The Odd Couple: 5 Reasons I'm Letting Flea Renew His Lease

Morning Readers,

     Recently, Flea turned two years old - a momentous occasion which not only marked his time on this planet, but also his ATS (Ability To Survive) score. Right now, he's registering a solid 49 out of 50; perfect marks eluding him due to a slick pool of drool recently discovered on the sides of the coffee table. No one's more impressed than me. If you'd asked me, a year ago, what I thought of the dog, I would've been happy to expound on the joys of making one's own boxer-skin-coat and what an economical hobby it could be. If he'd chewed a hole through one more thing, I would've happily typed out instructions on how to turn him into the throw pillows he'd digested. Luckily for him, he's matured, and we've come to an odd, almost roommate-ish sort of situation. I'm only letting him stay because...

The Tale of Shake and Bake

Morning Readers,

     I've long felt that a grocery store is as good a place as any to explore one's own inadequacies. For instance, you may occasionally find yourself  staring a gorgeous, yellow skyscraper of of bananas, thinking, "Those sure look like some delicious bananas...I wish I knew what I could use them for." Or, "Yeesh, this potato sure looks top notch. If only I knew a few good ways to prepare it..I'd buy it right now." But you're scared, and the eyes of savvier shoppers convince you to drop the produce and walk away. Defeat...it's not just what you slip into shoes, everyday....

I Swear Officer, He Said It Looked Fine

 Morning Readers,

     When I got back from the lake, on Sunday, I did a little 'happy dance' as I brought in the mail. Flopping on the couch and bypassing the stack of bills, I grabbed the white envelope and, in eager anticipation, ripped the end off and shook out the contents. I looked at the contents. I got up, walked to the kitchen, found a paper bag that looked about the right size, and (after cutting-out an eye hole) pulled it over my head. I walked back to the couch and sat down. "I am not an animal", I whispered. My new driver's license just laid on the coffee table, reminding me that I'd been told it looked...um...what was the word? Oh yeah..
..good.

Hello Nature, It's Me Again.

 Morning Readers,

     I feel like I'm on a boat dock. And what began as a pretty straight forward attempt at writing today's post is quickly becoming a game of "stop moving around, laptop...I mean it". My wood laminate is also doing an excellent impression of the rise and swell so carefully described in Moby Dick. "Stop it. We're not hunting whales on a Monday." I want to scream. The past three days were spent in the wild. Ok, it was more along the lines of a very lovely house on the lake, but close enough that I had to shake hands with nature. And you all know how I feel about nature. Just in case you made a complete leap and assumed I went frolicking through valleys of wildflowers, whilst hugging a badger...

Hold on.... that was a bad one. Let me swim after my laptop and we'll continue.

Here's To You Wendi Deng

Morning Readers,

     It's a slow Friday around the Split-level. Butch and Sundance called a truce and finished peace negotiations in time for a nap, leaving me a few moments of peace and quiet. If I were worth anything, I'd be organizing my shoes or sanitizing my trashcan. Instead, I utilized the last few moments to get up to speed on the latest on world news. Which is why I simply must mention Mrs. Deng. For my Readers too busy working out world peace to be bothered with the internets, Wendy Deng made herself an overnight sensation by attacking her husband's would-be attacker first, sparing him from being hit with a pie to the face, and the ridicule of clown colleges the world over. An admirable act, but it got me thinking; how am I ever going to prove my love to Husband, if he's never attacked by a pie?

The Paper Shredder Murders

Morning Readers,

     Yesterday I saw a flyer nailed to a telephone pole. It read something like this..

Wanted:

Police are looking for any information which will help them  identify the killer of five paper shredders withinthe last six months. Suspect is believed to be a somewhat attractive (though nothing to write home about) white female in her late twenties. Due to the large amounts of paper found on the scene, and the force with which each shredder was found stuffed to the gills with paper, she is believed to be equipped with incredible biceps. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. If you or anyone you know has any information as to the whereabouts of this individual, please call.

My Secret Recipe

Morning Readers,

    Last night was "Meatloaf Night", and, while I was whipping-up my culinary delight, I thought of something; I've never actually shared my recipe with you.... And why not? We're all friends. Balderdash, I thought. Who am I to keep a fabulous recipe for meatloaf, all to myself? Some of my Readers could be staring at their ovens, this very moment, desperately seeking direction for a good loaf. I'm a loaf hog who shall redeem herself tomorrow. So, let me just dig through my neatly-filed index cards and..ah..here we go. I found it. I found it.. OK, so get out a pen and paper and we'll get started...

A Love Letter To My Kindle

Morning Readers,

     Last Friday, when it wasn't my birthday, I received a very thoughtful gift. It thoughtfully stayed in its box on the trip home, and thoughtfully stayed in my bedroom, until I thoughtfully took it out, later that night. Granted, it'd been a busy day, and I hadn't had a whole lot of time to pull off the wrapper and formally introduce myself, but I was also a little nervous. And by "nervous", I mean I was an elitist, a "book snob", a "I only read paper books because, yes, I'm better than you, actually care about literature, have an English degree and, if you're wondering, drive the car with the bumper sticker that reads "Honk if you love Gutenberg.." type of person. But then, I opened it.....my Kindle.

My Precious...

Ten Reasons It's Not My Birthday

Morning Readers,

      Whew.... just finished flexing in the mirror. In case you're wondering, yes, the guns look great. It's a good thing it's not my birthday, otherwise, my sweet biceps wouldn't be making other moms jealous when I go grocery shopping, lift the 2 lb tub of mayonnaise, above my head, and shout, "Wow, this wouldn't be so easy if I were any closer to 30." Nope, not my birthday yet. I'm sure of it. Although, I did get a card, this morning, and a few people texted me and insisted that it's my birthday. That makes me sad and gives me one more thing to put on my "To Do" list: Find New Friends. You'd think Husband would, at least, know it's not my birthday. But he kissed me and clearly said, "Happy Birthday", this morning. Maybe I need to make sure.

The Greatest Escape

Morning Readers,

     I'm of the opinion babies shouldn't fly, base jump, bungee, or operate a hang glider of any sort. Not only do they have extremely short arms - which prohibit proper mechanic responses like pulling rip cords or breaking properly - but tiny fingers do a poor job of signaling innocent bystanders to move aside, when they're coming in for a landing. Unfortunately, babies tend to do what they want, engaging in risky behaviors without prior approval. Even if one thinks the fat offender is locked safely away in his prison cage crate crib, ready for a good night's sleep, the young one is, no doubt, putting the finishing touches on the sheet-rope which will lower him to freedom.

Who Taught You How To Drive?

Morning Readers,

    If you ask him, Husband probably won't readily admit it, but I've saved us from at least two different accidents in the time we've known each other. After a shopping trip one year, I pulled myself away from deciding how many Christmas gifts I'd keep for myself, just long enough to let out a super-sonic scream and alert Husband to the fact we were about to slide into a much nicer car. *stopping to high five myself*. A few weeks ago, same situation, sans presents. Safety Sue strikes again and manages to stop Husband from running into a car on our way to the ballpark. (I'm now crying because I'm so moved by my service to humanity). So why is it he still thinks I'm the bad driver? This past weekend I weighed the facts.

The Panic Room

Morning Readers,

     Ahh, another Sunday, another fight for our lives. Thank goodness it's Monday and not Sunday, in which case, I'd still be dwelling on the horror and thinking it's Sunday and hoping for Monday and losing my mind somewhere along the way. But it's Monday, and it's all behind me....until next Sunday, and then I'll have to do it all over again. OK, now I'm dwelling, a horrible thing as I should be doing laundry, starting the dishwasher or solving that wily Rubik's Cube we call World Peace. Perhaps this is what panic feels like, but I shouldn't panic because I'm not in there anymore...am I?

...No, today is Monday.

Letter From the Editor: Subscriptions Now Fixed

Morning Readers,

     As you know, I usually don't post on the weekends, but it was brought to my attention, on Friday, that some links on the blog haven't worked since I had the web address changed to www.paigekellerman.com. After working with a very patient tech support person, the problem was discovered to be lying between my keyboard and my chair. *shrugs innocently*. So, if you are one of my Readers who usually got my posts to your email, Google, Yahoo, etc. homepages, or had subscribed to an RSS feed, my deepest apologies for making it look like I hated you. I don't....

I love you like a fat kid loves cake.

However, now that everything's fixed, if you'd still like to do me the greatest honor of reading this blog, you'll have to re-subscribe or re-enter your email. If you need any help, or find you're still having problems, please send me an email at paigekellerman@gmail.com. I greatly appreciate your patience, Readers.

Sincerely,

The Editor and Chief

Who's Scared of Their Refrigerator?

Morning Readers,

     I can see it now. A bright, shining kitchen..... waxed floors, cabinets with handles prominently touching the un-pop-corned ceiling, and a bowl full of oranges, are displayed before me. The camera pans to an impossibly skinny woman who looks like how you imagine you'd look if you could force yourself to drink those diet shakes for every meal instead of making the excuse you "don't want to die today." She smiles at you and opens a gleaming refrigerator, perfectly organized, perfectly clean, her hand easily finding the cheesecake-flavored yogurt she'll survive off of for the rest of the day. You die a little inside, not because she doesn't have a muffin top, but because she found that yogurt too, damn, easily. "Where are the hobos, the ghouls, the days-old casserole?", you yell. You begin to suspect advertisers aren't that honest.

I Mustache You A Question..What Is That?

Morning Readers,

     Sometimes I can't help myself. When I see a wall, the urge to run over to it and start slamming my forehead, repeatedly, is far too strong.The neighborhood kids have started calling me "Mrs. Denty Heads McGee", and I'm this close to being able to eat Fruit Loops out of the sweet, little divot above by eyebrows. Occasionally, the absurdities of life have this effect. For instance, why is it I'm required to shave every, last hair off my legs, shining them to a glow Mr. Clean would write me hate mail for, when Husband's allowed to aid the the Rainforest by growing a preserve on his upper lip? Twelve years of grammar, four years of college, and one English degree later, and all I can say is....It is furry...
 ...like wombat.

Happy Anniversary: I Have A Face and A Book Review and A Top Ten List

Morning Readers,

     I could lie and say I've got all my thoughts in order today, but I shan't. Actually, if you read today's title, you probably already know it's an off day, and there's an excellent chance if you keep reading, you'll end up as confused as I am. So, let's see.....yes, that was it. I need to mention my anniversary. If I don't, I'll forget that I had one. I had an anniversary. Husband and I have officially been married for two years....and I have a face. Crap, I'm getting off subject again.

Am I the Only One In This House That Can Dress Myself?

 Morning Readers,

     First tip of the day: Don't dunk your cookie in your coffee for more than five seconds. No one likes eating only half the cookie they'd intended to eat in its entirety. Second tip of the day: If you have children and a husband, stop going places. I mean it....just stop. Resign yourself to eighteen years of having food delivered to the door, never seeing sunlight and organizing intramural staring contests for your family. Sound difficult? It's not. At least, not as difficult as trying to get everyone ready to go somewhere. Why oh why did no one tell me? I mean, I was well-aware that being a wife and a mother came with being responsible for everyone, but, do I have to be the only one who knows how to dress herself? *forehead meets table*
     Saturday found us getting ready for a wedding, and after I'd stuffed each baby into something clean and presentable, I attempted to dress myself. But there was a third person who needed to be dressed, before that could happen.

I Vote "Yes" to Separate Beds

Morning Readers,

     I don't know about the rest of you, but growing up I used to watch a whole lot of old 50's and 60's re-runs. Being a home schooled child, I took careful time out between my "History of the Americas" and "How to Make Friends" text books, to click on the TV and see what Lucy, Samantha and Major Nelson were up to. I ate it up, but always found one thing to be particularly confusing: Why did married couples sleep in separate beds? (Well, that, and how Major Nelson fit into that damn bottle without pooping himself.) My parents didn't sleep in separate beds, neither did anybody else that I knew of. So why? My research (Googling) tells me it was because of TV censorship. My own experience now makes it abundantly clear, those women were trying to keep their sanity...