Alarmingly Disarming...by dee

more cat pictures

I should just apologise right up front: from now until our end-of-the-year trip to London, I plan to annoy my British and well-traveled friends with holiday questions.

Sorry. *blush*

My first visit to London was easy to plan: I was stalking Alan. See? Easy.  This time, since hubby isn't really interested in sitting all day sipping smoothies at Planet Organic, I need to be a bit more creative with my itinerary.

Here are the first of, what promises to be, a long list of query posts!

We are thinking of spending a few days outside of London. I'm looking for suggestions. If you were going to spend 2-3 days out of the city, where would it be? Keep in mind that I'd like to avoid anything that reminds me of Indiana: no flat farmland, please! And the only cows must be shaggy and 'moo' with a British accent.  I'd be interested in the coastline, or rolling hills, rocky craigs, etc.

Has anyone seen the film, The Queen, with Helen Mirren? In the hunting scenes, what area is that? Those huge, rolling hills are absolutely breathtaking!

My hubby is an old navy man and I think he might enjoy exploring by water. I've been googling, but am having trouble understanding the variety of options: narrowboats, barges, sailing barges on canals or rivers or coast. There seems to be everything from boats you steer yourself (NO!) to mega-expensive yachts (NO!).  Does anyone know anything about this sort of thing?

Has anyone ever been to Ipswich? I'm curious about a charter sailing barge that leaves from there.

When Americans think of England, we have a tendency to automatically think of "the white cliffs of Dover". It looks like there is a lot of things to see in that area. Any opinions?

To those who have made it this far in my questioning: you have my sincere thanks!! *hug*

During a random browsing, I found these absolutely delightful vintage London travel posters. Somehow, the images make traveling to London look incredibly glamorous...and yet so utterly primitive at the same time. First class service on scary little airplanes!

The huge phallic imagery in the first Rolls-Royce poster makes me chuckle.  And I'm trying to figure out why the palace guard is so swarthy in the lower left poster. But all in all, they are truly works of art!

 

  
1 hungry librarian + 1 coffee shop  = 1 honkin' big, low fat muffin

Honkin' big, low fat muffin compared to the size of a penny


Honkin' big, low fat muffin compared to the size of librarian's hand.

Honkin' big, low fat muffin compared to the size of librarian's feet.


Honkin' big, low fat muffin compared to the size of 3# hand-weight librarian exercises with throughout the day for upper arm jiggle.


Honkin' big, low fat muffin compared to the size of the entire first floor of library.


Honkin' big, low fat muffin compared to the size of the entire outside world.


Librarian debating whether to eat honkin' big, low fat muffin.

The Muffin Saga comes to a sad end.

For the hen who has everything!
Happy birthday, Sue!!

Pictured L-R: Bengal Tiger, Rhesus Macague Monkey, Bobcat, another Bobcat *snort*, Mollucan Cockatoo, African Lion.

       

I visited an animal sanctuary this afternoon -- a "last chance" refuge for rescued and retired exotic animals.

I confess that, at first, I was rather disappointed. The place really doesn't look like much. It is fairly new and the entire park is an ugly mess of construction projects and mud. Most of the animal pens are small and unimpressive. But, it is obvious that the owners and volunteers are working very, very hard to make their shoestring budget stretch as far as it can to help more than 70 big and small cats, bears, primates, birds and reptiles.  It wasn't until I was downloading my photos that I finally realized that this place is truly wonderful.

This isn't a zoo. The park is non-profit. They don't buy, sell, trade or breed animals. After all, why should they? The owner has to turn down thousands of requests each year to take in even more exotic animal refugees from around the US. The animals' stories are heartbreaking.

The beautiful Bengal Tiger is a "tabby" -- the lightly striped offspring of white tigers who were being bred for circuses, rockstars, magicians and the rich. But a tiger with pale/fading stripes isn't "worth" anything in show business. State officials rescued him and the other 'throwbacks' from neglect by the breeder and brought them to the park.

An affectionate cougar is housed in one of the newly-built, expansive pens that has climbing platforms and high ledges. But the poor creature can't climb. Also raised in a private home, his owners didn't know how to feed an exotic cat. Without the proper nutrients, his bones didn't form correctly and the heavy mass of his body stunted his legs -- making them too short and bowed to climb.

The African male lion was a roadside park attraction -- a photo opportunity for tourists to pose with an adorable lion cub. That is...until he grew too big. Then, he was shut up in a dark, damp horse stall where he lived for the next four years never seeing the sun. When he arrived at the park, he was severely anemic, his handsome mane had fallen out, and he was quite frail.  Now, a year
later, he looks like the king of beasts.

The very sweet African female lioness resembles a huge, overfed butterball. Raised on a farm, the owner took it upon himself to declaw her. Having no idea what he was doing, he accidentally removed the tips of all her toes -- essentially crippling her. Unable to run, her metabolisim slowed and she grew fatter and fatter.

The Black Bear was a former "'dancer".  The African Tortoise was found a long way from home on a midwestern highway. The camel was once a star in the Ringley Bros. Circus. The stories go on and on.

When I first saw my photos of the caged animals, I felt sad to see them behind bars. It is shameful that man has reduced such beautiful creatures to this state. But, this park can't be blamed for caging them. These people rescued them from neglect, abuse, abandonment.  At least here they have sanctuary -- proper food, medical care, a quiet home, appropriate stimulation, and peace.

It's not a perfect world for these animals. But it's better then anything they had before. It's just so sad.

 

Our oldest son and his wife recently bought a house -- about an 1/8th of a mile from our home! We are so happy to have them near!

We helped them move this weekend. When son saw me cleaning out the moving van, he was so amazed to see that I actually knew how to use a broom that he HAD to take a picture.
The smart ass...
He obviously takes after his father.

As some of you know (or may have long suspected), I'm a little nuts when it comes to flying.

No...I'm not afraid that the plane will drop out of the sky. 
No...I don't fear a midair collission.
No...terrorists don't worry me.
I panic because after I get inside, they SHUT THE DOOR and I am TRAPPED inside a TINY metal bullet hurtling through the atmosphere and I CANNOT GET OUT!!!!

*cough*
Anyway...

Because I am a nutcase, I cannot fly on long journeys sitting in coach.

No...I am not a snob.
No...I do not think I deserve special treatment.
No...I am not rich. I truly cannot afford to fly business class.
But, when they SHUT THE DOOR and I am TRAPPED inside a TINY metal bullet hurtling through the atmosphere and I CANNOT GET OUT, then NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO TOUCH ME and I need ROOM TO BREATH or I will go INSANE!!!!

*cough*
Anyway...

While looking for airline deals, I stumbled across this great photo from a TWA ad.  Look at the fabulous meal! And the LEG ROOM!
Quick! Book me a flight on TWA!!!
What? That's not a photo? TWA went out of business?
Damn...

I woke up in bed this morning about 5:40am hearing, what I thought was, the rumbling vibration of a large truck turning around in our driveway.  Then Bear -- who sleeps on the living room couch at the other end of the house -- began barking like a mad dog. My husband had fallen asleep on the couch with Bear while watching TV (yeah, I know...they make a lovely couple), and I heard him yell, "Bear! Shut up!!"

The rumbling continued and I remember thinking sleepily, "I wonder why that truck is taking so long to turn around...?" when I heard hubby come running through the house like a rogue buffalo.

The door burst open and he flipped on the bedroom light, blinding me like a thousands suns.
"DO YOU FEEL THAT?!!"
I squinted open an eye to see him standing stark naked in the middle of the floor. His hair was foofed and there was a wild look in his eye. Bear was between his feet, still barking madly.
"What?!" I asked in alarm.
"WE'RE HAVING AN EARTHQUAKE!!"

Then, turning back towards the door he'd just burst through, he shouted, "WAIT!!"  
*pause*  
"LISTEN!" 
He assumed the stance of a well-trained hunting dog, all of his physical attributes frozen into the pointing position. 
*pause* 
 "THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT IT ON THE NEWS!" 
With Bear yelping beside him, they stampeded back to the living room, leaving me in their dust.

Veradee recently wrote a fascinating post about the Alexander Technique, commenting that Alan Rickman had mentioned in his 2005 Chelsea College of Art and Design lecture that he uses this method.

 "Alexander Technique is a method by which you can learn about the relationship between neck and head, how to release unnecessary tension and why it is vital for good voice projection; about the body’s strengths and weaknesses and how to maximise the first while minimising the second."

In her post, Veradee mentioned that she recently took a class on the technique and wrote, "For example, we were asked to walk around the room and imagine that we had different kinds of tails: that of a duck, a frightened dog and a dinosaur. Then the teacher asked us whether our way of walking changed depending on which animal we thought about. I was astonished to find out that the answer is, indeed, yes. "

We've all noticed how wonderfully Alan moves....
I now find myself irreverently wondering what kind of tail he imagines that he has -- in real life and in his different movie roles.

Veradee cleverly suggested a bushy squirrel tail. *snort*
Anyone want to toss in ideas?


NOTE: I also find myself unable to simply navigate my way across a room without being tripped by an imaginary tail that I never even knew existed until now!

Okay...here's my Johari Window
Go do it...if you want to...I mean, you don't have to...only fill it out if you really, really want to...because you don't HAVE to...really.

I love Brad Paisley. He's one of those country singers who isn't afraid to be funny.
You may remember that I previously posted one of his other videos entitled, "Online". This one is called "Celebrity" and, once again, he has filled it with star-studded names.

Spring has sprung -- and Bear got his annual spring haircut yesterday. The temperatures are still pretty nippy in Indiana, so we've been using a little electric heater to take the edge off as we sit around in the evenings. Poor Bear...it's just too chilly for the old dog without all that extra fur to keep him warm. Last night, he carried all of his toys one-by-one in front of the heater and refused to budge. When we scolded him for stealing all the warmth, he actually closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep!   This dog is a hell of a lot smarter then I give him credit for!

SWEENEY TODD SPOILER WARNING

Knowing of my fondness for the actor Alan Rickman *coughing spasm* my hubby surprised me the other day by bringing home the Sweeney Todd video. The surprise was on him when I told him that I have no intention of watching it.  Yes, the hens have been quite complimentary of Alan's period costume *coughcoughtrouserscoughcough* but I know that the gore will be too much for me. Yeah, yeah...I'm a wimp. Can't help it. Just can't handle blood, no matter how computerized.

A bit miffed at the wasted expense, hubby decided to watch the video himself.

Unfortunately, hubby hasn't been able to stay awake during an entire feature length film since 1972's The Godfather.  So, for several nights in a row, he has been lulled to sleep by the rhythmic slashes of Sweeney's razer. But, each morning he'd give me a description of the scenes he managed to stay awake to see.

After the first few viewings he kept trying to assured me that the gore, "Isn't that bad".  He was a little irritated that everyone kept bursting out into song, but seemed to eventually get into the musical spirit.  He was also a good sport and described the scenes I asked about. Here's a few of his comments:

"No, Dee, Alan does NOT look good. He looks like an old greasy pervert."
"No, I didn't notice how well his trouser fit. I'll be sure to stare at his crotch the next time."
"The young sailor is a lot prettier then Joanna. I think Alan should've made a play for him instead. Dee? Dee? Oh great. You're thinking about them, aren't you? You are such a sick puppy..."

Two mornings ago, the first thing he said to me was, "Buckets of blood. BUCKETS."  But, in his opinion, it's not that the blood was so gory. It was Johnny's sheer, crazed violence combined with the blood that made him cringe. He was completely impressed -- and freaked out -- by Johnny's performance.

Last night, hubby finally stayed awake long enough to finish the video. Thought I'd share the email he sent me today.

"Good Morning Dee, Well I finished Sweeney Todd last night - holy cow! – everyone dies in the end! If, or when, you want to watch it I am confident that I can guide you through and get your eyes closed before the gruesome parts. Over all, there are really only 3 or 4 areas where you will have to close your eyes. Have a great day! Love you."

I love the combination of gore/violence/gruesomeness with "Have a great day!"!

Still not sure I want to watch it, but it's nice to know that I'll have a guide if I do!

Bored out of my mind this morning, I was googling UK sites randomly and hit the UK Border Agency. Yes, yes, I know... if the prospect of rifling through a foreign government agency sounds like fun, then you reeeeeeally need to get out of the house more often. But hey1 -- I'm in an incredibly bad mood right now and, frankly, the thought of moving to a distant land sounds damn pretty good today.

So, out of curiosity, I started poking around and found the eligibility section for moving to the UK to work. 

Since my hubby is a good ole boy from Indiana, I can't count on marriage to get me into the country.  Likewise, there's no shirttail UK heritage to help. I'm not an entertainer, dentist or doctor (there seems to be a high demand for them). Quickly rejecting "au pair" and "seasonal farm worker", I found a couple other categories that I thought looked like a perfect fit for me.

But, if I am reading the requirements correctly, it appears I am not the type of person that the UK considers welcome to live and work in the country.
*note: perhaps I'm misunderstanding the technical government jargon or missed something important.*

Humpff! I can't tell if my feelings are hurt or if I'm pissed off!

Yes, I can speak English. That got me some points.
Yes, my income is within the limits. There's a few more points.

But, you must have a degree from a list of eligible institutions -- and there are only 26 acceptable colleges/universities on the American list. Twenty six for the entire nation!

And the worst part: my age.  At my advanced, decrepit age, I received "0" points for admission. Youngsters under 27 get a whopping 20 points. As a matter of fact, there are several ways on the list that a student/teenager can live/study/work/stay in the UK. But I get zero. None. Old farts like myself are worth nada.

Yes, I definitely think that my feelings are hurt.

I couldn't sleep. Tossing, turning, never getting comfortable...my nightgown was twisted around my waist like a noose. Reaching under the blankets to yank it free, I experienced a moment of sleepy surprise when my hand unexpectedly touched something warm, pasty and sticky on my hip. Idly, I traced my fingers in the slipperiness until --

Wha??!!

Jerking my arm out from the blankets, I held my hand in front of my face and squinted at it nearsightedly in the dim glow of the clock radio. My pale fingers and palm were covered with something dark and creamy.

WTF????!!!!!

I flung back the blankets. Rolling to the side, I could see a huge dark shadow smeared all over the warm nest that my butt had made in the center of the bed. In the darkness, the same shadow stood out sharply all over the broad expanse of white skin of my waist, hip, thighs, legs...

“Aaaaaughhhhh!!!!”

The 'thud' of me falling off the edge of the bed shook the entire house. Scrambling wildly, trying not to touch anything with my soiled fingers, I crawled/hobbled across the dark room with my nightgown up around my neck. Hauling myself up against the wall, I frantically searched for the light switch.

The room lit up like an airport runway. I groaned in the brightness, slapping my hand over my eyes. Of course, it was the same hand that was covered with...whatever...and I squealed.

Stumbling through the glare, I peered half-blinded at my bed. Yes, it was quite clear now. The middle of my yellow sheets were thickly smeared with a brown, pasty substance. My panic turned immediately into disbelief.

I twisted, trying to see my butt, but my nightgown was now half-wrapped around my head. I ripped it off, noticing now that it was also badly stained. Reaching back, I groped my own ass – and not in a good way -- and could feel the sticky crust everywhere.

“No way!! There is NO way!!”

Fumbling awkwardly for my glasses on the bedside table, I turned back to the bed. Looking again at the bed, I could see several small brown “balls” smooshed on the sheet. There could be no mistake. I had never been so self-humiliated in my life. Shamefaced, I grabbed a tissue and started scraping up the little balls of --

“Wait a minute...”

I leaned forward for a closer look. Then, I put my nose down to the stain and took a deep, caution sniff. I knew that smell... Carefully, I rubbed the brown ball in the tissue. In a moment, a hard white nugget showed beneath the brown coating.

It was a chocolate covered almond.

Earlier, while reading in bed, I nestled a can of chocolate covered almonds beside me on the blanket to nibble happily. Before putting away the book and turning out the lights, I thought I'd set the unfinished can on my bedside table. Obviously, I had not – and half a can of dark chocolate covered almonds spilled into my sheets. Obviously, they were made with quality chocolate – my body heat melted it easily. And then each toss and turn smeared them more and more until I woke as a chocolate covered dee.

It took almost two hours to shower and clean up the mess. I found the empty can at the foot of the bed. Now, snuggled back in bed with freshly laundered linens, I can't sleep.

And I swear that I still smell chocolate.

While driving to southern Indiana...

Because teh man needs to see your work!





Happy birthday!!

I forgot to put on eye makeup this morning. No...I don't know why. I just scooted out the door -- vaguely wondering how I got dressed so quickly -- and was halfway to work before glancing at myself in the mirror. Aaaaugh!! Being startled in dawn's early light by your own pale, sallow reflection in the rear view mirror is not a great way to start the day.

So, I stopped at a drug store to buy mascara. They were out of my usual brand (good ole Maybelline Big Lash!) so I splurged and bought a really expensive Almay. At work,  I popped into the restroom to curl, fluff and paint my lashes.

OMG! Horror of horrors!

This expensive mascara clumped, blobbed, globbed and blew chunks all over my eyelashes! The globs couldn't be smoothed or brushed out. They just kept growing -- each stroke enlarging them to boulder-like proportions.  By the time I finally gave up, my lashes looked like gigantic tarantulas perched on top of my eyelids, beating lumpy, engorged, spidery legs wildly into the air.

It looked so bad that I finally gave up and washed my eyes.

Now here I sit -- pale faced, red-rimmed, beady-eyed. A co-worker walking by my door just stopped and asked me, "Honey, are you feeling okay today?" grrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

I never return something because, I "don't like it". Yes, I'm one of those people who smiles pleasantly at the waiter when he comes around asking, "Is everything alright?," even  if my meal tastes like warm clay. Don't get me wrong, I will return things that are damaged or incorrect -- an undercooked steak, a broken hairdryer, etc. But not just because, "I don't like it".  It sort of seems like purchasing something new is a bit of a gamble-- you study it out, make your best guess, toss down your money, and hope you score big. Just doesn't seem right to ask for your money back if you choose unwisely.

BUT THIS CRAP IS GOING BACK TO THE STORE!!! 
To HELL with all that 'choose wisely' crap!!  Not only did this stuff cost me $10 -- TEN DOLLARS FOR FREAKING MASCARA!!! -- it has doomed me to an entire day of hiding in my office so my bloodshot, rat-like appearance doesn't frighten small children and old folks!!!

Now where the hell is that receipt...?