Panda people beware...

I know - two posts in one day - what could precipitate such a momentous occurence?!

While perusing the world wide web this afternoon I came across a story that must be shared: A drunk man in China was mauled by a panda when he jumped into its cage in an attempt to hug the seemingly cute and cuddly thing.

My favorite part of the article was the following quote: "Although Zhang was unable to actually hug the bear, he did manage to bite back while fighting the animal off. 'I was able to reach over and give that animal a bite on his back...his skin was really thick,'" said Zhang.

Anyhow, here's the link to Drunk Man Mauled by Panda: http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,20451909-29677,00.html

Feline demons

Last night B-rod and I were reading the Gospel of Mark when we came across the familiar story of the man possessed by a "legion" of demons. As the story goes, the man lived in the tombs of the Gerasenes and was cutting himself with stones and crying out wildly, so Jesus commanded the demons leave him and go into a herd of swine nearby. The demons left the man, entered the herd, and they drowned themselves.

Although I'd read this story many times, this was the first time I thought - "this means animals can be possessed by demons!" My thoughts turned immediately to the creature that shares my home: Stella.

Stella is c-razy. for real. She runs around the house like a flash, sometimes sideways, skidding sharply around doorframes. She routinely arches her back and hops madly at me sideways, making hiss hiss noises. Yesterday she jumped out of hiding and viciously sunk her fangs into my thigh.

I'm sure you can see where this is going: Brandon and I stayed up quite late, laughing madly, yelling "Legion!" as she ran in and out of our room in her frantic midnight dash. I commanded confidently in imitation, "Come out of this cat, you evil spirit!" After all people, WWJD, right?

After this went on for awhile, I realized it probably wasn't a laughing matter. Being the wuss that I am, I figured I would start to fear her immensely when alone with her, and that thoughts of demon-Stella would haunt my dreams if I didn't put a stop to my folly.

Podasity

This weekend we enjoyed a visit from B's grandparents, the Podases. These people are perhaps two of the most amazing, sweetest people on the planet, for real. Although brief, our time together was filled with memorable moments, as usual:

- Shortly after arriving at our house, Annabelle became very eager to show us the presents she had brought along. First, she handed us a piece of country pottery with the outline of a cow on it. "Could you two find a good use for this?" she asked. Of course we answered emphatically that we could. Hmmm, the possibilities? Then, from within the vessel, A-belle pulled out a small, shiny metal basket filled with all sorts of pinkiness: pink plastic beads scattered in amongst the metal basket weave; pink and white toulle that served as a tissue paper; and best of all, tons of little artificial rose petals. "For Valentine's Day, kids!" she exclaimed, very excited about her clever little gift. "You know where to sprinkle these, right?" followed by a wink wink, nudge nudge; we were horrified. Was this really happening?

- Ralph was apalled to find that we did not have chairs to accompany our dining table in the kitchen. As a result, before they left we had gained not two chairs, but four - "so we can have our friends over for a good game of bridge," he said.

(As a side note: Brandon is actually looking into the game in response to the Podases' prompting; they have even sent us a how-to-play manual in the mail).

Things that happened that, when added together, make up my life

* Dreamgirls made me dance in my movie seat, as well as renew my love of glitter, wigs, and peacock plume eyeshadow effects. It then made me think I could actually be a Dreamgirl, which made me sing about it all night with my girl pals. If only we could, together, harness our musical genius.

* I called Sara's house last night and the phone growled at me like a furious canine. Thinking this was the new outgoing message she and Max conjured up, I stayed on the line, only to realize that the phone line may have acutally been a portal to the underworld. When I called again, I got their regular machine message...

* Jane Eyre has taken an unexpected turn for the better! Mr. Rochester is my new favorite literary figure. Tori + Mr. R = love.

* Last night, during an emergency trip to the grocery store at 1am, I was distracted by handsoap and spent a good 15 minutes trying to choose the one with the least amount of smell. I hate flowery-smelling hands. After removing the cap to one bottle and leaning in to smell and scrutinize it, I got the goo all over my face. While frantically trying to get it off, I merely created long, droopy, slimy strings everywhere. Brandon (and the night stock crew) found this very amusing.

*At work we are trying to find an entertaining "personality host" for an upcoming event; at the top of the list is Richard Dean Anderson, AKA MacGyver. I have spent a good portion of my morning researching him online and trying to find his contact information.

Happy Birthday + Annoying Singing Cards = Excellent Greetings from Athens

January is birthday extravaganza: all of my parents/in-laws have had birthdays this month.

In honor of my mom's and Brandon's mom's birthday, which are a day apart, and because we are too poor to send presents through the mail, Brandon and I went to Hallmark to buy them birthday cards.

Out of habit, I immediately went to the super sappy, "Mom, you are wonderful" birthday section, in which all the cards are designed in pastels with bouquets of flowers and perhaps a pink or purple ribbon looped through the front. While perusing these traditional cards we usually purchase as our mom-birthday staple, a strange sound began to fill the air.

One aisle behind me (I know this because Brandon's head was popping out over the tall racks of cards), I heard "Who Let the Dogs Out" blaring and Brandon making his signature honking laugh sound that he makes when he's thoroughly amused by something ridiculous. Soon, more classic melodies such as the theme song from Star Wars and "Achy Breaky Heart" were belting out from the aisle, as Brandon opened singing birthday cards, one after the other.

We were the only customers in the store; yet, I was getting slightly embarassed as he made his way through the rack, laughing hysterically to himself the whole time. I hissed at him: "Hey, quit it! You have absolutely no intention of buying one of those! Now, get over here and help me pick out the card with the best looking hydrangeas for your mom."

His laughter was contagious, however, as "Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In" started up. Soon I was standing at the rack too, and there were just so many songs to choose from! There was even a Lassie card that barked at us.

We finally decided on "Superfreak" for B.'s mom and the "Wang Chung" song ("Everybody Have Fun Tonight") for T-Pole senior. All covered in glitter and neon party hats, there was no doubt the moms would be excited and confused.

Yesterday I returned to the store to purchase "Mr. Roboto" for my father, whose birthday is today. His card, in keeping with this year's theme of hilarity, features stick figure robots showcasing their best robot dance moves, much like his famed "shovel" and "batman." I figure he can relate.

Noxiously Infested II

Remember how my office was crawling with ladybugs - on my mouse, falling from the ceiling into my hair, covering the window panes? Well, this is kind of like that - only imagine the ladybugs are pieces of tapeworm, called proglottids. Well, maybe my house isn't actually crawling with proglottids, but it sure does feel like it when you're a parasite-phobe like me.

So the thing is: Stella has a tapeworm. The proglottids are breaking off the tapeworm, falling out of Stell-cat's booty, and shriveling up to look like little grains of rice. Sick. After some investigation with the help of Google, I've learned that Dipylidium canium (the most common feline tapeworm) is spread from an intermediate host, normally fleas, to housecats when they eat the intermediate host. I am therefore hoping that, because our house is seemingly flea-free, a one-time trip to the vet will clear this up. (Keep in mind that we already took her to the vet several weeks ago and had a parasite exam done; evidently this was missed. And we paid them $170. Burn.)

Luckily, despite all my irrational worries, Brandon and I probably do not have tapeworms ourselves. Do not fear. We would have to actually ingest the fleas ourselves for this to happen. Also interesting is that the worms probably aren't all that harmful for our little furry pal - they're just horribly nasty. Dr. Dan (my new favorite online vet) explains to me that my feelings are not uncommon "Nothing can compare to the disgust and repulsion pet owners experience when they find a tapeworm segment stuck on their favorite easy chair soon after the cat gets up...this is the world of tapeworms. Although they don't cause lots of damage in pets, tapeworms sure are gross and disgusting to pet owners."

Wish us luck - Stella and I are off to the vet this afternoon for some serious deworming.

An evening in the Elk Lodge

Last Thursday evening started normally enough - Brandon and I went to pick up my car (which is now very trusty) from Alvis Auto Repair. We returned to our house to drop off one of the cars, went inside for a brief moment, and then left to have dinner before he was to go to the Farm. Upon arriving at the restaurant, however, we realized we did not have a house key - (they were both dangling from the other set of car keys on a shiny metal hook in our living room). Drat! We decided to go ahead and eat before tackling the task of getting into our house - (what could be worse than trying to break into your own house when it's 28 degrees outside? breaking into your own house when it's 28 degrees and you are very very hungry).

So after we finished our mediocre Mexican meal, we returned home. Both doors locked; all windows locked; no ladder in sight to reach the second story. As we sat in the car with the heat on, we decided to call the landlords, Larry and Maggie, in hopes of getting a spare key. Just our luck, they were in town already, so they stopped by. Sadly, none of their keys fit the lock. They told us to follow them to their home in Albany to get a spare set.

We followed them out West Union Street, but abruptly turned down a dark driveway. After we parked next to them, Brandon got out to talk with them while I waited in frustration in the car. As I looked out through the windshield, I noticed a flickering neon sign on the back of a cinder block building nearby, "Elks Lodge No. 973." Did they bring us here to use us as a sacrifrice in some sort of initiation ceremony? No. Rather, Larry wanted us to "go inside with Maggie and have a few drinks, while I 'hot-rod' it back to the house for the keys. After all, we never got you anything for a wedding gift!" Horribly uncomfortable and reluctant to go inside, I trailed behind Maggie and Brandon through the parking lot, while they made small talk. (I am awful at such things). I had never been inside one of these mysterious clubs before - I know there are Elks, Lions, Masons, and maybe Eagles? clubs, but I never knew what went on inside. Secret handshakes? Shuffleboard? Blood sacrifices?

After we entered through the outermost door, we came to a second door with a buzzer. A man wielding a pool stick came near, peered at us suspectly, and then gleefully opened it after recognizing his pal Maggie. We realized very quickly that Maggie was quite popular among the Elks; men rushed to put down their beer cans and greet us with handshakes. We were soon known as "Maggie's renters" around the bar, and the Elks offered their tongue-in-cheek condolences for our sad situation of " having to put up with such horrible landlords." This was funny to them, because Maggie and Larry are some of the kindest people in Athens, Ohio. Exhibit A demonstrating their kindness: even after we mailed our rent to them late this month and called them during their night out to the Club to help us get into our house, Maggie bought beer after beer for Brandon, insisting that we were her guests. Feeling like a terrible imposition, I agreed to a single Pepsi from the bar, but I was soon showered with a strange sort of tear-off lottery ticket to compensate for my lack of interest in getting drunk. After tearing through pile after pile of tickets that Larry purchased for me after returning from getting the keys, I sadly did not win a dime. Larry assured me, however, that all the proceeds from these tickets were going to a very worthy cause, as the Elks have a very generous philanthropic committee.

Rather than being dark, dingy, and smelling like stale beer and cigarettes as I had imagined, the Elks Lodge was quite cozy inside. It was cheerfully decorated for the season, with Christmas trees in the corners and wreaths hanging from the bar. The Elks were mostly men in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, although the bartender was a lively gal about my own age, serving up the cheap drinks (only $1.50 each) and sharing jokes with her patrons. Most everyone sat at the bar stools, while I was too intimated and opted for us to sit at a nearby table.

The atmosphere was very light, with constant laughter belting out from the bar. One particular wave of laughter caught our attention and distracted us from our conversation with M&L, which had now been going on for at least two hours. We noticed there was something moving on the top of the bar, and everyone was gathered around watching it move. Maggie, being the popular and sassy lady she is, yelled out, "Bring that thing over here - I want my renters to see what it's all about!" Soon, her friend, an older, round, white-haired man, who bore a striking resemblance to Santa Claus himself, brought an animatronic Santa Claus over to us and plopped it down in the middle of our table. The Santa wore hawaiian print shorts and shirt, with the shirt unbuttoned all the way, as well as flip flops. He sang us a song and danced around a bit and then bent over, pulled down his shorts to moon us, and let out a very long, squeaky fart. Again, the Lodge roared with laughter.

By the end of the evening Maggie and Larry had invited us: 1.) to their house to go swimming and ride around on their various ATVs, including something called a "Gator" 2.) to the Muskingum river, where they spend most of their warm-weather weekends camping 3.) to return to the Elks Lodge with them for cheap drinks on Wednesday nights, although we could only return two more times before we would have to apply to become members ourselves. After all, they said, "Once and twice a guest, three times a pest" at the Lodge.

We actually became quite popular among the Elks, although most of them were of our parents' or grandparents' age. They respected us as M&L's friends, and most of them were familiar with and fond of people from Pataskala. Before we left, one of the men thrust a membership application in front of Brandon. For only $75, we too could become part of this special fellowship. Well, not "we"; women are not allowed as members, Maggie told us. (This explained why Maggie had to ring the buzzer to enter, whereas Larry returned easily by swiping his members-only card at the door.) I was reassured, though, that I could come back with Brandon whenever I wished.

We bid farewell to our new friends, thanking Maggie and Larry for their hospitality, as we rushed out into the blustery cold with spare keys in our pockets. Brandon handed me the keys for the short drive home, as he tried to sober up for the rest of his evening scrubbing grills.

Halloweeeee!!!

I love Halloween. Seriously. Halloween means I get to take Frankelton out of his box and dust him off and I can string that fake cobweb stuff EVERYWHERE. I get to scoop out pumpkin guts and carve all sorts of stuff and make a costume from nothing.

The US Census Bureau has lots of fun things to report about Halloween, such as:

- There are an estimated 36.4 million treat-or-treaters that hit the streets each year in search of candy and mischief; however, the number of trick-or-treaters has been on the decline (down 381,000 between 2003 and 2004) - I blame all those moms who also forbid Harry Potter.

- 998 million pounds of pumpkin are produced each year. That's a lot of pumpkin guts for me to scoop! Plus, Ohio is one of the largest pumpkin-producing states, with over 70 million pounds.

- There are 1,790 candy manufacturers in the US that crank out $19 billion in candy goodness every year. Consequently, the average American consumes about 25 POUNDS OF CANDY in a single year. Disgusting and delightful.

I think this last fact is best summed up like this:

Noxiously Infested

According to the University of Kentucky's Entomology Department, my current uncomfortable situation is not uncommon. I do find comfort, however, knowing that many others are suffering my plight:

"Large numbers of lady beetles (ladybugs) infesting homes and buildings in the United States were first reported in the early 1990s. Ladybugs normally are considered beneficial since they live outdoors and feed on plant pests. One species of lady beetle, Harmonia axyridis, can be a nuisance however, when they fly to buildings in search of overwintering sites and end up indoors. Once inside, they crawl about on windows, walls, attics, etc., often emitting a noxious odor and yellowish staining fluid before dying. In many areas of the U.S., these autumn invasions are such a nuisance that they affect the quality of life."

I can certainly attest to the nuisance factor; likewise, I have witnessed several of the aforementioned phenomena: crawling about on windows and walls - oh yes. Lots of crawling. But let's not limit the crawling to these areas - we mustn't leave out that they also like to crawl on computer monitors, water bottles, and in my hair. So, crawling about - check. Emitting a noxious odor - definite check. However, the putrid smell that had overtaken my corner space is now being minimized by a lovely lavendar oil stone. Thank you Liz Bonny, valued friend of the DevComm team. Yellowish staining fluid - let's give them some time, but I have a hunch that this will be arriving soon. Dying - we can only hope for and eagerly await this part of the life cycle. Affecting my quality of life - triple check. See comments on crawling (particularly in my hair) and noxious odor.



After considering these observations and spending my morning in the presence of the wintering critters, I feel confident in condemning the Rural Action VISTA loft as a lady beetle infestation site.

Do Not Be Alarmed

I must take this opportunity to make a very important announcement: I will not be giving birth in the near future. I do not think diaperpads are especially cool, and I do not want or need any as a wedding gift.
Contrary to popular Target wedding registry belief, Brandon and I did not register for random baby paraphernalia. Yet, as I check the Target website, I see that someone has mysteriously actually purchased these items for us! What? First of all, how did this baby stuff get on my list, and WHO would actually buy these, thinking they would be useful to me?!
Actually, I had a dream the other night in which I was very upset that we had forgotten to put baby items on our Target wishlist for the wedding; dream-version Brandon quickly reminded me that you do not register for baby stuff for weddings and that I was being absurd. Consequently, I considered the possibility that I registered for these things in my sleep, but then remembered that I do not have Internet at my house and this is therefore impossible. This is curious indeed...

Cyberspewing

I hear blogging is the cutting edge of communications, and I would hate to be left behind. Blogging is in. Talking is out. Oh, the wave of the future.... so now I'm going to be a blogger - and still a talker. Don't worry. You should be really excited about this - me spewing my thoughts whenever I feel like it into cyberspace... it's going to be excellent.