Sunday, August 30, 2009

Letters Home

Dear Grand,
Today, in church, I witnessed a ten year old dressed in velvet crush pants with a long skirt and a checker blouse with a denim vest and a sock on one hand. She looked like that. ----->
As you can see, I’ve inherited none of Mom’s Artistic Skill. I was worried for the poor “special” child.
“Is she…‘special’?” I asked Mom. Just to make sure. Turns out, no. She is not “special.”
“Erm…is her mom around? Does her mom not love her?” I asked next. Obviously there is something very wrong in that child’s life. But again, Mom pursed her lips and shook her head and said, “No, Elle. There is nothing wrong in her life except that her, and her family, don’t care.” I had a moment of stunned silence, which is a Sunday miracle for me.
There is a point here, Grand. And that point is thank you for caring and passing that lovely, charming and chic care down through the family females.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


I, for one, cannot stand law shows. I think they are horrible and I hate them and I wish they would get off the air and make room for proper shows like Desperate Housewives, Scrubs and That 70’s Show, all of which I am helplessly in love with.

“Whatchya watchin’ Daddy?” I once made the mistake of asking.
“Boston Legal. It’s actually pretty good.” My Uh-Oh Alert was screaming alarms in my head. It was yelling, “RUN AWAY ELLE! HE SAID LEGAL… CAN’T YOU TELL IT’S A LAW SHOW!?” But it was too late. Dad had patted the bit of floor next to his bit of floor (Dad is a floor sitter, no body knows why) and he looked up and smiled. Awwwww Dad Invites are the sweetest. You can’t resist them. So, I sat my sorry butt down for the long haul watching what was sure to be another dreadful law show.

WRONG. Wrong wrong wrong. It was amazing. Humorous and witty and not in the least bit dull. I will never again hate a law show before I watch it. I advise you sit your own sorry butt down for a viewing right now.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Life Style Choice # Vegitarian

I just came back from buying about nine pounds of vegetables. I am determined to eat them before the turn into kim chee.
Also I’m learning German. Cheers!

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

If you want to know the truth, I wanted to be a vet when I was little, but I started shadowing a vet and after I saw her put down a dog I changed my Probable Profession right then and there. I just couldn’t do it, even if it was best for the sweet little doggies. So, why, my neighbors are sure to ask, are there huge quantities of dog fluff floating peacefully across our post-stamp size back yard? I do not make a business by murdering small, fluffy, very hairy dogs in my back yard and selling what is left to Cruella DeVil for her booming career in dog coat fashions. That is a fact. I don’t even shave them and have their fur made into yarn and the yarn made into hats. This is another fact. Click away if you don’t believe me. Not that there is anything wrong with knitting dog fur. It’s just not for me.

My backyard looks like the site for a Dog Murder Mystery Movie, and sadly there is no interesting story behind it except Mom hates when they shed in the kitchen and make the kitchen look like the site for a Dog Murder Mystery Movie, so we brush them outside. Make sense? I swear officer, if you look in the garbage there will be no bodies or blood, but if you look inside, you will see what appear to be a big dopey golden retriever and a little yappy corgi, both impeccably groomed. Double Pinky Promise with a Kiss and a Spit. (Incase you didn’t know that is more intense then swearing on a bible in kid land.)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Happy Endings

My freshmen physics teacher, Mr. Physics, had a great way of dealing with dumb stories.
A kid would come in say, “Mr. Physics! Mr. Physics, last weekend my dad took me fishing and we didn’t catch anything.” And Mr. Physics would stare that poor freshman down for thirty seconds and say, “…And then you found twenty dollars?” Which was his kind way of saying, “That may be the crappiest story I’ve ever heard and it won’t be worth anything unless something excellent happens at the end.” And that poor freshman would say, “Erm, YES, Mr. Physics. How did you know? Has my sister been through already?” and then scamper off to their seat. Mr. Physics had an amazing way of making lame or pointless endings much happier.
I’m a firm believer in a happy ending. If you’re not smiling it’s probably not over yet. I am a super fan of all things Disney. Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Anastasia, Beauty and The Beast, you get the point. A couple of days ago I caught the middle of the Hunchback of Notre Dame on the Disney channel, so I decided I would read the book. I ran to the library, sat down out side in my mothers Adirondack chair and went to town. I’ve got to hand it to Victor Hugo; he’s quite the intelligent guy. It was a super book and a half: romance, dancing, weird guys, fights, the things to make a classic, albeit nothing like the Disney movie. Imagine, if you will, the child in the picture above, throwing garbage at Quasimodo, while Quasimodo growls and tries to protect La Esmeralda, who is cowering from Quasimodo but lusting after Phoebus, and Phoebus the Golden knight, drawing his sword on all of them. That is a more accurate portrayal. Anyway, super book, except the end… I’m not sure if you have read the Hunchback of Notre Dame but let me tell you. It is not a happy ending. I don’t remember how Disney finished it because I was about six when I saw the ending, but the book has a CREEPY ending. It’s like one of those tragic “My Platoon Went to Battle and Everybody Died, It’s Great That I Kept A Diary To Document The Tragedy Otherwise Nobody Would Know What Happened” books.
The last sentence reads as such:
“When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust.”
Cheery image to leave a reader with at 1:27 AM, wouldn’t you agree? Me neither.
In my head the last sentence reads:
“When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust. And underneath they found 20 livres. They bough a baguette and some wine and put the rest into their child's college fund. They all lived happily ever after, especially the child who went to college and became very rich off of the 20 livres in his fund.”
Obviously dollars weren’t the main currency back when and would’ve been useless to find, in which case, it still would’ve been a tragedy.

Bag It All Up

Ranger, as most of you know, has flown the coop. Bib has left for leadership camp. Dad is off visiting Ranger but cleverly disguised his visit as a business trip so he can be paid for frolicking. That leaves Mom and I at home. All aloney on our owny, playing Single Parent, Only Child. Which can only mean one thing: A Massive House Cleaning combined with a Throwing Out Everything We Own While The Others Are Out And Later Noticing How They Don’t Miss It and Never Will and Laughing At Them For Keeping It All These Years Even Though They Don’t Need It.

While Bibsicle and I were out gallivanting in California, Mom took it upon herself to throw out the majority of our books. We noticed there were less when we returned but we’d be hard pressed to tell you which ones went missing. Props to Mom for downsizing with grace.

When Ranger went to boot camp, the Family Females went to his room under the pretense of “moving his things to storage so Bib can move in.” We tossed out things we were sure he wouldn’t need or miss. Ranger has yet to come asking for the walkie talkies he used as an eight year old or the smashed skateboards he promised he was going to make into shelves… as a sort of useful trophy I think. But who knows? As I often say, boys are so weird.

I went to Virginia for all of three days to visit some old family friends, when I came back the piles of “keepsakes” in the basement went missing. What were we keeping again? And for what sake?

Lately our throwing out has been more intense because we are moving and God save us all if we bring something we don’t need. Today, while Mom threw away all the shoes she thinks people won’t miss; my job was to clean out the refrigerator. After many a mishap I think I’ve gotten it down to a near art. Anything in a bag is tossed with a grimace and without opening. Anything a day past its “Sell By” date gets its lid tightened an extra bit and carefully placed into the bag so as not to break and spill or drip toxic waste and burn a hole through the already crappy kitchen floor.

The Family Females aren’t really big on cooking and when we do bother, we eat what we want and toss the rest. Dad, however, is a big one on saving food. Famous Dad Quotes include: “Oh, I’ll have those ribs for lunch tomorrow. Don’t toss them.” “HEY it’s only past it’s SELL BY date Elle, not it’s eat by date.” “A little mold on the bread never killed anybody, just peel it off.”

Now that he’s out its time to throw out anything he took it upon himself to save. Withered carrots, gone. Chunky milk, washed down the sink with cold water. Rice frozen forever in the shape of Tupperware, thrown out with the Tupperware. Beans that could easily be mistaken for a fifth grade classes prize winning science project, plopped into the garbage bag. Bagged kim chee? We don’t buy kim chee. Oh NO that’s a vegetable mix he saved now rotting in a plastic bag. Lovely.

When I get my own place I will never save left overs. That is a fact.