Thursday, May 29, 2008

If I Had Forever...

So, Sew-and-so is hosting an End of Spring Writing Assignment on the Buzz (she says I'm collaborating with her, but I haven't really done much of anything, so the credit all goes to her), and she asked if she could post my entry on the Anthill to inspire others to give it a try.

Of course, I accepted, much like a beauty pageant winner accepts her crown. Darn this running mascara and impending carpal tunnel.

I offered to post it here as well. (I mean, I don't know about you, but I've never been to the Anthill. I fear the Antman and his fake urban slang.)

The theme of the assignment is "If I Had Forever...":

Days stretch before me without end.
Though paths diverge in loping wend,
Through plains of gold and wooded glen
You’ll know just where to find me.

Above the stately oaken branches,
Past the mire of broken chances,
Where whispered prayers still nightly dance,
Is where the road will lead.

But follow not this trail I lay,
For solace sought lays not this way.
Your time will come, but not this day,
And not this easily.

Our parting will but moments seem
When you awaken in the dream.
Though years may pass, Love will redeem
What your heart now fails to see.

(Here's a useless tidbit about that poem you can use to amaze your friends at keggers--it's written in trochaic, not iambic, tetrameter, because the stressed syllables precede the unstressed, except for the last line of each quatrain, which is written in either catalectic or brachycatalectic trochaic tetrameter, because they are missing either one (catalectic) or two (brachycatalectic) syllables off the foot.

And that is the first time majoring in English has EVER paid off for me.)

If you'd like to participate (and no, you don't need to know a thing about verse cadence), stop by Sew-and-so's Buzz blog and post a link to your entry. It doesn't have to be a poem; write in whatever style the theme inspires you. You have until June 20th.

So, come on. Let's see what ya got!

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Hello, Kitty

Allow me to introduce you to the newest member of the Gray household...


This little fella Ethan has dubbed Arrow. He's a 6-week-old Heinz 57, so graciously "gifted" to us by our wonderful neighbor, Deb.

(She's a dead woman.)

(I don't mean literally. Yet.)

Deb, you'll recall, is the boozing Brit who tempts fate by passing out crap candy at Halloween, and lives, it seems, solely to torment me.

Oh, I'm not saying the cat isn't cute, or that he couldn't possibly weasel his way into our shriveled black hearts. We're not monsters, or Korean, or anything.

(That's a joke. Monsters are totally misunderstood.)

No, it's the sneaky, underhanded means of foisting the cat on our unsuspecting selves that has me planning her slow, painful demise.

She asked our five-year-old if he wanted to take the kitty home.

Now, I'm not a rookie at this parenting game. Not only have I spent the last five-and-a-half years raising my own son, but I've been a very involved auntie in my 16 nieces and nephews lives for the past 20 years. And never--NEVER--have I encountered a play quite as reprehensible as the ol' tugging on the child's heartstrings to unload your bastard cats move.

Low, Deb. So very low.

Especially since she knew that he has been asking for a pet for the past two years.

I know the ultimate decision belongs to us, as his parents, and I suppose I could have done the appropriate (read "mean") thing and told him no, but I just couldn't find it in me to break his little heart.

I sent him to his dad instead.

How was I to know Squidward would cave?

So, yes, we have a cat, and a very happy little boy.

Watch your back, Deb. It's on now.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Is She Still Alive?

Oh, did I not mention I'd be going on another blog hiatus?

Man, I gotta stop doing that.

Unfortunately, I can't guarantee it won't be like this for the foreseeable future. The sad truth is, my heart and my head just aren't in it. I'm struggling with some things healthwise, and it's affecting me more than I thought it was.

No, I'm not dying or anything. You can't get rid of me that easily.

But I certainly don't feel like I'm living either. I've been on autopilot for weeks now. I can't seem to care about anything beyond making it through the day without breaking down.

I know that sounds pathetically melodramatic, and it is, but, heck, this is my blog. And my pity parties are rollicking good fun.

(Virgin umbrella drinks! Yay!)

Mike says I should blog all the gruesome details, but I don't think he knows what he was asking for. He's a guy. Sure, they can blow out a monster's brains on a video game, or watch the goriest movie without flinching, but interrupt it with a tampon commercial, and they're mowing each other down and crawling over the dead bodies to get to the nearest exit.

"Women's trouble" scares them senseless.

But that's not exactly what I'm dealing with. Hormones, yes. But even that's enough for my husband to get a glazed over look on his face. I guess in his eyes, the two are synonymous. Hormones falls under the category "Mysterious Things I'd Rather Not Know About My Wife's Body".


On the bright side, he doesn't complain at all when the only thing I accomplish in a day is meshing a lovely floral arrangement for my Sims.


Yes, that's about the extent of what I can will myself to do some days. Sad, huh?

(Sadly awesome, that is!)

But some days are better than others, and it does seem that I'm having more and more of those good ones. I'm cautiously optimistic that that means I'm on the upswing, but I know better than to call the game now.

Hormones, like my mother, can be a fickle, fickle bitch.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

My Broken Dream

Oh, did I not mention I'd be going on blog hiatus?

Yeah, I didn't know it myself. Just been busy with the usual multitude of worthwhile philanthropic pursuits--rescuing kittens from trees, helping old people cross busy streets, making lamps for the lamp-deprived people who live in my computer.

Pretty standard.

I wish I could tell you that I've been spending my time shopping for a gorgeous set of patio furniture on which Holly can perch her shapely arse when she comes to visit (whenever THAT will be). Alas, it would seem that dream has flitted away on a passing breeze I like to call auto repair.

Yes, our car is in the shop...again. This time it's the water pump and timing belt.


And by joy, I mean not joy.

Sorrow. Debilitating, blog-defeating sorrow.

What might have been...


has become...



Hey, at least it comes with a handy bucket to catch my falling tears, right?

Saturday, May 3, 2008

This Goes Out to You, Lovey

It made me think of you. Hope it puts a smile back on your face. :o)

See more funny videos at CollegeHumor