Misheru

I thought I would go ahead and post some recent pictures on my blog. I keep putting pictures up on social networking sites like Facebook and Orkut, and I forget that the point of this blog was for grandparents and such to get a little insight on the kids’ growth spurts (it is also an outlet for me and my attempts at humor, of course). Anyway, before I post kid pics, I want to put up these pictures. I recently noticed that, in my hurry to take care of everyone else, I haven’t been taking care of myself. Setting up a profile picture was pretty eye-opening, so here’s the before picture, the “with my 8-year-old make-up” picture, and a picture of me with new make-up and a haircut.

A bit scary, really, that a trim and some make-up from this century would make such a difference. I’ve never been one to wear a lot of make-up, but just a little bit here and there does make me look less like a crack addict.

Next are some pics of Maya and Ben. I have a really long birthday post for her, but I’ve been struggling with the video of her Happy Birthday song, so, here it is a week after her second birthday, and there is still no post. *sigh* But, you’ll all be glad in the end, because I’m editing out that part where the camera slipped and all you can see is my chest. Marti swears he didn’t do that on purpose, and I’m sure we all believe him, don’t we? Umm Hmmmm…

You can see Maya giving Ben a “look” in that first picture, like, “Um, sorry? These are mine.” But, they finally play nicely with her Dora train set, and Maya shows off her new necklace in the last photo. That necklace lasted, oh, about 24 hours. Ah well.

Anyway, I should have a full birthday post up soon. Until then, my narcissistic photo ops and kid pics can be enjoyed by all.

Every once in a while, walking around a beautiful park with gardens and native wildlife can really give you insight into another person’s life, or at least how they make the people around them suffer. This happened yesterday at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum.

We like to go to the Desert Museum because we’re members. This means that, back when gas was affordable, we spent $50 once a year, and then a dollar or two in gas to make the 45-mile round trip drive. Now, of course, we spent two or sometimes even three dollars in gas (I’m rubbing in our gas mileage here). Which seriously cuts into my budget for goofy hats featuring stencils of a roadrunner, let alone the hot pink paper mache hedgehogs.

Anyway, this last visit (yesterday) we ended up walking along with the same group of people for most of the park, and I got to experience some really interesting conversation. Our first stop was to see a docent holding a female Harris’ Hawk.

Docent: (To the crowd) Harris’ Hawks are tropical birds. They’ve slowly migrated north, following the cattle industry.
Me: Really! Why did that bring them north?
Docent: Well, the cattle industry created water sources, and those sources drew small game, which brought the hawks up…
Annoying woman rushes up with a small group: (Interrupting) Oh look, one of those Harris’ Hawks!
Docent: Yes, this is a fem…
Annoying woman: They’re from North Carolina, you know (gesturing to the small crowd gathered).
Docent: No, they aren’t.
Annoying woman: Yes, they are.
Docent: They’re tropical birds.
Annoying woman: Is North Carolina tropical?
Us: Embarrassed, we hurry away to escape the conversation.

Then, at the caves:

I stand quietly watching the water fall into the man-made “cavern” while enjoying the blowing fan of the swamp cooler, cool in the darkness, when the annoying woman with her group walks up with yet another informational conversation.

Annoying woman with her group: Wow. This is amazing! I can’t believe this was just here, right where the park is.
Man in group: It’s not real, Gladys.
Annoying woman possibly named Gladys (AWPNG): Of course it’s real! We’re underground!
Man: We’re not underground. They’ve built a hill over this.
AWPNG: Nonsense! It’s not a hill! It’s more of a hillock. We must be very deep, anyway.
Man: We’re not deep. We’re just under this hill.
AWPNG: (With a note of triumph) How come it’s so cold, then? I mean, it’s got to be 20 degrees cooler than outside. We must be underground!
Man: It could be cooled, you know.
AWPNG: I don’t see any coolers. Do you see any coolers?
Me: I quietly bite my lip to keep from saying anything, and reluctantly depart my spot near the hidden swamp cooler in order to escape the conversation yet again.

Marti and I stand a few minutes later, admiring the gems and minerals at the gem and mineral display, when the woman approaches yet again.
AWPNG: (Very assuredly) This is the gem and mineral display. (Announces to everyone) Gems are minerals that have been polished.
Marti: (Looks horrified)
Marti: (Whispering) She just said gems were minerals that have been polished.
Me: (Whispering back) Yeah, well she claimed these caves were natural, and she’s that woman from the Harris’ Hawk ramada.
Marti: (Still sotto voce) I couldn’t believe she said Harris’ Hawks were from North Carolina.
Me: You know, I always enjoy a nice, smooth asbestos gem myself.
Marti: Wonder what gem this copper piece smooths down to?
We finally leave, chortling quietly, letting the woman go ahead of us this time. Giving a few sympathetic glances to her companions, we stop for lunch, unfortunately ending the entertainment. Her wealth of knowledge came in useful, though.

I’m really enjoying my raw cubic zirconium chain. I might even be able to polish it into a gem someday.

Occasionally I run across really funny stories in the personal finance blogosphere, and I have to thank Boston Gal’s Open Wallet for posting this video of Stephen Colbert talking about gas prices. Enjoy!

La Jenny at Three Kid Circus is having a wee bit of a contest for a Wii. She wants embarrassing fitness purchase stories; I have to say that, in the main, I’ve never been one for bad fitness purchases. I bought a Nordic Trak at a yard sale a few years ago, but I actually used it — a lot. I spend a stupid amount of money on light-weight camping gear and I still have my snorkeling gear from 1999 (it’s good stuff, so I hang onto it hoping we’ll move near the ocean again *sigh*). The only thing I’ve ever bought that I never used much was an exercise ball. I finally sneaked it out of the house into the garbage, because the kids loved rolling it everywhere and over everything (cats, toys, papers).

I did start to have a small fitness DVD problem for a while. I tried to do yoga with Rodney Yee. Bad idea. The man’s washboard abs just kept distracting me, and not from the pain. He’s a beast, and there is no way any normal human can keep up.

So, do I have any really bad fitness purchases? Nope. However, I do have a good story…

My college roommate (LeeAnn!) and I were somewhat…incompatible when we first met. I liked tie-dye and folding my socks. She wore matching plaid outfits and joined English horseback riding. I couldn’t believe someone from Seattle - Seattle! - would be such cowboy-obsessed, electric-slide dancing, plaid-outfit-wearing dork (love you Yan!).

Then there was the thigh master.

LeeAnn cleaned really, really well — once a month. We finally drew a line down the room. She kept her crap on her side, and I tried to stop the urge to wash her clothes and put them away in color-coordinated order. I brought movie posters from my job working at the local theater (now, sadly, closed down). She brought weird gadgets and a thigh master.

Here’s the problem with a thigh master and an ocd person: there’s nowhere to put the darn thing. In fact, that’s probably the one reason I don’t buy exercise equipment, because it never folds up the way it says it will. Or it folds up but it takes an hour just to set it back up, which is an hour I could be, say, walking. Or eating chocolate.

I was obsessively neat that first year, and the thigh master was a thorn in my side. Where would it go? It lived in the laundry basket. Then under the bed, where it would get shoved out and I’d trip on it. It didn’t fit in the closet. It didn’t lean into a corner. So, finally, I went and got a hammer and a nail, and I put the nail into the side of the closet at the end of the room by the door, and we hung it up where it wouldn’t bother us (i.e., me).

There it lived, until Gonzaga’s Spring Preview days. Then, one night, LeeAnn and I were in our room, studying. We had the door cracked slightly, and all was quiet in the girls’ hall. So, imagine our surprise when some visiting highschool kid ran up, reached in, grabbed the thigh master, and sped off. LeeAnn and I looked at each other, and then we jumped up and chased the guy through the dorm and out onto the campus grounds. He was fast though. The last I saw of that thigh master, it was speeding into the dusk in the hands of a gangly 18-year-old kid, the teal and pink plastic glinting in the sunset.

I didn’t miss it.

On a BIKE…