Giving in to the Temptation of Mediocrity

QotD: Worst. Job. Ever.

What was the worst job you ever had?
Submitted by salaryman.

I can't talk about it without triggering rapid flashbacks. The husband says I get a shell-shocked Vietnam Vet glaze over my eyes. In my head I hear the music of Platoon.

Camera Mart.

QotD: Rotten Apple For The Teacher

Who was your best (or worst) elementary school teacher?
Submitted by Minnow. 

Hands down
Aline McGuinty Jones
6th grade
Bayou Meto Elementary

You never knew what the day was going to be like in Mrs. Jone's class room. She was a nutbag.
At lunch we were not allowed to talk to each other. We were allowed to eat and that was all. Every other table in the lunch room was alive with childish chatter. How torturous is that?

I recall asking her one time about the apples she brought for lunch, every day an apple. Since we weren't allowed to talk at the table she just pointed to the veins in her wrist and said, "blood pressure."
Looking back, she should have eaten more apples.

She would get mad about something and her whole body would stiffen. She would purse her lips so tight her face looked like the back end of a plucked chicken.

In class she was prone to throwing tantrums. I remember she once flung a chair halfway across the room. Then there was the time she ranted and raved then screamed, "If I have a miscarriage it will be all of your faults!"
That was when my mother had a little chat with Mrs. Jones.

I was shocked to find out that Mrs. Jones continued to work as a teacher well after I became an adult. There were a few times I thought about contacting her and having a talk, not as a former student to teacher, but as one adult to another. I felt she needed to know that she was a horrible horrible teacher and should never have been allowed near children.

I made bread!

Wowwy wow wow!
One of my beliefs is if you expect the worst, you won't be disappointed. I have a history of failed baking adventures and each one was started with optimism and hope. This lead to great and memorable disappointment. One of my other beliefs is that disappointment builds character. My life has filled me with character. One thing I don't need is more character.

THE BIRTHDAY CAKE:
I decided to make Shaun a birthday cake. Shaun was my boyfriend at the time and I really wanted to impress him with some baking. When the baking was done - half of the cake stuck to the bundt pan. I had to dig it out with a spatula. I decided that half a cake was better than no cake so I cut the offensive torn edges nice and smooth, wrapped it in plastic and took it to school with me to give to him after class. I saw him between classes and told him that I had made him something and it was in the front seat of my car. He asked what it was. I said it was a chunk of chocolate cake. I explained the pan problem. He laughed. Then doubled over laughing. Apperently he had walked by my car that morning and looked inside and saw the wrapped up chocolate cake. "I couldn't tell what that thing was. I actually thought it was a sea cucumber."

BREAD:
It was a holiday of some sort or another and I decided that I was going to make a loaf of bread. I followed the directions to the letter because I know that in baking, it's more like a science than an art. I did the measuring and the kneading and the rising and the punching and everything was looking fine in the dough state. I plop it in the loaf pan and wait.
It was still in the oven when the husband walked in the door.
"What's that smell?"
"I'm making bread from scratch!", I announced.
He was very impressed until he looked through the oven window. "Is it supposed to look like that?"
I was looking now too. My bread was the same size as when I put it in the pan. The top was dry and still as pale as the dough and, for some reason, forming ridges.
I took it out of the oven and it was brick heavy and brick hard. Again, the man in my life starts laughing at my baked goods. "IT LOOKS LIKE WORF'S HEAD! It's WORF'S HEAD BREAD!!!"

nerd.

But he was right, it did look like a Klingon's forehead.

So, anyway, those two stories sum it up for me. I have more tales of failure that involve pie crust, biscuits (southern girl who can't make biscuits might as well move to Canada), roll out cookies, drop cookies, dumplings...I can cook, there is no doubt about my kitchen skills when it comes to cooking. Baking is another matter all together.

So, with not much hope I tried that NO KNEAD bread recipe everyone is blah blahing about and look at this

 

I did that!

When you expect the worst and get the best...it makes the best feel even better!


Never again will my bread look like a Klingon's forehead!

 

Vox Hunt: By My Favorite Artist

Show us something by your favorite artist.
Submitted by Miss Parker. 

I recently found Stan Rice. Knew about him through his wife, Anne Rice, but never really looked into who he was until a few months ago. He is my favorite right this minute.

COWBOY ON STOOL IN CANYON

COWBOY ON STOOL IN CANYON
Oil on Canvas, 40 x 40 inches

QotD: This Song Makes Me Festive

What song gives you the most holiday cheer?
Submitted by Roxy.

It would be the Jingle Bells on the Mexicali Brass Christmas Album. Most of the songs are pretty peppy on this rare album treat.
On a side note. Christmas carols make me very weepy. If you wanna see me cry, you don't have to be a super heartless devious asshole...all you have to do is play "Oh, Holy Night."

QotD: Heaven Scent

What is your favorite scent?
Submitted by Erinen. 

Egyptian Sandalwood and mothballs

Vancouver Water Crisis: DAY 8

Ok, I didn't bring this up sooner because I didn't want to seem like a whiney baby.

Vancouver gets water from mountain lakes and streams with a combo of watersheds, dams and reservoirs. This is good because the possibility of farm run off and chemical contamination from toxic waste is next to zero. Yay. Eight days ago one of the rainiest cities in the northern hemisphere got more rain that usual. The storms knocked a bunch of dirt and silt (and possibly bear poop) into the water supply. By the way, bears do poop in the woods. The authorities say that they haven't found anything REALLY yucky in the water, like bear or raccoon poop, but you have to kind of expect it...I would think.
The word was that we should boil the water for a minute before using it for cooking or vegetable washing or teeth brushing. The first two days of this advisory the water looked like cloudy beef broth. Boiling was not going to change the look or the smell. I boiled a pot anyway just to see what would happen. It created a scum around the pot that looked like I had boiled chicken necks for 2 hours on high. The smell was more like boiled diapers and Clorox. I wasn't going to drink that! I wasn't going to shower in it either. I can deal with my own stink. Besides, I have been sick for the last 2 weeks so it's not like I was going anywhere. I took a shower a few days later when the water started looking like old fashioned Fresca. I accidentally rinsed my mouth out with tap water during one of my teeth brushings, and I live to tell!!!

The water today is slightly cloudy. The boil advisory is still in effect. I'm still using bottled for coffee and teeth brushing. I washed some clothes yesterday and I have a feeling the city upped the chlorine level to a maximum high; my whites turned green.

Today is US Thanksgiving. I was planning on making a mini version of the holiday dinner, but I can't see wasting bottled water for it. It will have to wait a few more days. Gosh, I hope it is only a few more days...

originally posted to Vox: November 23, 2006

QotD: Pickup Artist

pickup line, yada yada

It wasn't really a pick up line, but...

Back in college I had a friend who lived in an apartment on campus with 4 other guys. I went over one day to see him but he wasn't at home, but one of his room mates was. He let me in and I sat on the couch, staring off into space. He fixed himself a glass of iced tea. He sat in a chair across from me and smoked a cigarrette, then another. He sipped his tea. Then, in the middle of all the silence the guy says, "Randy won't be back for 30 minutes and everyone else left for the weekend, you want to go back to my room and have some sex?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

"I just thought I would ask."

"OK."

Nothing more was said. He drank tea and smoked cigarrettes until Randy got home.

Holy $#1t! A Woman is Peeing in My Car!

Yesterday we had the great idea of doing a “quick run” to Blaine, Washington. We have a storage unit and a p o box there and nothing much else to do. I wanted to get my Cuisinart out of storage. The husband wanted to get his VCR to tape all the evening shows he will miss while at work. He also wanted to do some shopping at the Fred Meyer store in Bellingham. He doesn’t usually enjoy shopping, but for some reason he loves him some Fred Meyer. It might be the one stop shopping element because he wanted to pick up a half a dozen California Pizza Kitchen frozen pizzas, a bundle of socks and peruse the wine selection. All I wanted was a case of Mug diet root beer.
    It takes about 35 minutes, depending on traffic, to get from Downtown Vancouver to either of the two closest border crossings. Yesterday the roads were down right vacant. So, much so that I made the comment, “Wow, no one is going south…this ought to be a breeze!” We figured the whole trip would take about 4 hours.
    There is an electronic sign, just before the BC/Washington border on Southbound 99, displaying estimated wait times. In the past this sign has been less than accurate in its predictions - when it was predicting at all. The sign indicated that the wait would be around 0 minutes at the Peace Arch crossing and 60 minutes at the Pacific Highway crossing. By the time we saw that sign, we also saw the line. A mile long line waiting for the Peace Arch crossing that supposedly had a waiting time of ZERO minutes. The husband surmised that the sign was incorrect. He took the exit heading for the Pacific Highway crossing where, within seconds, we found ourselves at the end of another mile long line. So we sat.
    I am a coffee drinker. I love coffee. I love it so much that before I left the apartment, I drank 3 cups of it. About an hour into our adventure, I was feeling that coffee. I told the husband, “I’m gonna hafta pee pretty soon.”
    He reached behind my seat and tossed a plastic bag in my lap. “Good thing we have these, huh?” The bag contained 3 disposable urine bags. These things are probably great for guys, they can pee anywhere anyway, but the plastic unisex lip wasn’t fooling me.
    “I can’t use that!” I unfolded the pee bag and held the cup to my crotch over my jeans. “I’ll end up peeing all over the car. I’ll just wait.” I folded the bag back up and stuffed it in the cup holder. Then unfastened my seat belt, unzipped my jeans and reclined the seat.
    Time passed and I took the pee bag out of the cup holder and looked at it.
    “I have to pee.” I said.
    “Then you should pee.” He said.
    “I don’t want to get pee all over me and the car.”
    “I don’t care if you get pee in the car.”
    “I do.”
    “I don’t”
    “I don’t want anyone to see me.” I pointed to the cars, vans and big rig trucks that surrounded us.
    “It’s raining and the windows are fogged, no one will see you.”
    I took off my pants and underwear, then put a newspaper on the seat and held the disposable pee bag as directed.
    “I CAN’T DO IT!” I cried.
    I put on my underwear and pants.
    “I wish I had a penis.”
    The husband made a face. “I am really glad you don’t.”
    I waited 10 minutes or so.
    “It’s getting bad. I cannot believe there isn’t a toilet on this stretch of road!”
    “Go in this.” The husband offered me a Target bag from under his seat. The bag contained papers and car trash. I tried to imagine the logistics of utilizing the bag. That’s me, always inventing new uses for old everyday objects. Again, I took off my underwear and jeans. I tried to get in a squat position. The front seat of a BMW is not conducive for this pose. The cushion angles down toward the back. Gravity pulls your butt into the seat. The angle keeps you there. Hell, the Germans didn’t even want to make the car with drink holders because you shouldn’t eat or drink in your car, why would they design it for easy urination?
    “I CAN’T DO IT!” I cried. I put on my underwear and jeans again. I was hurting. I was sweating. I inspected the Target bag once more and wailed, “This bag has a slit in it!”
    The husband scrambled. He began pulling everything from under the seats: a Styrofoam bowl we used as a water dish when we traveled with the cat, several pens, a box of Kleenex and a small plastic bag from SportsMart. I stared at these items and became part MacGyver - part Survivor. I could pee in the bowl and wipe with the Kleenex. I could pee directly in the Kleenex box; the tissues would sponge up the urine. I could use the pens to stab myself so I would stop thinking about having to pee. Can you make a catheter from a Bic pen?
    “How close to the border booths are we?” I asked.
    “We aren’t.”
    “We’ve been waiting way longer than 60 minutes, haven’t we.”
    “Yes.”
     We watched a bit of Nacho Libre. The van in front of us had a screen. We listened to the radio. I watched cows in a pasture. I began looking for any form of shelter that might afford me some privacy. There was nothing but ditches and meadows. And even if a “comfort station” should magically appear how far could I walk before the body just quit trying to hold it?
    “Unlock the doors. I’m going to try and do this in the back. More room.”
    When I got back there I moved the passenger seat as far forward as I could. I stuffed a few Kleenex in the mangled Target bag then put that bag inside the SportsMart bag. I laid the newspaper on the floorboard, which oddly enough had a big picture of George Bush with crosses of tape on his eyes. He didn’t want to see this either.
    “I CAN’T DO THIS!” I went through the reasons again.
    Then the pain of an exploding bladder took over.  Some sort of endorphin thing started happening and what occurred over the next 2 minutes can only be described as an out of body experience. I think my spirit left me and went to the Cheesecake Factory or something. When I re-entered my body I was perspiring from my forehead and my legs felt wobbly.
    I wouldn’t say it was liberating, peeing in a plastic bag behind a veil of condensation in stopped dead traffic waiting to cross the Canadian/US border.  It was exhausting.
 
    “How does a girl pee into a bag, doesn't it go everywhere???” You may ask.

    The trick is to hold the opening of the bag tight where your legs meet your “area” and all the way around said “area”. Don’t hover, that causes splash. Use your pants or underwear as a pee bag hammock. Also, turn so you are sort of facing the back of the car. You can steady yourself on the hump with one knee and the backseat with the other, all the while having the passenger side seatback as extra wedging. Girls, it can be done. It’s not dainty or graceful. I have an ample ass and was able to do it without peeing all over me and the car. I deserve a medal for that alone.
    We didn’t reach the border for another 20 minutes. I never would have made it that long. We entered the US with a bag of pee resting on the face of George Bush.
    The remainder of our adventure was less adventurous. We went to the storage unit and got the Cuisinart and VCR. We went to Fred Meyer and got the socks and pizzas. We were also pleased to see that Doritos came plain again, just like in the olden days. We ended up with a bag of those and a bag of Chex mix. You can get Cheerio mix in Vancouver, but not the Chex mix…go figure. Of course, they were out of the one thing I wanted: Mug diet root beer.
    While loading our buys into the trunk I held up one of the bags and inspected it, for future reference. I may never look at a shopping bag in the same way again.
    Later that evening I asked the husband, “If you had to come up with a title for today’s adventure, what would it be?”
Without looking up from his VCR cables he blurted, “Holy Shit! A Woman is Peeing in My Car!”
And she was.

QotD: My Dream Address - Vancouver

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live?  Why? 
Submitted by abcdefg81.

I can and I am - Vancouver, beautiful British Columbia.

why?

Because it's Vancouver! And it isn't Arkansas.