One Flew Over...

The President of the United States of America just flew over my house.

Well, I guess it really was about a half an hour ago, and he wasn't flying of his own ability, but rather being chauffeured via helicopter. I think I would actually start to like him if he had flown over by himself, with nothing but a big part of homemade wax wings aiding him. Of course, the heat from his ego would probably melt them though and send him plummeting into my fish pond. And I just cleaned that out. Now I even dislike him in my fantasies.

Mr. Bush is on his way to the home of Republican cheerleader Mitt Romney to attend a 70-thousand dollar a couple fund raiser for John McCain -- or as I like to call him -- the second coming of stupidity. Actually, he must be somewhat savvy, because McCain won't appear with the President at tonight's event, and is keeping his distance like Georgie has the plague. That has to make the President feel somewhat bad. I mean, here he is going across the country raising money for a person he probably doesn't even like, taking valuable time away from shooting varmints on his ranch, and the guy won't even take a picture with him. It's the kind of thing that would drive a normal person into therapy. Of course, normal people don't live in a candy coated halcyon dream of a world where giving everyone six hundred dollars will automatically make everything better and make everyone believe a multi-billion dollar war isn't draining the life out of the country. Oooh, that was bitchy. I hope he's not reading this, or having it read to him.

I think that what really pisses me off is that while Bush is out here fleecing the conservative elite our tax dollars are being used to protect him. It pissed me off with Clinton too, and I'm sure it will piss me off with Obama. If the RNC or the DNC wants so badly to have their star come to an event, they should foot the bill. I mean, have you seen how much gas it takes to power a helicopter? At $3.80 a gallon that's got to add up.

Honestly though, he couldn't have planned this visit better if he tried. On the day that a scathing book about the White House penned by his former Press Secretary hits shelves, he is safely tucked away in the reddest state in the nation. A state so patriotic that even the Democrats stand outside with their four year old nephews looking to the skies and waving at his passing helicopter while sucking on popsicles. I was going to quickly make a giant sign reading "stop the war," but my hands were sticky. I like to think I waved in a way that expressed my resentment. Of course, with my luck tonight he'll tell the story of "the little boy and the woman waving as I flew by," and raise millions in additional funds that will help in the Republican death march to a third White House term.

If that happens he definitely owes me a ride.

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Abstract Art

Digital cameras are brilliant. I remember as a kid wanting so badly to take picture but being told that we "didn't want to waste film." With digital cameras though You can hand a kid a camera and let them go to town --as long as they don't break it. If that happens, you have to kill them.

Today Ryan took our camera out to the home of some of our nieces and nephews while I was working hard for that double time holiday money. Ahh, Memorial Day. Why do people even have these events each year? We could just rerun the old tape and no one would notice. I mean, except for the hairstyles. But I digress... I think you will enjoy these pictures as much as I did.

One of about 4-hundred dog pictures.

Trying to capture the rain.

Running over America.

What wags the dog? Republicans.

This is your brain on drugs.

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Like Monkeys Wearing Pants

Today I am hung out with Luke and his friend Cooper, which probably would have driven me insane if listening to them wasn't so funny. Here's a sample:

Me: Do you guys want to go swimming?
Cooper: Yeah! I don't have my suit. Do I need a suit?
Luke: I went swimming last night at Olympus High School.
Copper: Where's Olympus High School? Have you seen High School Musical?
Luke: I don't like that.
Cooper: Yeah, it's a girl movie.
Luke: Except for Corbin Bleu.
Cooper: Yeah, and Zach.
Luke: They're the boys.
Cooper: Yeah.

I had a whole list of possible activities for the afternoon, and one by one they were shot down. Swimming? Cooper didn't have a suit. The zoo? Too rainy, and both of them had heard rumors that the animals were moving to a new zoo. They didn't want to risk it. The Children's Museum? Luke had been there. The Planetarium? Cooper had been there. For a second I thought about suggesting Chuck E Cheese, but then I realized I wasn't drunk enough. Finally, after I started thinking that we would just end up driving aimlessly around the valley the boys put their little heads together and came up with the one place they both desperately wanted to go: Toys 'R Us. Since I have long been open about my policy on buying the love of children I said okay.

The toy store trip was actually one of the easiest I have ever taken. I told Cooper and Luke they could either get one $10 toy each or pool their money and get a $20 toy. Either way all toys would be left at my house so they would have something to play with later on. The price caveat led to a go half an hour of the two of them going through the store pointing out everything that likely cost more than $20 and talking about how they wanted to avoid the "pink section."

After a while they finally settled on getting a small emergency play set with a firetruck and ambulance. It was only $15 -- mainly because it's made with the fine craftsmanship you can only get from child labor and the use of lead based paints. With the extra five bucks we decided to stop and get microwave popcorn and cookie dough, because, really, what is an afternoon with a high intake of salt, sugar and hydrogenated oil?

The next three hours were a blur of yelling, running, popcorn spills, and maniacal laughter. Oh, and crying when Luke dropped a dumbbell on his hand. What was he doing playing with a dumbbell? Well, he wanted to. Duh. Right after he did it one of the landscapers I had called showed up to give me a bid -- and I'm pretty sure he went away scared. If he didn't he must have been in 'Nam.

Now they are gone, and, honestly, the quiet is a little disconcerting. I think this must be the way monkey trainers feel when they get done with their day at the circus. I keep looking at Sally, waiting to have to tell her not to put the Hot Wheel up her nose. But she just stares back at me and sips her Chardonnay. She's very cultured.

I think I'll go play with my new Emergency set. Just to bring back some of the noise.

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Living Single

From the time Ryan and I first met up until 10 months ago he served as the debate coach for his school, which meant he was gone pretty much every weekend from October to May. However, all that changed this fall when he took a new position. At first him being around all the time was kind of cramping my style, and my dating life, but after a little while I started to get used to it and like it. Of course, that meant it was time to pull the rug out from under me -- and so Ryan has left town for the next week, taking kids on a tour of Italy. He tried to get sympathy since it's a school trip, but it's still a school trip to Italy, so he can suck it. It's amazing how quickly Sally and I have fallen back into our "Ryan is out of town" routines again. The changes may seen small to the untrained eye, but they are pretty definite in the day to day running of things.

1. Sleeping When Ryan is gone Sally and I sleep more. Yes, I know that is impossible for some of you to imagine since we appear to hibernate at times, but it's really true. If I don't carefully plan our days down to the last second one or both of us can fall asleep at any time. Where we sleep is also changed with Ryan's absence, because Sally feels she needs to compensate for him being gone by taking up as much of the bed as possible. It would be a sweet gesture if it wasn't so painful to sleep on a six square inches of bed with enormous dog paws in my back. And she snores.

2. Eating Three words: Rice A Roni. Sally and I practically live on it when we are on our own. Well, that and single spoonfuls of cottage cheese straight from the carton. It's low impact, high sodium living. If Ryan's gone more than week we both start retaining water like crazy, but we're very satisfied as we slosh down the street.

3. Pronouns When Ryan is in town I refer to he and I as "we." When he's gone, as is obvious in this post, it's me and Sally. Before we got Sally it referred to me and the cats. Yes, when my husband is gone I get just a little closer to being a crazy recluse who makes sweaters from pet hair. Of course, I probably could sell those and make a killing on Etsy.

4. Hygiene I like to think of myself as a pretty clean person. I like my house to be tidy, and to make sure there are no unpleasant aromas coming off my body. But when Ryan's gone? Not so much. I pretty much wear pajamas from the second I get home, whereas I normally stay dressed until at least 5:30 when he's here. And shaving my legs? Yeah, not going to happen. Same goes from doing any major cleaning on the house. If dirt can be blown away, great. Otherwise it's going to have to wait until I do my "Ryan is coming home" cleaning at the end of the week.

5. Activities Ryan has been gone 24 hours and I have already blogged three times. I would have blogged more, but I've been asleep. Oh, and I went to the gym. And work. That's pretty much it. Ryan use to try and encourage me to be more active when he was gone, but now he's accepted the fact I turn into a lump, and thinks of it as my time to "recharge." Yeah, that's it...

I know I've just painted a less than attractive picture of myself, but, really, who cares? When Ryan returns I will spring from my salt lined chrysalis well rested with smooth and silky legs. I would do it sooner, but the guy I used date is now off the market...

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Dedicated to the Job

Yes, yes, reporting the news is a dangerous job. There are people who risk their lives to bring people the latest from war zones, disaster areas, and Detroit. However, a high school track meet is not normally an assignment that qualifies for hazard pay, and that is what makes this tale the "Story O' the Day."

Ryan McGeeney is a photographer for a local newspaper, and was covering the state high school track meet this weekend when he was struck by a javelin. No, he wasn't just struck, the thing went right through his leg. Now, if that happened to me I would either be screaming bloody murder, or trying to figure out how this was going to get me out of work for the next six months. Not McGeeny though -- he kept shooting, and today his photo is on the front page of the newspaper. If you dare to see it follow this link.

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Light Brown Thumb

I hate gardening. I don't like digging, I don't like pulling out weeds, I don't like getting dirty, and I hate that dying plants reek of the stench of failure. Yet, very year I go out in my yard determined to try and make things grow. Yesterday Ryan and I went to the local garden center where I bought 75 DOLLARS worth of plants and the stuff that is supposed to make them grow. You know, dirt and horse shit. Actually, looking at the box this appears to be made out of fish shit. That makes it so much more worthwhile. But I digress...

I decided to buy about four different varieties of tomatoes, since that is pretty much the only vegetable I actually think tastes better when grown at home. The rest still taste like vegetables, but a home grown tomato -- look out. I actually once found a perfume that smelled like good tomatoes and I almost bought it before I became concerned I would sprinkle my arm with salt and pepper and try to eat it. Wow, digressing again... I also bought two different kinds of basil, oregano, and salad greens. Oh, and seeds for sunflowers to plant in the plot of land that is currently growing nothing but weeds.

Now, if gardening were simple I could have just gone home, dug holes, put the plants in, put the fish shit in, filled the holes with dirt, and walked away. After all, even that is quite a bit of work, especially considering that things grow randomly every day. But no, it takes a lot more effort than that. First of all, I had to prepare the soil, which basically meant pulling out everything currently growing in it to make room for the stuff I want to grow there. Then I had to spread in the fertilizer, put in water and let that sit -- because, don't you know, if I hadn't done that the fertilizer would have actually killed the plants I want it to help grow. I think it must be made by Irony Labs.

Once the soil was "prepared" I carefully pulled the plants out of their little plastic boxes and placed them in the ground, spacing them just enough so they would have room to grow, but not feel lonely. Then I watered them and sang them a lullaby. And what did they do? Nothing. And what are they doing tonight? Nothing. You see, that is the real pisser about gardening. It's like watching plants grow. Oh, yea, there are plenty of things you can do in the meantime, like weed, and water, and check the pH balance, but really, that's just horticultural masturbation to make up for the fact that at the heart of it all, gardening is a waiting game. And I hate to wait. I mean, what will I get at the end of the weeks of waiting, and watching, and making "planter's tea" to feed to the little buggers? Well, last year it was one rock hard green tomato the size of a hamster nut. And not a very well hung hamster at that. But it did smell delicious.

Maybe this year I'll get two... That would definitely make it all worthwhile.

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Why I Do the Shopping...

Yesterday Ryan went over to Barnes and Noble to buy ONE book as a gift for a graduating senior. I should have known something was wrong when he was gone for more than an hour, but I have been known to occasionally get lost in a bookstore, so I wasn't going to worry. Then he walked in the door with these:


Yes, what was supposed to be a sedate gift buying excursion turned into a book orgy that Caligula would envy. Only, Caligula wouldn't want to read any of these books. They are all about philosophy, or debate, or ethics, or good teaching practices. Ryan could have least thrown a People magazine into the bag so that I could somewhat share in his excitement. I have to give him credit though that almost every book in the stack was marked down. That really must have been a blow for the author of this book:

Publisher: Your book isn't selling well. We're marking it down.
Author: But it's a good book with lots of worthwhile information for the current price.
Publisher: No, it isn't.
Author: Okay.

I bet the wouldn't have been marked down if it had been called "How to win every argument by talking people out of their pants." Now, that's a best seller.

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Pin Cushion

In my pursuit of pregnancy I have done many strange things. I have taken pills, given blood, peed on sticks, eaten foods I normally wouldn't touch, read books with awful titles like "Taking Charge of Your Fertility", worn a wrist watch that was supposed to predict ovulation, and slept with my legs above my head to keep blood going to my lady parts all night. Today though, I topped them all: I paid someone sixty bucks to stick pins in me in order to up my chances of getting knocked up.

I have been hearing about the benefits of acupuncture since we started trying to have a baby 18 months ago. I just lumped it in with all the other weird advice I was getting, like taking hot showers, or cold showers, or eating only things that are yellow. To be honest, I was a little nervous about entering into the realm of Chinese medicine. I guess that somewhere in the back of my Caucasian middle class mind I pictured a dark opium den of an office with dried frogs in jars and a 300 year old practitioner who would harshly judge my western ways. Call me racist if you want, but the impact of Indiana Jones movies is strong. They're also the reason I'm in no hurry to travel to Germany.

The office actually looked more like an Instacare than an opium den. The man who greeted me maybe 25 and wearing a white coat and a tie. He had me fill out forms very similar to those I have filled out for every other doctor. And then he asked to look at my tongue.
"Hmmm," he said, "are you cold?"
"No," I said.
"Your feet aren't cold?"
"Not at all"
He called over another man, the "Master Lu" I had been hearing so much about. Again, I was asked to stick out my tongue. Then he took my pulse on both wrists and my ankles.
"You're cold," Master Lu said.
"No, I'm actually quite comfortable," I insisted.
"You are too cold to have a baby right now. No more icy drinks. And no soda, it makes you cold."
That was the end of that, so Master Lu turned to the younger man and pointed at the various areas where needles were to be put in order to warm me up.

The needles actually weren't that bad. He put them in my shins, my stomach, my chest, my forehead, my elbow, and my ear. The ones in the ear stung a bit, but only for a second. And the one in my forehead was weird because I kept looking up and seeing it. Weird. The hardest part of having pins stuck into me was having to lay there trying to relax and not think about the pins stuck into me. I kept touching them just to make sure they hadn't magically slipped through my skin and into my spleen. I don't think I was supposed to do that.

After about 20 minutes the younger man came back in and removed the needles, repeated the advice about staying away from cold drinks, and told me that Ryan and I should start trying to conceive tonight. He was really bossy. When I got up I felt a little light headed, but I didn't feel any more fertile. On the way out I saw Master Lu, who again repeated the no cold drinks instruction and promised me that I would "get warm" soon.

The bill hurt more than the needles. Yes, 60 bucks is perfectly reasonable for competent medical help. But I'm supposed to go back twice a week for at least five weeks before they think I'll be "warmed up." And there's no guarantee. If I am going to pay that kind of money for a multiple session treatment that isn't covered by insurance it's going to be to laser my upper lip and bikini line. It may hurt more, but I'll have visible results and they won't tell me to give up Diet Pepsi.

Maybe I'll buy a heating pad. They're only $19.99 at Walgreens -- next to the vibrators.

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Grumpy

Yeah, I know, I haven't posted in the past few days -- not even an interesting and slightly annoying news story. The reason is partly that I have been busy, and partly that I have been in a rather bad mood. When I'm like this I prefer not to inflict myself on anyone I haven't married or rescued from the pound. Really, you should see Sally roll her eyes when I get started on a mood like this one -- it's amazing how a dog can be so understanding, and yet so condescending at the same time.

I'll post more tomorrow, but right now I have a pie to bake, a book to read, a couch to order, and a dog to walk. So, bide your time and there will be fresh Libby Logic tomorrow.

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Breeders

Mother's Day is a fucking horrible holiday when you are trying to conceive. It feels like Hallmark and Kay Jewelers and all of their minions have conspired to remind you that everyone else in the world can get pregnant -- and that you probably just aren't doing it right. This is my second Mother's Day while waiting for that second blue line to appear. Most of the time I think I am pretty upbeat about it. I'm honest with people about what is going on, but I try not to whine about it, except with a few chosen people who probably wish they weren't so chosen. Trust me, there are plenty of people out there whining enough for me and everyone else in the history of the world who might have trouble conceiving. Don't believe me? Just do a search for "infertility" in Google blog search. You'll wish you didn't.

But tonight I am looking at the bright side of things. The "disposable income" side of things. And so, I give you this week's List of Five...

The Five Best Things About Being Childless

1. Sleep I slept until 10 o'clock this morning. And then Ryan came back to bed and we didn't actually get up until 11. There is no one on the planet with children who got to do that -- unless they used large amounts of NyQuil and Duct Tape. I can also go to bed whenever I want, or stay out as late as I want without worrying about babysitters, or school days, or DCFS knocking at my door. Yes, the later I stay out the better the chance Sally will destroy all of my shoes, but I will never have to pay for therapy to listen to her bitch about how I always left her alone.

2. Food Ryan and I like to eat like adults. We never have to resort to nuggets, or "a-ronis" or meals that only contain things that can be wrapped in a tortilla. Also, if I don't want to eat my vegetables I don't have to, because I don't have to set a good example for anyone.

3. Love I really do feel blessed that Ryan and I have had this time to just be together. I feel we know each other, and like each other, more than we would have if we had started having children soon after our marriage. I think it will make us better parents in the long run -- if I don't talk myself out of ever trying again by the time I finish this list... Oh, and we can have sex whenever we want. And we do.

4. Money Yes, I spend money on children -- quite a bit actually. I love buying things for our nieces and nephews. However, I spend maybe a fourth of what I would if we had a kid full time. You see, I don't have to buy school clothes, or diapers, or food, or worry about college tuition -- so I can purchase a new "Power Ranger" or "My Pretty Pony" every now and then. Oh, and sometimes I actually buy those for the kids too...

5. Wine As I write this I am drinking a glass of wine. I might even drink the whole bottle. Hell, I might drink two. And the only person who will pay for it? Me. Yes, I will feel like shit in the morning and wonder all day why I chose to injure myself with Fume Blanc, but I won't have to worry that I have endangered anyone else, or scarred anyone for life. Well, maybe Ryan, but he's tough.

6. My Brain I do not have to listen to the Wiggles, or the Jonas Brothers, or Mylie Cyrus. I do not own a single "Baby Einstein" or "Barney" DVD. I can listen to a full hour of NPR without anyone complaining. Ryan and I can sit down and watch an entire move with subtitles. I am able to blog about something other than kids. In fact, my brain is in such good shape that I have come with a sixth item for my list of five.

Now, I'm sure there are some of you out there who are saying "oh, look at poor Libby trying to cover up her pain by dwelling on the selfish aspects of being childless." Yeah, well, bite me. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Maybe I'll think about it when I'm sipping my fourth margarita while in Mexico next month, while trying to decide which extremely fragile and extremely expensive object d'art to take home and put on a low shelf.

Happy Mother's Day!

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Get This Woman A Hysterectomy!

Michelle Duggar is pregnant with her 18th child. I guess she has nothing better to do since being a human rabbit has become a career choice. I mean, if she had stopped at 14 she never would have been on television or in magazines, and would just be another sad fat woman loading up on "Juicy Juice" at Costco. But no, Michelle Duggar went all the way and achieve fame and fortune -- through her birth canal.

Menopause is going to be a bitch for her. I wonder if her husband will go out and find a younger woman with ripe ovaries to start a new litter...

If you want to watch the video of the happy announcement on the "Today Show" here is a link. Just be warned that it might cause you to throw your computer across the room.

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I Rule

Tonight, I fixed a leaky toilet almost all by myself, and I only went a little psycho doing it. I think I deserve a cookie.

When the mail arrived this afternoon I was hoping that my government bribe to pretend everything is all right with the economy would be in it, but it wasn't. Instead there was a letter from the city saying that in the past six months our water usage has gone up quite a bit, and that because of it we would have to start paying a higher rate. The letter said that if we hadn't drastically changed our water usage habits the increase probably meant there was a leak somewhere on the property. Well, Ryan shot down my plans for a swan and princess fountain/ice rink, so I know we aren't using more water. So, there had to be a leak. And I just knew it had to be bad.

Instantly my mind started picturing the broken sprinkler pipe or water main under our house, filling a small reservoir that would eventually turn into a sink hole and swallow our house. I pulled out the phone book and Googled "sprinkler repair" at the same time, looking for any business with "sprinkler" in the description and then frantically leaving my name and number on every machine that picked up, and cringing every time I got a live person who inevitably said they had a backlog of work and wouldn't be able to come out right away. I HAD A LEAK, DAMMIT! THIS WAS SERIOUS!

Finally, I called the number on the letter to find out what they would recommend. I expected they would say all of my pipes would need to be pulled out, and that their cousin could do the job, and was quite reasonable when it came to costs. I also expected whoever answered the call to be very mean. Instead I got a very nice woman on the phone who told me to check my toilet.

"Toilet?" I asked, incredulous, "How could my toilet make my water usage go up so high?" She very patiently explained that even a small leak in the toilet could leave it running all the time, like leaving on a tap. Over the course of a month that can double water usage. Who knew. She said to put food color in the tank, wait an hour and then check it. If the water in the bowl is colored, that means there's a leak. Well, I knew she was wrong and that it was something much more serious, but I have always enjoyed playing with food coloring, so I tried it out. And I instantly had to pee.

I tried to hold it, waiting for the proper amount of time for the color test to work. I got to the ten minute mark and couldn't wait any more. And inside the bowl? The water was blue. Bright blue. I had found my leak. Of course, that just made me crazier. After all, everyone knows that plumbers are crooks that will charge you a million dollars just to step foot in your house and show you their crack. I couldn't believe this! What was I going to do? I saw my "stimulus" check going right down the toilet.

Ryan was unfortunate to call during this time, and I'm not sure what I said to him, but I think I insulted his manhood, and insinuated we might have to start peeing in the backyard. Whatever I said, he walked home very slowly. Luckily, that gave me time to pull a self help book off the shelf and look up "toilet leak repair." It was only one part that wasn't working -- the flapper. And according to the book it could be replaced without even using tools. Now, I don't know how Moses felt when he was given the 10 commandments, but I think how I felt learning I might be able to fix this by myself has to be close.

The hardware store had a wide selection of flappers, all with their own charm. When I got it home, I turned off the water, took out the old flapper, put in the new one, and turned back on the water. I let the tank fill, and then added a little food coloring -- green this time. Then, I waited. Twenty minutes later, the water was still clear. I was victorious.

Oh, and the new flapper only cost eight bucks (I bought the nice one). I was feeling so good I treated myself to a nice bottle of wine. It cost $11.

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My Butterfly

Ryan and I have been Netflixing, which has actually had us watching movies rather than buying them and then using the cases as coasters, or to prop up the wonky leg on a piece of furniture. I'm telling you, without that special edition of "King Kong" our bed would slope to the southwest. But I digress. Last night Ryan and I sat down to watch "The Diving Bell and Butterfly" which is a beautiful and moving film despite the fact it should be called "Make a Living Will, NOW."

For those of you unfamiliar with the film it is the true story of Jean Dominique Bauby, a man who was the editor of French Elle until he had a stroke and was completely paralyzed, except for his left eye. He then used a blinking system to dictate an entire book about his experience. I just would have blinked "put vodka in my IV" and left it at that. Of course, that's probably why no one is rushing out to make a movie of my life.

One thing that Bauby writes about in the book is the importance of relationships in his life, and how he has screwed up most of them -- especially the one with the woman who was the mother of his children. He had left her for another woman just shortly before his stroke, yet she stood by him until his death. That's a good person. The only reason I would have stuck around would be to remind him he was a shithead, that Karma was a bitch, and to see if I could take a hit off of his vodka IV. Again, why I am not a sympathetic character for a film.

Despite my best efforts the movie has stayed with me today (obviously) and even gotten me a bit reflective about relationships in my life, especially my one with Ryan. What would I regret if I could only blink at him for the rest of my life? What could I change now to avoid those regrets? And so, I give you a very special movie inspired, wedding anniversary edition of five things... Nah, just kidding. Ryan would kill me if I tried to turn this blog into my own personal marriage counseling forum. Let's just say it all comes down to listening, being more patient, and blah, blah, blah. Oh, and the blah, blah, blah? All about sex.

The decapitated piñata head just makes him hotter.

I do want to say one thing about Ryan though -- I love that man like crazy. I never thought I would find someone who would want to be with me for the long haul, and not have a major masochistic streak. He is better than the man of my dreams, and that isn't just because I had low expectations. It's because he blew all the expectations away. I can't even remember what I used to want in a man without picturing Ryan. He is my love, my friend, and the only person I would want to smother me if I could only blink one eyelid.

Happy Anniversary, Babe. I hope you don't mind I said it in my blog.

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Over the Edge

I am not a very good driver. Actually, I am a pretty bad driver. No one I know will let me drive unless they have no other option. For instance, right now my father is unable to drive because of his brace, so I have been ferrying him around. I try not to take it personally that he keeps his eyes closed and hums "There's got to be a morning after" until we reach our destination.

My sub-par driving skills are precisely why I am especially tickled with today's Story O' the Day. No matter what scrape I get into (and I literally mean scrape) I can say I have never done this...

Police investigating bizarre parking garage accident
May 5, 2008

A bizarre accident this morning at the beginning of the workday sent a woman over the edge of a downtown parking garage. The accident happened after the driver drove her SUV through a barrier and it fell down more than 20 feet.

We may never really know what caused the woman to drive over the edge because, according to police, she doesn't remember herself. But she survived and is expected to recover from quite a fall.

"I heard this loud crash. [I] thought it was coming from outside, maybe a car accident in the street," explained parking attendant Dave Robertson. "I'm surprised that this would happen, with a steel railing that's welded to the foundation and everything. That's pretty surprising."

It was just after 8:00 this morning when the woman, whose name has still not been released by the police, drove over the edge and down two stories in a parking garage located near 200 South and State Street.

Right now, the leading theories are that she blacked out, was on medication, or may have panicked when she accidentally hit the gas instead of the brakes.

Regardless of the cause, police do know she did accelerate over the edge, and her rescue was very complicated. "They called the heavy-rescue team so they could stabilize the car and went in and found the lady unrestrained," explained Capt. Karleen Montanez, with the Salt Lake City Fire Department.

The victim works at a nearby building in the downtown area and had just picked up some groceries. She told rescuers she did not remember anything after being at the grocery store.

The woman's small Toyota SUV was damaged in the fall, and she suffered injuries to her arms. She remains in the hospital tonight in serious condition.

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Frankenberry

I was preparing my very healthful breakfast of yogurt, strawberries and Kashi for work tonight when I came upon a freakish abnormality of the fruit world. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Siamese Strawberry.


Separation was really the only option for this poor bi-lobed berry -- not even my mouth is big enough for that. The shape of the cross section was quite pleasing.


If only there were a sideshow for fruit. I'd be rich! I guess I'll just have to keep working with Sally on her banjo playing.

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That'll Show Us for Celebrating a Milestone...

Wednesday is Ryan and my third wedding anniversary. Because we have both been really busy during the week lately, we decided to celebrate today by going to a spa and then to an early dinner at our favorite sushi place. That meant that Sally was alone for a lot of the day. She was not happy about it, and we knew it, so before we left for the spa, and before we left for dinner we scattered a few dog treats around hoping to appease her. Yeah, she decided our offering wasn't good enough, because when we got home from dinner we discovered she had gotten the treat bag off the counter, and finished every morsel inside.

She is not sleeping on the bed tonight. Actually, Ryan suggested we all sleep outside so we don't suffocate with the noxious gases that will inevitably be escaping from her butt...

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I Think I'm Funny

Today it was a typical day in the newsroom, which means we were discussing the bizarre sex practices of polygamists. We have been taking questions via e-mail about the current FLDS situation in Texas and one that came through today was about the definition of "spiritual marriage." One of the producers consulted the oracle -- Wikipedia.

Her: It says spiritual marriage originated in the Catholic church and means a marriage without sex. So, I guess it's love without sex.
Me: So, then what's sex without love? Oh, wait, that was my 20's.
Her: (Silence)

I wonder if HR will call me in tomorrow, or let me have the weekend...

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