The Scat Is Back: Tales of an electrode stealing broad.

Only one person is really going to understand that title. If you are one of those people fortunate enough to Face-stalk me, you can get to the root of the story, but the REAL meaning of that title is that she (I have mentioned her before and when I look back and/or remember what I called her I shall then use her appropriately aforementioned pseudonym) and I are just people that do "stuff like that." Like making nachos and leaving the oven on 400 and just walking off. Because...

No reason. No reason at all. Not premeditated. Post-meditated. Duri-meditated (yep, making up words now, but you get the point). So when Buddy asked me if I "meant" to leave the oven on I stared at him like a cow munching grass and said, "oven?" Yes. Oh, THAT oven. (I'm not screaming I just lack italics. I LOVE italics).

This is also how one of my thumb drives got washed into oblivion. Whole. Other. Story. When computers really are the size of objects you can forget and leave in your pockets I am well and truly hosed. One day I could simply wash the server and then where would we be?

I should also mention I'm staging my return to the blogosphere to the tune of "Dora Best Friends"...can you say "circulo?'" I don't hear you!!!!! Yeah, me either, but Squib likes it so once a year or so we watch it. Usually during finals week so I can buy myself a little sanity time. Not exactly the sort of sanity time that restores your mind or anything, but it allows you to organize your notes, get all your binders together, fold the laundry, curl your hair, cut your nails, make dinner, and blog. The result is sanity later when said Squiblet is in a happy little nacho-and-Dora-induced coma on the world's most expensive toddler bed.

This deserves mention.

(I would set that off with arrows, but my whammy-dyne Kensington bluetooth iPad keyboard just...doesn't have them. I feel....like I'm in bondage. Use the keyboard, lose your expressivity. Nonetheless shilling for Kensington!)

Le Apartemente is well appointed. When the clan lived in another hacienda it was totally remodeled and this particular sofa cum toddler bed was specially ordered to match a rug that together (rug+sofa) cost more than my college education. No scat. Well, my first college education. Turns out that the sofa and it's larger match are the most comfortable things to sleep on ever invented. The totally serendipitous part is that once the back and side cushions are removed, the bottom cushion fits the Dora sheet set that Squib is so enamored with (see previous post that I will tag later on the purchase of "girl things" for boys and just get over it). This then leaves a perfect low rail around three sides  which is wonderful because the Mixmaster still falls out of bed. Not an issue with the car bed at his dad's (just like on Silver Spoons, yes) as it has a low rail all around. Perfect! So Squib sleeps on an oriental silk-covered bed. How many toddlers can say that? Um....probably one in this country. And to further answer your next question, YES, it has already been desecrated. **sigh**

I know...mattress covers, right? Any mother can tell you about how well the mattress cover theory works and what inevitably happens when all the mattress covers have been consumed within the timespace of a single washer cycle. Especially during the horrifying combination of "I don't feel so good," "by the way I'm wearing underwear and not a pull-up" and "*********** gave me a big Dr. Pepper." (I love Fridays) So, what, get two washers? That I HAVE considered. I will just conclude with the suggestion that if you are toilet training...silk is a bad choice. Just. Putting. That. Out there.

So, finally, silence falls in the hovel and I reach over and take a big sip of what I thought to be my tea and what ended up being someone's sippy cup with the lid off. Such is life and thank God it was fresh milk, right?

Speaking of tea. I've been drinking tea lately and liking it. Not really sweet southern tea, but this chia spice tea that my dad makes and then wanders in the office with. He is notorious for making cups of things and leaving them places (now you see why I left the oven on?) and since the tea is so good and I've already scientifically proven that he will simply make more, I just drink it. This is in lieu of Dr. Pepper....I KNOW!

I am saying in public that I am thinking maybe that...

(***please hold while I disturb the slumber of the entire town...that's only 693 people...to kill the largest spider I've ever seen!!!!!***)

...I prefer the tea?

It just tastes fresher and gooder (I used that word on purpose and realize it to be poor English for those of you reading me for the first time, I do that in addition to long parenthetical explanations of my habits ;).

For additional insight into my growing weirdness, I have also been wearing these shoes called Vibram Five Fingers. They are rather unique and have TOES for those of you who don't know of what I speak and they are most wonderful. Props to my friend Bugsy from Cajunville for introducing them to me. You can find them at http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/  and the sizing is a tad odd. I usually wear a six-and-a-half women's shoe. Sometimes a seven and barely got onto the women's sizing chart at a 36. I might wear a 37 in another style. I'd advise going to a store that sells them so you can walk around in a pair before you buy them.

Here are my weird feet in my weird shoes:

Funky As Promised

Buddy has issued a dare and that dare is that I sing in them so those of you crawling about before noon on Sunday can witness the weirdness as I come good on the dare in the full glory of Mother's Day. <> (<--LOOK!!! I found the arrows :D) I am wearing my five-toed shoes to sing this Sunday. I figure it's Mother's Day and I'm a mom, right? I can wear what I please...and I shall!!! The real purpose of the shoes is for running. Yes, running. Aside from dancing, running was never a real hobby. I just danced a lot through high school. In my first years of college (despite small hiatus for a fouled ankle from --running--) I didn't do much until I transferred to UH my junior year and immediately funged up my knees so bad they needed reassembly. Well, one needed it twice. (I didn't fung them so much as they were born that way and then I put the screws to them via ballet). That was a REALLY bad year. LOTS of physical therapy. After that I got into swimming. Lots and lots of swimming and water aerobics. Somewhere in there I worked with a trainer for six months and did step aerobics which I still love. You can blame my grandmother for the step aerobics thing. She'd still be stepping if her balance would allow but I think at eighty-something years old you can hang up your aerobic togs for a pair of walking shoes, the local gym's treadmill, and a swimsuit. But blame it all on the local gym that everyone is back to-->running.

Buddy has been running two miles every day. Sort of boggles the mind. But for a sixty-something a heck of a great idea. As long as you have your feet and a road...you can go. Well, he uses a treadmill.

Now we're back to the shoes. They're for something I can only call not-so-barefoot runnning. Which is what I'm up to trying next. :) In lieu of hiking the Texas Lone Star trail...which is what I really want to do but lack a hiking buddy...I shall tackle this. Yay. I expect it to take a while as it has taken a bit just to get used to the silly shoes. I hear I need little toe-y socks, so I've acquired said socks.

They will be here as soon as UPS discovers my house for the 457th time. The link to that post will be -->here. I <3 UPS. There really is something seredipitous about the fact that heart-making on the internet--at least in this case--involves the "less than" symbol. Really.

Welcome to those joining me for the first time and HIYA to all those begging me to come back. I can only say...this semester almost killed me. My love-hate relationship with computers grew a tad more on the love AND the hate side. What can I say? They all belong in the lake. Period.

Except maybe my iPad which I will one day have affixed to my left hand.

Awkward.

Scat.