The Perfect Snow

It's snowing. It's snowing where *I* am. It's not only snowing where *I* am, it's a "Winter Storm Warning" record-breaking sort of thing with the promise of some pretty serious stuff, and 20" have fallen so far.

If you've read more than two words of this blog, you know how I feel about snow. I love snow. I live for snow. Snow is the single most perfect thing on earth.

My life, having sucked for pretty much the last year due to some fairly intolerable pain that is ever present, seriously needed some cheering up and Hubby came to my rescue in the most fabulous way.

Late yesterday afternoon after it started snowing, he had me crawl out of bed and down the stairs (an agonizing trip I take no more than once or twice a week) and into the living room, where he planted my butt on our cushiest sofa, which sits right in front of a picture window. He wrapped me in my favorite pink fur and sequin THRO blankie and made me a cup of steaming hazlenut coffee laced with Nutella. There we sat, watching the beautiful, silent snow fall until it got too dark to see. And that's when the real magic began.

Richard grabbed two uplights we had bought to highlight some groups of plants we have in the den, and put super-bright flood lights meant for the track lighting in my studio into them. He placed them on the window sill facing out the window, and made a tent of aluminum foil and cardboard above to eliminate any "light noise" that might escape from the light cans. He aimed them at the Bartlett pear tree a few feet from the window and turned them on. Every flake that fell was suddenly visible and glistened like a dazzling crystal as it passed through the light in front of the illuminated snow-covered tree branches.

The snow and the moment were indeed, perfection.

Generally Inhospitable: Episode Six

"Richard, look out the window and tell me what's wrong with the greenhouse."

Looking... "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"You don't see anything wrong with it?"

"No, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. Read the blog when you get to work. And send your supervisor to read it as well."

That last part will never happen. Richard actually admitting it's way crooked won't either, but I've obviously been forced to come to live with these things.

"There was a crooked man, who had a crooked cane. He walked a crooked mile, down a crooked lane... "

He had a crooked smile, and a crooked brain, and though he is a goofball, I love him the just the same.

And that my friends, is what you call "poetic license." And mine is about to be revoked.

Generally Inhospitable: Episode Four

Day four. At 4:30pm I was informed the pavers are 2/3 done. Now I'll be the first to admit that math is not my strong point but it seems to me if one is 2/3 done something, and then one works on it for another four or five hours, one should make some progress. I bet he's out there hammering on cement to just make me *think* he's working. He's probably laying in the hammock, sipping a pina colada, and striking a piece of paver with a mallot every time he swings in that direction. That's my guess.

I wonder if all our tropical plants will survive the winter if I just shove them in the box with the unassembled greenhouse.

HaiCuckoo - Until They're Blue!

Toilet seat left up?
Whisker stubble in my sink?
You will be denied!

Why Don't Husbands Ever Just *Listen?*

Sweetie, I don't know HOW many times I have told you, you just CANNOT...



put Mr. Bubble...



in the spa tub.



:::sigh:::

My Favorite Joke of ALL TIME

"Hurt me, hurt me!" begged the masochist. Her sadist lover put his lips to her ear and seductively whispered, "Noooooooooo."

Hmmmm. Am I warped?

Noooooooooo.

HaiCuckoo - Beginning Anew

John or Kate (plus eight)
If you find another mate
Please don't procreate

HaiCuckoo - Sad, But True

In our college days
Uniformed men went for Ann
I got the ex-cons

HaiCuckoo - To PMS, Adieu!

Prozac is the best
Hubby lives another day
Or 'til I run out

No, Really... He's Normal

My husband just came screaming up the stairs only moments after he gave me the requisite nose kiss and was off to work.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

"What's the matter Sweetie?????"

"I forgot my pants."

And so is life in the Maxwell Schmidt household.

The Saga of the Bunny Smile

Many years ago I worked as a professional geek for Easter Seals. I had decided working in more "glamorous" tech writer jobs just wasn't for me if all I was doing was putting money in some CEO's pocket and kissing ass, neither of which appealed to me in the least. Thus, I took the tech writer/tech support position at Easter Seals and finally loved my job. Unfortunately, I also proceeded to starve to death.

This was where I met my eventual hubby, Richard. Mike Thomas, my Easter Seals cohort in crime, hired him to wire our network and that's how we met. Never underestimate the power of a magnetic poetry set stuck to a file cabinet when it comes to starting a conversation with a geek.

Over the course of the next several months I realized that my propensity for check writing (for anyone younger than 20, checks are what we used before debit cards) and a decisively smaller paycheck meant I had to do something else besides work for Easter Seals if I was going to keep a large array of bankers happy. Eventually I discovered eBay and my financial situation improved significantly.

Richard and I would get up early on the weekends and drag ourselves to the assorted estate and garage sales we felt were worthy of our time, where we would dig through piles and piles of crap looking for the rare Nippon treasure that would make eBay bidders scream with glee, or something that would make Richard scream with glee (like the cordless Bosch drill he got for $20). On one of these trips, for some unknown reason, I bought the most adorable stuffed bunny adorned in a red velvet dress for something like 25 cents. I really don't know why I bought her, glassware was my thing... Murano, Bohemian, or just about any cut lead crystal with a "name." Certainly *not* stuffed bunnies. But I bought her nonetheless. I listed her. I sold her. Never gave it a second thought.

It just so happened to be that it was Richard's job to pack what I sold. As he was about to place the red velvet bunny into a freshly-assembled USPS Priority Mail box, he held her in his lap, looked at me, and then said, "You know, she has your smile! You know, that cute little smile you do. It's your bunny smile!"

OH YES HE DID ladies!!!! Can you believe anyone could be THAT friggin' heartless???? And yes, I am fully aware my male readers are so not gettin' it and are all simultaneously saying, "Huh? What?"

All of a sudden this bunny was given *phenomenal* significance. You can't sit on the floor all cute and shit and compare my smile to that on an adorable stuffed animal and then shove her in a box and send her off to someone else!!!! That bunny has just become a HUGE part of our relationship! That is now a very important bunny! OUR bunny! She's the symbol of *us*, an icon of our passion, the bunny of LOVE!!! And now I HAD to send her off to some stupid woman who was going to give her to some stupid kid to drool on, and if I didn't I was going to get dreaded NEGATIVE EBAY FEEDBACK! ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!! How can anyone be so friggin' CRUEL?????

Bunny went in the box. I wasn't about to let on with more than a superficial whine that this was now killing me. Devastaing me. I had suddenly become suicidal as MY bunny with MY smile was tucked into a red, white and blue cardboard box with a stupid friggin' eagle on it. And off she went, whisked away to the woman who paid me $4 for the first significant symbol of my sweetie's and my relationship, and her smelly, whiney, drooly kid.

Five minutes passed. Richard forgot all about Bunny. Months passed. I continued to be obsessed with Bunny. You of course understand that I *had* to act.

It started with the occasional tease about how he "Let me send away my bunny after he said she had my smile." Then it quickly escalated to email. I would routinely send Richard messages at work with the eBay photo I had taken of Bunny enlarged to a huge size stuck right in the middle of them, with captions underneath like "You sent away your sweetie's bunny smile!" I'm sorry, it simply had to be done, you just don't do that to a gurl.

When I changed the Windows wallpaper on his 'puter to the pic of Bunny he began to crumble. When I sent him a link to the results of an eBay search for "red velvet bunny" with a desperate plea to "Fiiiiiiind herrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!" it was the clincher.

On Christmas morning, there beneath the tree, sat an unwrapped Priority Mail box. It was the very last I was given to open. I am told he had to search through many, many auctions before he found the bunny with the perfect smile >=o}

YOU are Gonna Give ME Advice??

I don't know what it's about or the context in which it will be presented, but two seconds ago I saw a teaser on CNN about a story in which Hillary Clinton is going to talk about "falling in love." Can you imagine? I mean c'mon Hillary, I love Bill too, but I'm not married to him so it's okay that *I* love him. You on the other hand, should have conducted some exceedingly slow surgery with the use of a butter knife, lemon juice and a whole lotta salt, then asked sarcastically if he wants you to "kiss the boo boo." Then YOU would have gotten my vote (not that I'm complainin').

I Am Sooooo Unloved

I informed my husband a short time ago that my head is going to explode because I still have a horrible headache I've had for two days. I told him that he was to make sure he cleaned the brain matter off our sheets when this happened. Do you know what he said to me??? Do you??? Well, DO YOU????

Of course you don't, which is why I am going to tell you. He said:

"The puppies can take care of the brain matter, though I do not fully support them eating junk food."

Now I ask you... is that supposed to make me feel LOVED? Is it??? Well, IS IT????

[sigh]