Ooops....

One of our student assistants at work is going on to a 'real' job and we had a cake for her & I took some pics with the office camera - a nice Kodak. I've had the camera in my cubicle for some time now. During the farewell party my boss had a look at the camera and he laughed, saying 'Well now I know what goes on around here, there are shots of a belly dancer on this camera!'

That was pretty funny, the photos were practice shots I took in December during the CalEPA's Christmas celebration. Later on that afternoon I was downloading the photos and viewing the thumbnail photos was stunned to see several pics just like the following...

What the...!? I was flabberghasted. Obviously one of the students must have gotten hold of the camera and took photos some pregnant woman's belly. How dare those whippersnappers....! It dawned on me - what I was looking at - photos of my own back! Allison took the photos at work, the morning I asked her to pluck the tick from me! She took the photos but in the following hoopla I forgot them.

GAK! It dawned on me, my boss saw the photos! What was he thinking? That I took photos of the belly dancers, then photographed their gigantic bellies? GAK! I called the boss over and explained about the tick photos of my back. He already knew about the tick - let's face it, everyone on the globe was told about the tick.

Nope, wasn't a belly dancer's belly, nor a pregnant lady; just my fat back. I think it was the lighting that made my back look so round. I was bending forward and... ok, my back is weird... ok, it's bizarre.

Here are the same shots from above, only blown up to give us all another look at the creepy little tick that dug in.

Yes. I'm grossed out too.

Sucking itself some prime grade Claire juices.
Super close-up. Gross, gross, gross!

The Cost-co Shopping Challenge

Lord help me, I went to Cost-co.

Next Wednesday is the CalEPA's Black Caucus luncheon and to spare the lives of innocents that would otherwise taste my cooking, I volunteered to supply the paper plates, cups, napkins, and such for next . Yeah, ok, so I'm an uninspired cook, but the way I see it I'm doing everyone an immense favor by not cooking. No one wants to remember Black History month as the month all the African-Americans at CalEPA died from ptomaine poisoning.

Denia Pixie, Oriental Lily 

So after work I was off to Cost-co to buy the paper-ware and I was doing pretty good – only putting necessities into my humongous shopping cart. Ok, to confess, I did buy enough fresh blackberries and apple slices to keep the British Navy out of danger from the ravages of scurvy or rickets and yes, I admit I bought enough asparagus to make my pee smell peculiar for several weeks. Oh right... and I bought a barrel full of those yummy portobello mushrooms the size of manhole covers. And before I forget, I also bought dried blueberries, which are now widely believed to contain magical & healthful cancer-nixing elixers of the sort normally procured from old ladies who live in caves wearing bat wings, garlic and such around their necks. Go easy on me; at least I managed not to talk myself out of buying almonds, packaged by the crate. Ok, ok, I bought the almonds packaged by the barrel.

Double Hollyhocks

I was so very proud of my prudent shopping. I was genuinely thrifty, in the manner of some Dickensian tightwad living on gruel (freshened with blueberries) and sour soup (followed by a medalie of portobellos and asparagus). Things were looking good but I then ruined my plans of frugality by parading my cart past my nemesis; the gardening section.

Here is the problem; although my mother was known for her green thumb, which extended up to her armpit, my green thumb is as shriveled as the willie of an old man who drives a shiny new red convertible sports car. I do not garden. I outright dislike toiling the soil which, if you think on it is totally disrespectful when considering God in his/her wisdom thought to provide a perfectly lovely big screen television and extraordinarily comfy Lazy Boy chair in my living room. Still, ironically, I totally adore bright flowers, freshly sprouting flower bulbs and the fruits of anyone else's gardening labor save for my own.
So, faced with the beautiful dream of a garden of lovely flowers I gave into my pseudo gardening urge an purchased a few (to be exact 54 tubers and bulbs). Not really as bad as it sounds, here's the fruit of my as-yet-unplanted garden:

• 5 Nerine Bowdenii (pink lily thingies below to the right)
• 8 Oriental Lilies: Lily Pixie Denia (pink bloom, shown above at right)
• 5 Sir Alf Ramsey Dahlia (Pink)
• 24 mixed alceas (Hollyhocks) in burgundy, orange, pink, red and yellow
• 3 Hosta hybrid Blue Mountains (blue leaves)
• 3 Hosta sieboldianna Elegans 3 Hosta fortunei Hyaciothina 
• 3 Hosta hybrid Blue boy (purple flowered plant shown below)

Doesn't that sound lovely? Hopeful? Damned imposible considering my degree of bone idleness? Now do not be harsh, there is some chance I might actually remove the baby plants from their adorably packaged plastic bags. I might actually abandon my Lazy Boy, pick up a shovel or spade and venture into the back garden. Yes, I know, I might also decide to sprout wings and fly, but I have to keep the faith. There is some chance I might actually put these delicate hands of mine to dig and toil in the soil as did my mother and grandmother before me. Place your bets now.

Ugly Santa, Pretty Tale

Funny how things so often work out for the better.

Last Saturday night I attended a crab feed & participated in the charity raffle. Lucky me (= sarcasm) I won a ridiculously hideous wooden wind whirligig Santa. He was decked out with wind-whirling Christmas trees and as a result of aging shellac – old Santa stood on YELLOW SNOW! In addition to pee-pee Santa I also won a Mr. Potato Head toy set. You thought that ancient toy had ceased to exist with the dawning of the Age of Aquarius? So did I. Eventually I got over the shock that I won none of the really cool raffle prizes – gift certificates for Nordstrom’s and Orchard Garden Supplies, 2 lb boxes of See’s Chocolates, pots of flowering hydrangeas, etc.

 Eventually it occured to me I can put aside Mr Potato Head for next year’s Christmas toy drive. Hurrah! Come 2007, Mr Potato Head will make some needy child happy. Further it occured to me the dreadfully-hideous-Santa would make a 'lovely' white elephant gift for a little end-of-6-week--frustration-class at Curves, which was held last night. Note: class was frustrating because after the 6 weeks I've had no net loss and oy am I pissy about it!
So last night after preparing a nice though boring green salad and after dumping poor Sandy Claws into a gold gift bag with pretty red tissue I went off to our potluck/white elephant gift grab at Curves. Is it ironic for a weight loss center to host a food fest? Anyway, each of us drew playing cards to set the order in which we chose our white elephant gifts. I was number three and I picked a small & plain bag that contained a not-too-awful burgundy scarf. As allowed, someone nabbed the scarf (hurrah!). That gave me a second shot at choosing either a new gift or nabbing someone else’s prize, which I did. I took someone else's very lovely, prettily wrapped gift basket. The basket was actually a small galvanized tub in which I discovered lavender shower gel and lotion, a nice scrubby sponge thingie, a massage brush and a perfectly lovely hand mirror. Even the ribbon it was tied up with was a treat. For the charitable among you, the lady whose tub I nabbed next chose a nice big box and got a gift wicker basket filled with cookies, chocolates and such which honestly - I have no use for and if you believe that I have a lovely golden gated bridge to sell you - its in San Francisco. You'd like it.
So, it turns out my hideous Santa (which ended up being the ONLY white elephant present left un-picked) went off to a storage closet somewhere and I got a really lovely present in exchange for him. I thought white elephant gifts were supposed to be perfectly ghastly but all the gifts last night were lovely - except for the pissy Santa. Thank heavens no one was stuck with him. There - a suitably happy ending for all, unless you are a pissy Santa stuck in the broom closet.