Wednesday, November 20, 2013

** Me and the Pope-Guy **

How funny. Jeff is at the airport in Ft. Lauderdale and got 'randomly' pulled over into the cavity search area at security....again. They pulled him over on his way there, too. (Ha-HAH!!! It's YOUR turn, mister! Who's laughing now?)

I personally think that it's about time for him to get the royal treatment because they always seem to throw ME into the little fenced off area of shame. Because I look like a terrorist. Is it the book that I'm carrying? My yoga pants and comfy top? My sandals? I swear, for the longest time, I would look at myself in the airport restroom mirror afterward and just say, "WHAT??" What is it about me that makes them want to pull me over? I'm blonde, nearly middle aged (shut up), have brown eyes and I don't wear my flak jacket to the airport. I even had one lady in Newark PAT MY HAIR DOWN and I SWEAR, my hair was not that big that day; it was all tamed into a ponytail until this lady finished with it. After she'd floofed it up and I started scowling at her in an unfriendly manner for pulling my hair, only THEN did I look like a terrorist.

Definitely NOT a terrorist.

I asked her why I always seemed to get pulled over and she looked at me with a really bored look and said that "it was a random thing." I didn't believe her until one time when we were on our way to France. And, they pulled over the Pope. Not kidding. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t the Pope but he was the next best thing.  There I was, sitting there in the little corral, waiting for them to come and shake me down, wondering where I could hide my brass knuckles and feeling slightly sheepish, when who should come walking down the little cavity search chute but the Pope’s right hand man.  I swear to God, this guy was decked out in a black robe with red piping, a big red sash, some sort of little black matching shoulder throw, with tons of buttons down every seam and a little cap on the top of his head.  He had a monster sized wooden cross hanging from what looked like several chains and a bell pull around his neck and had a big ole Little Bo Peep stick thing.  Of a moderate height and middle age, he had dark hair, a craggy nose, tanned leather skin and big, brown deep-set eyes.  He looked EXTREMELY Italian and could’ve walked right off of a movie set.  

He walked up and, even though there were about 10 other seats in the shakedown corral, most of them empty, he sat down right to the right of me.  I kinda chuckled and said, “Well, I don’t feel so bad, now…I mean, they got YOU, right??!”  He just gently smiled at me and I realized that he probably didn’t speak English.  (Either that or he was pretending not to in order to avoid the pesky terrorist in cavity-search central.  But, that would be kinda like lying and those pope-looking kinda folks don’t do that, right?  Right???)  He did not speak English.    

After that, he was really quiet.  I began to get a little nervous and my mind started racing.  Had I offended the pope guy?  Was God mad at me now?  Did he know that I was just joking?  Are they going to check his cross and Little Bo Peep stick-thing topper for weapons?  Is the STICK-THING, itself, a weapon?  Could there be a Batman/Penguin styled pull-out sword inside?  How do you cavity search a pope-guy?  Hopefully, you just wave that wand thing around him and hope for the best.  Don’t want to piss off God. 

I felt a little relieved (but kinda weird) when the lady came over with her little rubber gloves and patted me down.  Pope guy was being sweet and had his eyes closed with a little angelic smile.  (Is this guy for REAL?)  The lady said, “Okay, you can go” and unhooked a little gate thing in the corral.  My friend opened his eyes and we traded another smile and I felt a whole lot better.  Whew!  God wasn’t going to get me for joking with the pope guy, after all!  He got it!  Pope guy is cool.  :o)

Pope Guys at Play
So, next time you get randomly pulled over and shunted into the terrorist testing area, just remember that it IS random.  And, know that God loves you and sometimes sends pope-guys your way to make you feel better at the cavity search corral.  Have a happy flight! 

Friday, November 15, 2013

** 8 Things About Me - (aka: "OMG, This Trend is Going Around Again.")

1.       I think that sleep disorder specialists in Georgetown, TX, should NOT freakin’ make sleepless people come in for their first initial consultation at 7:30am in the freakin’ am, dammit.  I mean, think about it:  From Lago V, it’ll take me 45 minutes to get there and 45 minutes to get ready to go.  This means that, though I won’t be able to FALL asleep until 3am, I will still have to get up at 6am in order to get there on time.  If I don’t fall asleep at the wheel and die on the way.  If I actually DO make it there at this ungodly hour, I won’t have a rational brain with which to communicate said insomnia to said sadistic doctor. 
What’s up, doc?  I am, you asshole.

2.       “Fried Eggs, Over Easy” rarely come out that way unless you slather the pan in grease first, preferably bacon grease.  Even so, they meld into an un-flippable conjoined-twin formation that folds in upon itself upon the attempt.  Then, instead of gooey yummi-ness, the yolks turn into solid rubber when (not ‘if’) they break.  I keep trying, however, which proves that I am either sleep deprived or stupid.  (Pick one.  In this case, you will be correct.)
        This Product Really Exists.

      3.       Egg shells in your non-over-easy greasy rubber egg mess are a hen’s revenge for eating her babies.  Calcium is good for you and sometimes comes in crunchy little packages.

      4.       Have I told you that I have a Blog?  Probably.  However, because my cousin Kelsie is making me write “8 Things” about myself, I will reiterate that fact and will put this there, too, because I am a cheater like that.  (Hey, I wrote it, right?  It counts as a ramble.)  Join my FB Blog Site at: or just go to the Blogspot site and join up at: .  It will make me feel good about life.  Bonus: You will get regular ramble posts from me once the Christmas rush on beer tap handles has eased up.  Because I want to write a book and this is the only way that I will accomplish that goal. 
(Why, yes, that WAS shameless self-promotion, thanks for noticing! Now, go sign up for my Blog and share it with others.)

5.      I make custom beer tap handles in my art studio downstairs.  They’re selling really well this Christmas season.  I think it’s so super cool to make someone a personalized gift that makes both them AND the giftgiver AND me feel super cool for these creations.  They pour beer.  And Love.

Say Cheese!
6.      My hubby and I just bought a 2013 Infiniti G37 with the premium package and nav system.  Sweet ride, seriously.  When driving, you can’t see the cool, curvy hood, which makes your brain believe that you have more space in between you and the car in front of you with the brake lights on.  You don’t.  This makes Jeff and I jam the brakes on, occasionally, but I’m getting better at it. 
A friend of ours named Jeff R. just recently bought a Lamborghini AND a freakin’ McLaren.  Right after we bought the stoopid Infiniti.  Way to one-up it, Jeff R.  Showoff.

7.      If you were once a musician/singer-songwriter person but can’t gig out anymore because your wrists yell at you when you do and your back screams, “Die, bitch!” after 15 minutes of playing, are you STILL a musician?  I have music in my head about 75% of my waking hours, some of it still of my own creation.  Am I an ex-musician or am I still a musician?  I say that if you still own more than 4 guitars and cut the nails on your left hand in order to play them every now and then, you are still a musician because you have sacrificed your manicure for music.  So there.  I am/was/still am a musician, though I don’t use my stage name anymore.

8.      I think that red traffic light signals look like little round “Light Bright” boards at night.  Though I’m pretty sure they’re actually NOT, I really want them to be “Light Bright” boards.  (Look at them at night…don’t you want to play with them?) 

This concludes the “8 Little Known Facts (Observations) about (by) Me” thing.  Now, I get to call out someone else for 8 little known things about them.  (Ready, Jeff R.??)

Thursday, November 7, 2013

** Beer

My dog, KC, is a one track minded animal.  To KC, ball = world and world = ball.  Food comes into play occasionally, but ball rules all.  Every morning, KC’s friendly dog smile and bootie wag is the first thing to greet me in the hallway, where she gets the mandatory rub down, good morning pep talk and fingernail skritchies.  Then, she snorts a few times while I head down the hall and over to “the petting spot” for cat number 1, Rum-Tum-Tugger.  KC has taken over some of Tugger’s “petting time” and brings ball to me to play every morning.  Her expression always says the same thing:  “Ball is EVERYTHING, please throw it, just throw it!!”  The other day, the manic look in her eye as she waits for me to “throw the ball, throw it, pleeeeeeze throw the ball!” reminds me of something, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is at the time.  Then, this morning, Jeff tells me about the new beer-flaw-testing-kit that had just arrived for use by the BJCP judges to be.  He is totally geeked out.  He has a manic look in his eye and is nearly hopping in anticipation and he asks me if I’d like to participate.  Um, sure.  What the hell are you bouncing for?  Then it hits me:  That’s it!
Ball is to KC what Beer is to Jeff.  I am not sure but I think I just bridged some kind of scientific gap or made some kind of amazing anthropology/canineology discovery.  I feel downright Pavlovian!

Excited by my new discovery, I run into the other room, get the ball and throw it for Jeff. He just looks at me like I’m crazy.  Perhaps I should’ve thrown a beer.

Maybe I shouldn't complain too much.  It’s all my fault, really, this whole beer thing.  I put his feet on the homebrew conveyor belt spiral of doom myself.  Many years ago, BB (before beer), he used to scoff at me when I drank Paulaner Hefeweizen and other so-called ‘snob’ beers.  Even Michelob was ‘fancy & expensive.’ Then, I bought him his first homebrew kit for Christmas.  I freakin’ bought him the equivalent of “ball” and saw the manic look for the first time when he unwrapped it.  His eyes had those little “spellcast” spirals in them as he read the instruction manual and, right as we watched, we lost him to beer, right there by the tree.  The kids have since gone on to explore their own lives but ours still rotate around one sudsy beverage:  Beer.

Jeff has now been a homebrewer for over 10 years.  During that time, he took over a lot of garage space and back patio space as he accumulated, hand built (“It’s ALIVE!!”) and upgraded his way to award after award.  When we moved to the Austin

Monday, November 4, 2013

** Baby Food Matters

So, my mom and I were talking today on IM about my recent spate of ADD moments.  As we IM'ed on Facebook, I noticed my hubby coming in from getting the mail, looking like he needed a kiss.  I hopped up and gave him a kiss, took the mail, sorted through it with him, talked about shopping for clothes, got a glass of water and went to the sofa to read a tech book about how to blog in the modern era.  I got midway through one paragraph before becoming distracted by the cat.  (Reading about how to blog is realllyyyyy dryyyy material.)  Petted the cat, thinking that I was forgetting something and then, *BINGO!* it came to me that I'd left my mom on IM several minutes earlier.  (My God, I am a great daughter.)

When I get back online with her, she recommends that I get more sleep.  She suggests that I eat more kiwi fruit because it contains natural triptophans, amino acids that can make one drowsy.  Milk and Turkey also contain these useful little buggers, I remember, and I'm all like, "I'll make evening shakes by grinding all of them up in a blender to slurp down before hitting the sack."  However, once I make this joke, memories of when our kids were infants come back to me in a rush and....I. am. so. ashamed.  

How you say, "No, freakin' no!"
See, back when our kids were both in diapers (They are 1 year, 2 days
apart in age, yes, it was tough, thanks for asking) and were eating from little prepared jarred foods, we fed them the odd mixtures without question it is....they had no verbal skills with which to argue about it.  Then, as they grew, they slowly stuffed this "blended" food abuse down into the deepest recesses of their minds.

Anybody who knows babies knows that what goes into the mouth will

Sunday, November 3, 2013

** Austin Beer Week

My hubby is never inebriated.  He is simply "having fun."  He had a LOT of fun last night; we both did, serenading the moon, the deer, the dog and our neighbors, singing the whole Sgt. Pepper's album over a nice little fire pit.  (You are WELCOME, neighbors!)  We are John and Paul, we are the Captain and Tenille, we are Simon and Garfunkel.  (Jeff is taller so he is Garfunkel.)  We are SO having fun!

Jeff is never hung over.  He is simply "REALLY tired for some reason."  He is really tired enough to watch an entire day of Star Wars movies but has to opt for "Superhero Sunday," instead.  He just decided to take a nap.  I know this because he has changed the channel so that he can 'watch' football instead of superhero movies.  I, on the other hand, am just writing a small post today because I am going out to train for the big 92.3 mile triathlon that's coming up in 2015.  Because I'm just that awesome.

Happy Sunday, y'all!  'Austin Beer Week' is over but "Barleywine and Big Beer Month" is just beginning. God help us all.....

The Walrus Abides....

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

** Testing, One, Two, Three.

So pretty!!!
This is a test.  This is only a test.  To see if Suzette can help me to link my Blog to my FB page for “Off the Internet.”  If you are getting this, it is because she succeeded in teaching a computer illiterate to do something right. 
If this had been an ACTUAL emergency, we know that George Clooney in space would be more than willing to help out.  Cause that’s just the way he rolls.  In freakin’ space.
This concludes the test of the emergency Blog system.  Thank you.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

** Commodo-Phobia

I am afraid of toilets.  I have commodo-phobia.  I’m not afraid of healthy, clean and perfectly working models with no weird additions; these I regard with only a little suspicion.  I’m talking about public toilets, porta-potties, airline toilets, airport toilets, train toilets, depot toilets, dirty toilets, broken toilets, toilets missing the tank cover and toilets that make gurgling sounds before and/or after they are flushed.  Oh, and toilets that won’t flush after you’ve used them.  (Stop judging me.)

RIP, 6th Square, RIP.
I actually have toilet nightmares, no kidding, where I have to go really, really bad in my dream and there are NO suitable toilets in the whole multi-stalled bathrooms from hell.  There are dirty toilets, full toilets, broken toilets that won’t flush, holes in the floor, leaning toilets but not a single dang one that is usable!!  Invariably, I wake up needing to head to the head.  As I’ve grown, these dreams become less scary and more baffling.  WTH??  (I really mean it about the not judging thing.)

When faced with no other choice than to use one of the above toilet scenarios, I have to say that I do so with the utmost trepidation.  The ladies out there know what I’m talking about:  We ALL do the classic “Ralph Macchio/Karate Kid Pose,” the pose from the final fight scene with the mean kid, when faced with an unclean toilet.  We even LOOK like him, with that “Oh, crap!” expression, shaking a little, bug eyed and balancing “just so” in horror that our delicate nether regions might actually make contact with the seat, which is most likely lined with TP, just in case.  If you’re like me, ladies, you don’t even want to touch the walls of the stall by accident and you NEVER put your purse on the floor.  Men have no idea what we ladies must bravely face when in public domains.  And, our thighs are frickin’ STRONG from all the hovering and balancing, guys.

Translation: "No men, women or
sink pedestals are allowed to
move around the cabin
at this time."

     I recently got back from a vacation with my hubby to Zurich,             Switzerland.  Jeff and I travel a lot and I will NEVER get used to using airline restrooms.  It’s bad enough trying to do the Ralph Macchio pose in that tiny space, staring down at the floor in horror at what had BETTER be only water from the tiny little sink, but to do so at high altitudes while a giant child shakes the plane around like a rattle is almost enough to make me want to swim to Europe, thank you very much.  

We got in to Switzerland and made our way to our hotel, the Swisshotel by Oerlikon Station.  The toilet in our hotel room was a weird shape but otherwise looked harmless, thank goodness.  As we traveled about this beautiful country, going to Lucerne, Mt. Pilatus and Schaffhausen am

Monday, October 28, 2013

** The Blackfoot Tribe

Darn.  I’ll bet Martha Stewart has never had this problem.  I don’t think Jackie O had it, either.  Lucille Ball may have, though, during the grape stomping episode.   Unfortunately, I’m now cast into the role of having something embarrassing happen to me at no fault, really, of my own - just like poor Lucy.  What happened, you ask?  Allow me to explain….

I have a pair of wonderful, comfy, all-terrain and amphibious sandals that I can wear into or out of the water.  They have squishy rubber-like soles and nicely styled elastic-like uppers.  These sandals match everything in my closet that goes with black and can be dressed up/dressed down as the occasion warrants.   I.  Love.  Them!  However, during the summer months, I wear these sandals quite often during the summers and end up getting the same problem that many folks do….dry and cracking heels. 

Mine are not the summertime delicate dry feet of a dainty lady, unfortunately.  They are Hobbit feet.  My heels look like the bottom of a creek bed after a long drought and they sometimes require sanding, scraping, chain-sawing, bench grinding and pick-axing in order to look somewhat like a bona fide heel on a real human being.  Regular pedicures are no match for them.  So, I’ve been employing a foul smelling substance every night that is made specifically for heels that look like mine.  

This stuff smells like paint thinner mixed with eucalyptus mixed with earwax mixed with gasoline.  It makes your eyes water and your nose hairs curl.  Sometimes, I’ll wear socks over my feet before reading in bed at night, letting them soak in the smelly substance without getting the earwax solution on the bed.  (Jeff loves this.)  I remove the socks, gently buff off the smelly stuff, and it’s off to dreamland to wake in the morning with softer feet, something such as Sleeping Beauty might have.  Lovely!

Now, it’s great to have something on hand that will soften the calluses on your heels, no matter what it smells like.  The problem arises when you feel that it’s a good idea to slime your heels with this substance and wear the aforementioned wonderful, comfy, rubber-soled, all-terrain and amphibious sandals.  The directions say to apply twice a day and, hey, the stuff was working pretty well with my doing it once a day.  How great will my feet look with TWICE a day applications, right??

Wrong.  It’s a little known fact that rubber can be melted by a foot balm substance that claims to be hypo-

Sunday, October 27, 2013

** Advertising, Part 1 - A Disclaimer.

Notice those little underlined, highlighted words in blue, here and there within my Blog title and sech?  I have no control over them and they are there merely to annoy you with advertisements.  I leave it to you whether or not to click on them but don't blame me if you find that you've purchased a case of non-returnable L'Oreal products or if pizza is delivered to your door, COD.  I didn't do it.

** Just Ducky.

There’s a war going on in Lago Vista, TX.  Sides have been taken and no quarter will be drawn.  The opponents both think that their opinions are the only correct opinions to be had and are willing to draw blood and fight for their rights.  Sound familiar, like any other war?  Well it’s not quite so.  It is a peculiar war in that there are no weapons drawn, no ammunition stored.  And it’s made a little more peculiar by the fact that the two armies are entirely made up of ducks. 

The resident ducks are a group of three friends who always swim together and a group of four ducks who always swim together.  They believe that it is their right, and ONLY their right, to have marina privileges, though they pay no property owner association fees and don’t even own boats.  One group stays on one side of the marina and the other group takes the other side, co-habitating,  having cocktails, keeping up with the news and living in peace.

Then, there are the ‘snowbirds,’ the commuter ducks, those that are very much like their human ‘snowbird’ counterparts except for the fact that they don’t own RVs or have second homes in the Hamptons.  When they come in for the winter, there’s hell to pay.  Let the games begin!

Allow me to introduce you to the players:  (We will ignore the group of four ducks because they really don’t care much about the commuter ducks.  They are really more like the Switzerlands or Canadians of duckhood and they let the other three fight for their rights and freedoms.  Hey, don’t knock it, it works for them.)

"Don't gimme no sh*t, mutherf***er!!"
Duck #1 = Aphro-duckie.  This duck is of an undetermined breed but sort of looks like a male mallard except for the fact that he/she has an afro.  Seriously, imagine a normal looking duck head with a little bitty afro wig on top and you get Aphro-duckie, the duck Goddess of Love.  (Well, that is, if it’s a female.  If it’s a male, you get “Shaft.”)  Either way, this goofy looking creature is not the ring leader but is the largest of the trio.  Aphro-duckie seems to follow the lead of….

Duck #2 = Laughing Duck, aka Phyllis.  Holy crap, but this duck laughs at everything and loudly?  I think she’s really giving instructions to the other two but you cannot help but laugh when she does.  Her voice is like that of a drill sergeant and she is also the scout duck, notifying all the troops about a new fish in the lake or a new branch by the lake or a new rock she just discovered or, oh, look, it’s a cloud! or anything that looks like duck news.  She sounds like Phyllis Diller and is an alarmist.  She can make drama out of anything, very much like Barbara Walters, and does so with an amazing voice, scaling down in tone and volume with each syllable:“WAAAAACK, WaAcK, WaCk, wack, wack, wack, wak….”  White, large and fluffy, she is always first to get to the bread when thrown and, when trying to do so, will swim right over…

Duck #3 = Let’s call this one Martha.  She is the smallest of the trio and is very soft spoken and mannerly, the perfect hostess when the other four come round for dinner, setting a perfect table and creating centerpieces out of feathers, poo and sticks.  Her hair is always perfect.  However, when faced with adversity, you just know that she can pull out the big guns, much like Martha Stewart.  The little mallard that could, she always pays her taxes and doesn’t do any insider trading…that we know of.

This little trio goes up against the commuter ducks, those that fly down from the North around October and decide that, no, little plant groves along the shore are not good enough for THEM, they must have what

** Yoga is Relaxing....Really.

When you think you’ve had a rough day, try doing some Yoga to relax.  This was how my Yoga session went yesterday evening.

Got a new Yoga mat, delivered fresh this afternoon by the UPS man!!  Yay!!  Thought I’d give it a break-in whirl this evening – It’s a top of the line, hard to find extra wide version that’s a plushy ¼ inch of cush compared to the Bandaid that most stores sell ya.  Now, I have taped episodes of Namaste Yoga off the tube, but I still like to do the TV version whenever it’s airing to save wear and tear on my tapes.  Tuesday nights, the AHN channel airs TWO episodes, back to back – I’ll do ‘em both ‘cause I’ve had a stressful day trying to figure out my new iPhone and could use some extra re-centering. 

So, 8pm is here and I roll out the comfy new mat to sit on my knees in modified hero pose, waiting to begin my session with the three crazy yoga ladies on TV.  Let the relaxation begin!

Smelly mat.  Caustic, toxic evil smell.  “Wow, I need to air this thing out,” I’m thinking.  A distraction, but I can overcome this one.  “Omm, Alpha waves, etc.,” I begin to think. 

“Deep breath in, now exhale and roll yourself down and forward for hero rolling” says the soothing voice on TV.  Oh, gag, this mat is giving me a headache.  “Now, into cat pose, breathe in, tuck your toes under and UP into downward facing dog you go on the out breath.”  You can hear the smile in her voice.  How nice.

Three crazy yoga ladies doing a down dog pose.
I’m now in a pose that causes one to have their bootie high up, with arms and legs straight down in an inverted V shape.  My headache worsens slightly.  I’m now able to study my orange feet upside down, which got that way because of an apparently blown experiment I did earlier with a self tanner.  “Oh. My. GOSH!  I’m an Oompa Loompa!” I’m thinking.  Oops, I’ve missed the yoga lady’s vocal cue to come out of 'down dog,' so I scramble to catch up with the three crazy yoga ladies, still trying to look at my colorful feet and wondering how to make them normal again.  Looks like someone spilled golden oak wood stain on them; I match my new bamboo floors.  Apparently, I don’t do self tanning very well.

Okay, wait, I’m not relaxing.  I’m distracted.  Back to Alpha waves, breathing in and out with the movements.  At one with the universe. 

“Resting phase in the workout, with Earth Rain, resting and breathing….”


What’s that noise?  “Elbows touch to go up, slicing in front of you, long back now, looking up….”


“And, arms sliiiiide down to either side to go down, breathing out, tucking your belly into your tailbone as you breathe down.”  Ahhhh…..nice and rel….


Oh, darn, darn, darn.  I know that sound.  The automatic pool cleaner (The Shark - We’ve named it Jaws) has gotten itself stuck again and it’s tail is bombarding the French doors with gushing pool water every few seconds.  Hard to concentrate.  I’ll need to get that unstuck during the commercial break.

Okay, back to concentrating on no distractions.  “SPLOOOSSHH!”  Ommmm….deep inhale….

Commercial!  Now’s the time!  I’m up and I grab the keys from the jar near the door, which is apparently the cue for the dog to begin to hurl herself against the doggy gate between the hall and living room as I open the patio door.

"Hello, I am KC.  I am happy.
Have you seen ball?
Where is ball?
(Tangent:  My hubby and son recently installed gorgeous new bamboo flooring in the living/dining areas! Beautiful!  Then, our Lab/Shepherd mix, KC, began to instantly rip it up with her claws, doing the ‘Scooby Doo Run-in-place Scrabble’ while chasing the cat or just running about, shaking her head around like a moron, just for the sheer joy of it all.  Fun and bizarre to watch, but terribly destructive to the new flooring.  We’ve had the old baby gates up until the new door entry style gates come in.  The family has gotten lots of exercise recently, doing hurdles into the bedroom and living areas.  So, why am I doing Yoga when I’m getting all this exercise already?  Ah, yes, to RELAX!  Back to the Yoga session.)

I’ve gotten outside but I hear that the dog has breached and broken the gate and is now scrabbling the floor to bits by the French Doors, wanting out.  !#*ARG%&!  I’ll free the shark first ‘cause it just spat on me a

Saturday, October 26, 2013

** What's in a Name??

"What's in a name?  That which we call a Mouse Buttock by any other name would smell as sweet."
~W. Shakespeare

Okay, here's the scoop:  I searched and searched for names for this blog that hadn't already been taken.  However, even a nonsense pairing of several random letters was already in use by someone else.  So, I just started typing in random names for fun and, hey look!, "Mouse Buttocks," (which has a nice Forrest Gump ring to it), was not already in use!  Mouse Buttocks it is....welcome to my Blog!

:o)  April

PS:  Okay, I lied.  Overnight, I became aware that Mouse Buttocks, available though it may be, is a bit too controversial to be the name of my blog.  After all, I'm not really sure that mice HAVE buttocks, though my husband would argue that, yes, they certainly do, they're just really tiny.  Then, after having THAT thought run around in my head for a bit, I imagined a tiny pair of human buttocks on a cartoon mouse and wanted to put tiny tidy-whities on the mouse mental image in my head.  I couldn't un-see it (stupid and disturbing) and had to change the name of my blog.  It will now be, " the Internet!"  Thank you for your patience.