was her face. My pan is awful purty now.

So, I have a clean Dog Cabinet, a clean closet in the Boy's room, and a clean Master bathroom, and I am now out of cider...

Does emptying the bottle of cider count as a destructive or a constructive act?

I took off my pants in middle of the Museum today

I have been miserably cold this winter. As in, I keep sneaking upstairs and upping the thermostat. And wearing layers. Lots and lots of layers.

Today, the Boy decided that we definitely needed to go the museum today. So, although I cannot beat this #&%$@!! head cold, I thought, hey, it is indoors. I could get some walking in, and he'd be entertained. All good.

I wore my new navy blue sweater dress. With a long sleeved t-shirt underneath. And skinny jeans. With blue tights underneath the jeans. Nice and cozy and warm, and very very cute.

We got there. The Boy was in heaven. And I was uncomfortable. At first, I thought, I am just tired. The cold is kicking my ass, and I have been up late writing too many nights. I came realize that I was not cozy warm anymore. I was pretty darn warm.

I lasted until we finished with the space hanger. We went to the restroom on the second floor. The Boy is such a big boy, he wanted his own stall, and didn't need help. Yippee. I wriggled the t-shirt out from under the sweater. I thought, wow, much better! We continued the adventure.

And I realized that I was still very warm. Like... too warm. By this time we were far away from the restrooms, almost at the spiral staircase. I thought, hell, you have tights on, just slip the jeans off. I looked around, and realized that, although no one was near us, we were on the second floor catwalk, and all eight people there would not only get to see the Concorde, but France as well... much more than they had been expecting. So, okay... wait for the elevator... the glass elevator. Never mind...

We got to the ground level. As I considered taking the Boy all the way back to the restroom, he announced that he needed a break. We sat in the chairs by the bright yellow helicopter. I looked around. No one was in sight. I stood up, reached up under my cute navy sweater dress, and started yanking my jeans down.

I had them safely stowed in the bottom of the stroller before we saw anyone.

Later, I wondered about the security cameras. Surely they exist. And, even more belatedly, I wondered why the hell I didn't just take the sweater dress off.

Oh. And check this out. Guffaw.