Playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. And I’m pretty damn good for somebody whose mouse pooped out on her and who is having to play using only the touch pad and her speedy magic fingers.  Ten years of piano lessons and 14 years of finger spelling the words on every billboard I pass are finally paying off!

Counting calories. It’s working, because I’ve lost 11 pounds in two weeks.

Teaching Tig and Simon. Their mom is busy delivering babies all the time, so I’ve taken over their home schooling.

Learning new ways to feed my dog. I can’t afford the “good” dog food anymore, so I’ve been researching ways to feed Louise things other than nasty, cheap-ass Alpo and the like.  Turns out that a combination of rice, cheap (cooked) meat and Veg-All makes her very happy and less gassy.  It’s also fattening her up nicely.  (I know a raw diet would be ideal, but I can’t afford that amount of meat.  And she gets regular dog food every other day or so.  I’ve done my research and I’m doing my best to give her a well-rounded diet that includes all the nutrients she needs.)

Discovering TV wikis and becoming mildly obsessed. Man, those things are so convenient!  I never even knew the Observer showed up in every single episode of Fringe!

Working on my online class so I can get a permanent job working from home. I should have been done months ago, but it turns out that while I’m a really fast typist, I’m a really shitty speller — especially when it comes to medical terminology.

Obsessing over Eagerly anticipating the new Star Trek movie without spoiling myself. I sure as hell hope I have the $10 to see this movie at the theater, because I don’t think I can wait for the DVD.

Turning in to a hypochondriac. Two weeks ago I felt awful.  Awful!  Like, somewhere in the top seven worst illnesses I’ve ever experienced.  I found two ticks on me within a couple of hours, and I immediately diagnosed myself with Rocky Mountain Spotted Tick Fever.  In my defense, I had every single symptom except a rash, which is kind of the most important symptom; obviously, I didn’t have Rocky Mountain Spotted Tick Fever.*  And now I’ve got this whole swine flu thing to worry about.

Injuring myself in the course of normal household activities. Friday night I attempted to change my air filter.  Because, you know, that’s what a person does at the beginning of the month according to her Buffy 2009 calendar.  Unfortunately, I fell backwards off the step ladder during my attempt and sustained mild-to-middlin’ injuries.  I landed on my ass, and then my head bounced a couple of times.  This wouldn’t have been so bad if the dog I fostered back in the winter hadn’t ripped up the carpet in that hallway; as a result, I landed on the worn carpet without the expected padding beneath and pretty much body slammed myself onto concrete.  I also broke my glasses for the second time in two weeks; not only could I not repair them with SuperGlue, but I managed to smear said glue all over a lens.  Shortly thereafter, I puked.  I attributed this to my unfulfilled desire for sushi and staying under 1500 calories rather than a concussion.  But it turns out the base of my skull and my ass were worse for wear… so to speak.  Surprisingly, my ass hurts way more than my head, and I’m most certain I’ve bruised — if not broken — my tailbone.  This hurts.  A LOT. Like, more than anything I’ve ever experienced before, considering the length of time the severity of the pain has lasted.  Seriously.  Those in the know will understand when I say “WAY worse than the nipple incident.”

*”Rocky Mountain Spotted Tick Fever” is kind of like “Scott Hope”: that is, you have to say the whole thing or it doesn’t count.

Everything I know about computers I taught myself — which means I don’t know much.  In particular, I am completely helpless when it comes to Excel.  I can make word charts, but I don’t have a clue about how to do the mathematical formula stuff.

So here’s the part where I need help.

Right now I have a freelance job where I get paid up front, and then I “work off” the money.  I get paid $8 an hour for various kinds of work.  For the last month the client and I have been keeping a running list of my time worked on her refrigerator, but a spreadsheet at EditGrid would be more convenient for both of us so we could both check it independently.  It would also be nice if the spreadsheet did the math for both of us.  So basically I need a spreadsheet at EditGrid where I could input the date, the kind of work done (I have a couple of projects I’m working on for this particular client.), the hours worked, and the money already paid.  Basically, the spreadsheet would need to multiply the hours worked times $8, then subtract that amount from the money I’ve already been paid so we can know when it’s time for me to be paid again.

I just spent three hours trying to figure out how to make my own spreadsheet at EditGrid, but I’m pretty much an idiot at this stuff.  Can anyone point me toward an online resource that tells me how to do this simple task?  I would be eternally grateful.

For months now I’ve been trying to figure out what all these “D” abbreviations are on the Interwebs.  I keep seeing people talk about their “DH” and “DS” and “DD,” but I could never quite figure out what these references meant.

I blame Lauriemouse.  She used to refer to her ex-husband as “Dickface” on her blog.  But then she realized he might some day stumble across it, so she changed it to “DF.”  So I’ve been sitting here thinking that “DH” was “dickhead” and “DS” was “dick sucker” and “DD” was… Well, I never quite got that one.  The best I could come up with was “dumb dick.”

Today — yes, today — I finally figured out that these stand for “Dear Husband,” “Dear Son,” and “Dear Daughter.”

In my defense, I don’t have any of those things, so my brain wasn’t really going in that direction.  But I do know a lot of dicks.

These are the things that whet my whistle right now:

Drugs probably would have helped when I read the originals.

I’ve admitted to not knowing a lot about Star Wars, but even I know how awesome this Tauntaun sleeping bag would be IF IT WERE REAL. (Via Shan.)

I have never read The Pantyhose Craft Book, but I can offer NOT ONE, BUT TWO usable pantyhose hints.  Number the First:  My daddy — a life-long hunter who taught me gun safety when I was way, way, way young — insists that expensive pantyhose are the essential first layer of clothing when going Into the Woods.  (Did I mention my daddy was also an English teacher with a minor in drama?)  Number the Second: Cut the (highly woven) tops off of worn-out knee-high stockings to use as ponies/pony-tail holders/hair ties/elastics.  (Seriously, y’all.  They’re free, they blend in better if you’re doing a fancy up ‘do, and they’re actually better for your hair than regular ponies.)

When I first saw the Quattro TrimStyle razor ad last week, I thought, “This can’t be advertising what I think it’s advertising.”  But it is!  I’m almost ashamed to admit I found it a bit unsettling.  I was afraid I accidentally turned into a prude, but then Lauriemouse reminded me that it’s probably an underlying fear of razors anywhere near my lady bits.

As soon as Deep Leap is out of beta, I’m pretty sure it’s going to replace my Scramble obsession.

I’m helping Simon and Antigone, my cousin’s home schooled children, prepare for the upcoming (required) state standardized test.  Yesterday they worked on an open-response writing prompt in which they were to write a headline and news article about a current event.

Tig wrote about “Willow and Wesley’s” new baby, and Simon wrote about Andy Hallett’s untimely death.  (Simon’s headline:  “Demon Dead! People Sad.”)

My friend Andi and I are preparing for the Second Coming, which Andi asserts is essentially a Zombie Apocalypse.  We think they’re slowly building their numbers.  So far we suspect Gary Busey, Dick Cheney and Larry King are zombies.  Of whom else should we be wary?

I spent my weekend moderating a quiz bowl tournament and hanging out with my cousin Kim.  I like to go to Kim’s house because her kids are cool and her husband is an incredible cook and she has cats.  Besides, when I visit we pile up in her bed, watch TV, and make her husband serve us.  I like to imagine this is what married life is really like, and Kim has yet to disabuse me of this notion.

And so, a brief overview of my time at Kim’s casa:

• When I arrive, Kim is at a birth.  She’s almost never at home when I arrive, because some baby always decides to get born.  Lame!
• Kim gets herself all worked up when she tells me her ten-year-old daughter Antigone has been asking to go to church with the neighbor girl.  At one point Kim says,”…and I told her no daughter of mine is going to church.  No ma’am, not as long as she lives under my roof!  I forbid it.”  Predictably, I crack up.
• Kim spends much of my visit trying to get me to watch a scary movie she “accidentally” rented.  I do not watch scary movies, and I especially do not watch gruesome movies.  And yet she pesters me to watch a movie that actually has a disclaimer on the box that says, “Rated R for extended periods of extreme violence and gore.”  She tried to get me to watch Sweeney Todd, too, which I’m fairly certain also includes extended periods of extreme violence and gore due to the fact that it’s about a guy who slices people’s throats and then hacks them up to serve in meat pies.  The fact that it’s a musical or that I might catch a glimpse of ASH in the background is not enough to persuade me.
• Instead, we watch In Her Shoes.  (I’m going to be talking about plot points, so beware if you’re spoilerphobic.  But this movie sucks, so you really shouldn’t watch it, anyway.)  This leads to much ranting on my part over the course of the rest of the evening.  The movie is about a dowdy, unattractive, responsible, straight-laced woman (Toni Collette) who’s the big sister to an irresponsible party girl played by Cameron Diaz.  My first point of contention is that Toni Collette is neither dowdy nor unattractive.  Someone started perpetuating this myth with Muriel’s Wedding 15 years ago, and it was bullshit then just like it is now.  Plus, I only like Cameron Diaz on SNL; otherwise, she kind of sucks.
• Kim’s husband, Nathan, brings us hand-battered calamari and homemade gourmet pizza.  He has to bring a lawnchair in from the deck to sit with us because we refuse to make room for him in the king size bed.  (We do, however, heap praise on him for the incredible meal.)
• Toni Collette’s character gives Cameron Diaz’s character an ultimatum that includes having to have a job by the end of the day.  Diaz’s character searches all of Pittsburgh and can’t find anything for which she’s qualified (This was pre-recession, people.), although she finally walks into a dog grooming shop and is hired on the spot with the question, “What do you know about anal glands?“  There are (fake) tears of sorrow as well as accusations and recriminations on my part, and (real) tears of laughter and cackling on Kim’s part.
• There’s a bit of dialogue in the movie that’s something about a character looking for the perfect man.  I note that I wouldn’t want a perfect man, because it’s the imperfections that make things interesting.  Kim rolls her eyes and says, “Save it for your blog, Bradi.”  (So I did.)
• Cameron Diaz’s character gets a job as a CNA at a nursing home and meets an elderly, blind resident who’s clearly there to “teach her a life lesson.”  “Good God,” I say.  “And here we go with the quasi-Magical Negro trope.”  “Wouldn’t he have to be black to be a magical negro?” Kim asks.  “No, they come in all shapes and sizes and colors*,” I reply.  “What if he were from Asia?” Kim says.  “Would he be a magical Asian?”  “Nope.  Then he’d be a wise sensei,”  I say.  Kim shakes her head.  “Uh-uh.  I think that’s called a Mr. Miyagism.”  “Wax on, wax off!” I yell.  Then we high five and almost pee the bed for the millionth time, even though it’s not funny at all.
• During the same scene, the elderly, blind white Magical Negro asks Cameron Diaz’s character to read to him.  She hesitates, and I make Kim pause the movie for the sixteenth time.  “If you and I wrote this movie, Cameron Diaz would be illiterate.  Then this movie would be hilarious and would really take off.”
• Ten minutes later, Cameron Diaz’s character attempts to read a poem to the elderly, blind white Magical Negro and pretty much can’t; she is, in fact, illiterate.  It’s not nearly so funny as it could have been.
• Kim’s cat, Nikos, is discovered in the hallway, and we realize he is there to teach us a life lesson.  This is a trope I hereby dub “Magical Pussy.”

We called it a night.

*Clearly, I don’t really understand the concept of “Magical Negro.”  But it was funny at the time.

As some of you know, my cousin India died two weeks ago.

We don’t know much about her death because the doctor’s don’t know much.  She hadn’t felt very good for a week or so beforehand, and her husband finally made her go to the hospital.  They admitted her, and while she got settled into her room she sent her husband home to pick up her toothbrush and pajamas.  When he returned thirty minutes later, she was dead.  The official cause of death was pneumonia.

She was 28.

*****

India Anastasia Harrell Corley.

Wife, mother, daughter, friend.

Family shattered, abused, abandoned.
Gangs, drugs, upheaval,
despair.

Too much responsibility too soon.

Quit school at sixteen to earn her GED.
Entered college at seventeen;
put herself through.
First person in her family to earn a degree.

Found love, made love, made a baby.

Took what little she was given
and made something
large
and
beautiful.

Writer, reader, philosopher, teacher.

Gone too soon,
but it was
a
life
well
lived.

India: not a place, but a person with a place in my heart.

This is how it usually goes when I have to give my address to a CSR over the phone:

Me: … Cabot, Arkansas.
CSR: That’s “AK,” right?
Me: No, it’s “AR.”
CSR: Really?  I thought “AR” was Arizona.
Me: No, Arizona is “AZ.”  And”AK” is Alaska.
CSR: Really?  I thought “AL” was Alaska.
Me: No.  “AL” is Alabama.

This has been going on for years and happens with about 80% of these types of calls.  (I really don’t understand how a person can be a CSR if he doesn’t know the postal abbreviations.)  But lately I’ve been getting this, too:

CSR: You sound really Southern.  Are you from somewhere else originally?
Me: Uh, no.  I’ve been in Arkansas all my life.
CSR: Really?  I thought Arkansas was in the Midwest.
Me: No.  It’s in the South.

Okay, technically Arkansas is in the Midsouth, just like Memphis.  But lots of people I’ve encountered lately — not just CSRs — seem to think Arkansas is at the “bottom” of the Midwest because it’s beneath Missouri.

For instance, the yoga instructor I hosted in November (who was from Arizona) was flabbergasted by how “Southern” we are here.  She thought this fair state was as Midwestern as, I don’t know, Kansas or something.  Or Texas.  She also mentioned Texas.  (If you ask me, half of Texas is in the South, and the other half is in the Southwest.  Have you ever been to East Texas?  The part where there’s still green stuff and not tumbleweeds?  That’s still the South, people.)  Have I been wrongheaded about this all my life?  Do other people not think of Arkansas as being a Southern state?

To me, Missouri is sort of the dividing line.  The southern tip of Missouri tends to have the drawl, although not necessarily the accent.  Anything above Sedalia, however, and you’re dealing with the Midwest.  And although Oklahoma is pretty much “even” with Arkansas on the map, I’ve noticed that the Southern accent is generally confined to the eastern part of the state that borders Arkansas.

Arkansas, however, seems completely and totally Southern to me.  I mean, the accent alone should be a dead giveaway.  (Did people listen to Clinton talk for those eight years and really think he was Midwestern?*)  Although having a twang and dropping the “g” on “ing” words can be a bit problematic as an indicator, as I don’t think of Kentucky as being Southern but think the accent sounds pretty “country” and bears a marked resemblance to my own.  I think that’s because so much of Kentucky is rural (and poor), though.  (This was especially apparent when I saw Diane Sawyer’s recent special on Appalachia.  If you saw it, that’s pretty much where I grew up — except with about 20% less drugs and poverty.)

I think most people tend to think of Arkansas as a Southern state, though.  Right?  One of my favorite memories of the WD party is someone — I think either CosmicAmanda or Simon — telling me they generally found Southern accents horrid and off-putting but were pleased to find that mine didn’t bug so much.**  So clearly at least one member of the WD’s UK contingent thinks of Arkansas as a Southern state — and that person lives an ocean away in another country.  So how come people in the U.S. don’t automatically categorize Arkansas as a Southern state?

*I realize that not all Arkansas accents are the same.  I mean, I grew up in a rural area just 60 miles from Little Rock and don’t sound the least little bit like most working class people who were reared in the capital.  As I understand it, there are three distinct accents in the state.  One is in the Ozarks, which is influenced by Appalachia.  Another is in the southern tip of the state, which is influenced by Creole and Cajun due to its proximity to Louisiana/the bayous.  The other is in the Delta.  I don’t know what the influence is there, although I’m fairly certain it’s related to African-American influences.  I know there are people on the WD who understand this stuff and could explain it to me; I just wish I could remember who they are.  But I don’t think a non-Arkansan could identify these differences unless he spent quite a bit of time traveling the state.
**Another favorite memory was sitting on Cassy’s patio while a light breeze wafted and commenting to Rian that “I wish I had a pony.”  “I wish I had a cigarette,” she said.  I realized I needed to be more specific.  “No, I mean I need a pony.”  She stared at me blankly.  “An elastic?”  More blankness.  “A hair tie?”  “Oh!”  Rian said.  “You need a pony-tail holder!”  Or something like that.  It was pretty funny, especially since she grew up in Texas.

In other news, I got so excited by the ad I saw for Race to Witch Mountain during the recent The Amazing Race premiere that I almost peed my pants.  If only they would do a live-action Bunnicula movie, my life would be damn near complete.

Also, it’s shitty posts like these that make me think twice about my aversion to Twitter.