Toxic Dollies

Recently, I dreamed that Grandpa was making Charli-dolls with pieces of chicken inside the plastic heads. ( What was wrong with Jelly Bellies?) I was OBSESSED with worry because I knew that they were not being refrigerated and so would become overrun with salmonella, and make people sick. I guess I should have made warning labels and attached them to the dolls saying, "Don't eat the meat!" ( For the original "Don't Eat the Meat!" story, see the post of March 15th, 2005...)

Time to crawl under a rock

Okay, I'm really embarrassed right now.

I am in the family room, which, for those of you who have not been to our house, is upstairs. Downstairs, in our living room, a bunch of church leaders are having a meeting. I was online doing some stuff and I got done and turned on the stereo which provides sound for the TV...Well, apparently it was on PBS, and somehow the volume got left on high...( I think that there is a difference in the volume when you are using the stereo to watch a movie, and when you are using it to watch the TV)... and so when I turned it on, I was almost literally blasted away by some horrible sounds, masquerading as music. Now you're thinking, public television? Probably jazz, right? No. They were doing a story on bikers or something. It was that kind of music...loud, obnoxious, screechy electric guitar music...and it was soooo loud that I completely lost my mind for about ten seconds and flailed madly at all the remotes and buttons that I had at my command. It was all a frantic blur. I couldn't find the mute button. I finally ended up diving onto the receiver and turning it down manually. Ten seconds doesn't sound like much, but believe me, it was a loooooooong time. There is no way, unless they were all smitten with profound deafness at that exact moment, that the men downstairs could have missed it.

Oh my word. I am so mortified.

I am the Sunday School teacher who earlier in the day shushed her tiny tot pupils as we walked under the church windows on our way to collect flowers to glue on our Easter pictures. And here I am now, pumping out crazy punk-rock-heavy-metal noxiousness at top volume while there's a church leaders meeting going on downstairs.

I am too scared to even look at the stereo now for fear something will jump out and hurt me.

So...P.S. I wrote this about an hour ago, and Brad just walked in, as the meeting is over now and when I began to apologize profusely about the noise, he said that he didn't hear anything. Oy. All that cringing for nothing.

That's What It's All About

Sometimes I think it all comes down to one word: dishes.

Life is simply a very long rotation of dirtying dishes and then cleaning them up again. I think we should go back to being cavemen. Cavemen didn't have dishes. They ate with their hands. Why can't we do that? We have soap. We have hand sanitizer. Why use dishes?