Randomness of fonts

So TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 left on their Adventure yesterday morning and lemme tell you, last night I was missing them something awful.  Which is unusual since they're gone racing just about every other weekend and they've been doing this for how many years now and there's been times I've looked forward to them being gone for the weekend but not this time.  I dunno why.  I don't even know if they've made it to their destination (Murphy, Idaho) or if they're still puttering along.  I guess I'll just have to wait for a phone call.
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Once again, Blogger has decided that IT will decided which font I can and cannot use and I guess it's decided that I must use the small "Times" font even though I keep choosing the larger "Verdana" font.  It will switch fonts on me when I start a new paragraph, when I type a new word and sometimes even in the middle of the word if I stop typing for a moment.   It's a non-stop battle between Blogger and me and this time, I'll let it think it's won so it can see how STUPID this whole thing is.  If someone knows how I can choose a default font, let me know so that I can be WINNING this battle of wills between Time and Verdana.
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Early this morning, Gracie Lou jumped off the bed (she sleeps with us) trotted off down the hall.   When she didn't come back right away, I sat up and listened and I could hear her doing something so I called to her and she came scampering back to bed and snuggled in, looking EXTREMELY guilty of something.  Something she didn't want to talk about and she pretended to be sound asleep when I gave her an inquiring stare.

So when I got up at the decadent hour of 8:00am, I did a quick reconnaissance of the living room and didn't see anything unusual.  And then I went into my office to check my e-mail and saw something on the rug:

That thing next to her half-chewed Chewstix was what was left of a 12" long leather bookmark.  She had eaten the other 11" of it.
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Our local Borders bookstore is one of the many that went to the Chopping Block.  I'm pretty bummed because not only did I spend a lot of time there, I had also spent a lot of money there.  And it was the only bookstore around that carried a specific magazine I love.

It's been a month since the "EVERYTHING MUST GO!!" sales went up and it was only yesterday I finally ventured in.  Everything was 40% off the list price and I got 3 books that were on my Kindle wish list for less than the Kindle price so WINNING!  So now I have 3 more books to add to my pile of Books To Be Read, a pile that contains books I bought a year ago but haven't even picked up since.  So of course it makes sense to buy more books.  Well, it makes sense to ME.
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I have absolutely no plans for this weekend sans TheManTheMyth.  I suppose I COULD do some Spring Cleaning (stop laughing) and take a load of stuff to the Goodwill.

Or, I could start working through my pile of books.

Decisions, decisions.

Death and grief and sorrow and murder. And weddings. And other stuff.

The other day, an internet friend asked for advice in dealing with all the terrible news that seems to be on 24/7.  Everything is doom and gloom "we're all gonna die!" depressing.

It sucks, is what it does.  It's getting to the point where reading the newspaper means heading straight to the comics.  And "Dear Abby" although some of the letters she gets are pretty depressing.

I KNOW what's going on in the world.  But that doesn't mean I want to be saturated with it.  Along with the radiation cloud that is supposedly heading toward California.  Our local news stations are all up on that, telling people to get thee to a pharmacy and stock up on potassium iodine so now of course you can't find potassium iodine, not that I'm looking.

So seeing as I'm admittedly Shallow and Superficial, I'm going to turn my attention to more lighthearted stuff.

There's a Royal Wedding coming up and I for one want to know all the details.  What will Catherine, formerly known as "Kate," wear?  Yes, yes, I KNOW she'll wear a wedding dress but what will it look like?  Who is making it?  Will she wear a tiara?  I love me a tiara.  I have a couple of my own and they're always fun to wear, even if you're not marrying a future King.

I remember getting my first glimpse of Princess Diana's wedding dress and at the time I thought it was the most beautiful dress EVER.  Huge and pouffy and billowing and that immense train and oh, this teenage girl practically swooned at the sight of it. It was a total Fairy Princess dress.  And the bouquet!  Huge!  I wanted one just like it when I got married, except with pink flowers.  However, the cost of such a massive bouquet caused me to rethink that idea.


TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 left this morning for Idaho to race in the Kenda National Hare & Hound Series.  They're riding up with some other people and based on the call I got about an hour ago, it's going to be a loooooooooooong drive.   Barely 2 hours into the drive, they've already had to replace 2 tires on the trailer.  I told TMTM to look at this as an Adventure, as something he will look back on and laugh and he was all, "Yeah.  Ha. Ha."


It's all my fault, though.  TMTM had wanted to have a trailer hitch put on my car and they would borrow a little 2-rail bike trailer and drive up because it would save a couple hundred bucks in gas than if they had driven up the Big Truck but I had adamantly put the kibosh on that because my car is a lease that gets turned in in 2-1/2 months and this trip would a) put me over my miles and 2) put unnecessary wear and tear on a car that has to be in good condition when it gets turned in and Let's pay $$$$ to save $$!  Yeah, um, NO.


So I've been looking and test driving various cars for when the time comes to get a new car and every car I've shown TMTM, he's immediately looked into the trailer hitch situation so that it can become the transportation of choice to the desert and I got all pissed off at the thought of my new car being ruined by a having a trailer hitch installed and I worked myself up into quite a state before I reminded myself that I don't even have the car yet.  But I'm still mad at even the thought.


I blame the news.


Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and put on one of my tiaras and hope it makes everything a little more happy.

Don't let the name fool you

Despite having red hair and an Irish name and, I'm not.  Irish, that is.  So don't let the name fool you into thinking that a redhead named Kelly is Irish and is all about the wearin' of the green and putting on her Riverdance shoes and dancing a jig with the Lord of the Dance.  Because it ain't happening.

When I was younger, I HATED my name.  I don't know how many times I was called, "Kelly Belly" and "Smelly Kelly" but it was A LOT and it got old after the first 2 times someone thought they were being all witty with the nickname.


For a period of time in my childhood, I was known as "Girl Kelly."  There was a little boy named Kelly who lived down the street so our friends would call him, "Boy Kelly" and I was "Girl Kelly" so that nobody would get confused.  I don't mean that people referred to us as "Girl Kelly" and "Boy Kelly."  We were called by those names.  My little friends would knock on the door and ask if Girl Kelly could come out and play.


When Boy Kelly moved away, I was finally able to be called just plain old Kelly.  Along with the Not So Funny nicknames.


When I was in my Wild Misspent 20's, the name Kelly did come in handy on St. Patrick's Day and I would use it to my advantage to score free drinks at the local watering holes.  And the next day I'd be as green as the hills of the Emerald Isle.


Although they were A LOT of fun, I don't miss those days.


So even though it's St. Patrick's Day and I've got the red hair (courtesy of Garnier Nutrisse) and the Irish name (courtesy of my mom who thankfully didn't name me something from our ethnic background otherwise I could be Helga or Olga or Franziska or Svetlana or Iona) I'm not going to start chugging the green beer and eating corned beef and cabbage because, well, yuck.  

But I am wearing something green in a nod to the St. Pats people because I really don't want to be black and blue from the pinching.


Kiss me, I'm (not) Irish.

Fending off the JW, one autograph at a time

Since it appears the world is going to end, what with massive earthquakes and tsunamis, the Door-to-door religious folk thought this was the perfect time to hit the neighborhoods with Bibles and Watchtower pamphlets in hand to try and save some souls.

Well, good for them and bless their hearts.  As long as they don't bother me.

Too late.  The knock is heard at the door.  But THIS time, I was prepared.

I open the door and the nice Bible lady is standing there and before I could say a word, she flips that sucker open and starts reading from Revelation, only she said, "Revelations," and I didn't want to be rude because she seemed like such a nice lady so I stood there and waited for her to finish reading her Revelations and when she finished, I said, "Thank you, that was lovely" and she whipped out one of her Watchtower pamphlets and said, "I'd like to give you this gift" and *I* said, "Why, thank you, I'd like to give YOU a gift as well!" 

And I opened the screen door, gave her one of these:

and told her to Have a Nice Day.  She stood there looking rather confused and not as thrilled as she should have been to receive a Genuine Autographed publicity glossy of Thing 1.

I mean, who wouldn't want to have one of these highly collectible items?  It's AUTOGRAPHED.

I shut the door and went about my day with a smile on my face because it was Jehovah's Witnesses - 0, Kelly - 1.

WINNING!

It's a test. It HAS to be a test.

If EVER there was a time to break my Lenten vow of not cussing, it would be now.  Why, you ask?  I'll tell you.

For the first time in my entire life, I ran out of gas.  Actually, *I* didn't run out of gas, my car did.  But I was behind the wheel.  And I blame TheManTheMyth.  And he will SO hear about it when he gets home.

He took my car last night to attend a meeting 27 miles away.  Which would make it 54 miles round trip.  When he left, I told him that I only had maybe 1/8 of a tank of gas which may or may not be enough to get him there and back and leave enough for me to take Thing 2 to school AND get home because my car gets really crappy mileage.  So you'd think he would, I don't know, put gas in the car.

He didn't.

I get in the car this morning to take Thing 2 to school and the gas light is on.  When the gas light comes on, I have about 3 gallons left so no big deal.  But I'm a-guessing that ol' gas light came on while TMTM was driving TO his meeting because the needle was BELOW the line. 


Gee, thanks for leaving me high and dry, honey.  


So I figure I'll drop off Thing 2 and hope I make it to the nearest gas station.  Which I do.  Make it to the nearest gas station.  Only to realize as I shut off my car at the pump that I HAD FORGOTTEN MY WALLET.


Deep breath.  Deep breath.


I did NOT cuss.  Hand to God, I did not cuss.  It took a tremendous amount of effort but I did. Not. Cuss.


I get back in my car and turn the key and...Nothing.


Deep breath.


Turn the key again and...nothing.


I take another deep breath and count to three.


And try one more time.


This time, my car starts and I head toward home, wondering if I will make it or if Gracie Lou and I will have a long walk ahead of us.


My car is gasping and of COURSE I hit every. single. light.


And still, I was not cussing.


I turn the corner at my house and and sputter to a stop.  In front of my driveway.  YES!  I made it home!  


I figured I would grab the little red 1 gallon gas can and walk up to the gas station 1/4 mile away.  Except I discovered we don't have a little red gas can.  We have 10 gas cans here but they're all 5 gallon size and they're for filling up race bikes.

Fine.  I'll just put one in the back of the Red Rocket and drive the Rocket to the gas station and put a gallon of gas in the big can.

I get in the Rocket and turn the key.  And make a grim discovery.


The Red Rocket is out. of. gas.


I'm now 100% positive that God is testing me.  That he WANTS me to break my vow of not cussing.

Well guess what, God?  I haven't cussed!  Ha!

I'm WINNING!!

Never mind that I'm stranded.

I'm WINNING.

Yay.

God is testing me.

So I'm driving along in my automobile, my doggy beside me at the wheel.  

Not really.  Gracie Lou wasn't with me.  I had a couple of errands to do and it's too warm to leave her in the car.

Anyway.  I'm driving along and all of a sudden, I see these 2 men having some sort of altercation at the Bus Stop.  At first, I thought maybe it was a couple of college dudes wrestling around but as I got closer, it was apparent this was not the case and at least one of the participants appeared to be one of the many mentally ill transients that are always around.  They were pushing and shoving and yelling at each other and it looked like they were going to come to blows and I didn't know if I should dial 911 and then one of them picked up his pack and his hat and screamed a couple of expletives that *I* can't say for another 39 days (not that I'm counting) and stumbled off and I was all, "Whoa!" 

I had been coming back from attending an estate sale when this happened and I was empty handed because even though the entire contents of this house was for sale, the now-deceased homeowner had a houseful of junk.  And this was a house in one of our fair city's most exclusive neighborhoods, too.

And when I say the entire contents of the house was for sale, I mean EVERYTHING was for sale.  There were rusted cans of food that had to be at least 30 years old that had price tags on them.  Half-used bottles of old creme rinse.  Do they even make "creme rinse" any more?  Open boxes of cotton swabs.  Used pens and pencils.  A half-empty roll of toilet paper.  Anything that should have been thrown away for health and sanitary reasons had a price tag, even if it was for five cents.

A year and a half ago, a lady on my street killed herself and the county took possession because of unpaid property taxes (or something like that) and the house has been vacant ever since.  The neighbors have been good about mowing the lawn and parking their cars in the driveway so that it looked like someone lived there but the house itself has been locked up tight.

On Monday, a crew showed up and started getting the house cleaned up and cleaned out.  Turns out there was quite a bit of the dead owner's stuff still in there.  Which was kind of creepy.  And sad.

So I'm one day in to my "no-cussing for Lent" assignment and I'm doing...okay.  When I saw the Bum Fight I was all, "Holy Poo!" because I couldn't say the S-word the way I normally do.

It's like God is trying to test me by throwing curve balls such as Bum Fights at me.

I must stay strong.


I can do this.

Giving up the !@$%*&! cussing

Lent starts today.   And Our Friend June asked us, her faithful devotees, what we were giving up for Lent.


Now, I actually don't observe Lent because well, I'm not of the Christian persuasion and no, I don't want to be persuaded thankyouverymuch, but I think there's nothing wrong with playing along and denying oneself something with the intent to better oneself.


So I had to think of what I would give up during this 40 day period and it had to be something other than fast food, alcohol and my Daily Diet Coke because no.  Ain't going there.  So I thought of a bad habit of mine and BINGO!  And no, I'm not giving up playing Bingo because I don't play Bingo.  Except when I went on the Canadian Cruise.  And I didn't win a single game. Stinkers.

Anyhoo, a little backstory:  Several years ago, I noticed that one of my good friends, who I spent a lot of time with, was dropping F-bombs left and right.  She'd be reading a gossip mag and say things such as, "I can't effing believe this effing crap (she used the "S word") so-and-so is effing doing!  Eff me!"  And I kind of picked up the habit of swearing like a cockney although without the cockney accent.  And the colloquialisms.  But it got to the point where I didn't notice how bad it had gotten until someone pointed it out to me.


And let me tell you, it's awfully hard to stop cussing when you're not even aware you're doing it.


So that's what I'm giving up for the Lent.  Cussing like a cockney.  Which means I can't say stuff like, "Bloody hell!" and "Cheeky Bastard!" which is okay because I didn't say stuff like that anyway but I also won't be using terms such as "Son of a B****!" and the crude term for feces and the F word and everything else I've been using on a regular basis.


It's not going to be easy but with the love and support of my friends and family, I'm sure I can get through the next 40 days without blowing a gasket because honestly, sometimes saying something like, "Oh, poopy!" just doesn't have the same effect or satisfaction as blurting out, "MotherF***!"


But I'll do my best.


Pray for me.