When in crisis, when in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout.

Today as I was sitting in the break room at work, I was distracted from my crossword puzzle by the following story; being told by a very animated and (shall I say irritated?) co-worker.

"How do you know when it's going to be a bad day? For starters, it might be a bad day if you wake up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off at 5 AM in the morning like I did this morning!"

"With the alarm screaming, I hit the floor and ran down the hall to see what was going on. I couldn't see anything because in the excitement I forgot all about putting on my glasses."

FIRE! FIRE!

(Yes, it was the smoke alarm. Apparently she didn't need glasses to confirm that.)

"I ran to the kitchen to see if I could find a source for the smoke, falling over the dog like a keystone cop."

"In the kitchen, I found that my husband had put the pot from the coffeemaker on the stove to warm up cold coffee. He forgot that it had a plastic handle. The pot was black and the handle gone, burned into a pile of ashes." (

I'm guessing the situation was under control by then -- if that sort of situation can be under control. I'm also thinking that she might of been wondering why she still couldn't see.)

"My husband was fanning the smoke alarm to get it to shut up."

"Open the doors and get rid of the smoke," she yelled, as he tried to take the smoke alarm apart to remove the battery. (

She finally realizes she still couldn't see at this point.)

"The cover was stuck on the alarm and we couldn't get it off. I took over the fanning of the smoke alarm, which came back on at full blast every time I quit fanning."

"Turn off the furnace, it's pulling the smoke back through the house!"

"How do you turn it off?"

"Put it on O-F-F!" she screamed.

"The cat was terrorized by all the noise and bolted out the open door to escape from the maniac people. We wouldn't see her again until hours later." she said while rolling her eyes.

"After the smoke finally cleared, and the alarm quit alarming, I found my glasses and restarted my heart. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep, of course." (she says this like everyone should know how this feels...of course.)

"It was not until much later that I found out what really happened."

(How did she find this out? I still don't know.)

"Apparently, there were actual flames shooting from the pot. My husband threw water on it -- water on an electric stove! Can you believe it?"

(Actually I can. Coming from this particular person, I can only imagine her husband.)

"Somehow he miraculously managed to survive without getting electrocuted or burning down the entire house."

"I couldn't believe he actually had the nerve to pour me a cup of that burnt up coffee to drink. I decided I could wait until I got to work for my coffee."

(The nerve? Try; the balls? He should have been apologizing for being a dumb-ass.)

"On the way to work this morning, he mentioned that he needed to go buy a new coffeepot, knowing he was in trouble."

"May I ask why you threw water on an electric stove?" she asked, almost able to control her aggravation by then.

"What should I have done? Roast marshmallows?"

"Use baking soda! Smother it with flour! Use the fire extinguisher. Smother it out with a towel. Google it on the net. Call information. Write your Congressman. Anything but throwing water on an electrical fire!"

"Well, I turned off the stove first," he replied. "Besides, I didn't know where the baking soda was."

(That's male logic.)

There is a lesson to be learned from all of this. Probably you can figure it out for yourself so I won't belabor the point.

If there is one good thing about all of this, at least she knows the smoke alarm works.

If you see a fire engine parked in front of her house tomorrow morning, do not panic. It is just her honey making coffee or toast or something.

Ode to the Sequin Purple Gown

The other day while out shopping at the local thrift store, I was rummaging through the evening gowns in case there was something that I could wear for Halloween. That's when I saw it -- a purple sequin floor length gown that it would outshine an Elvis jumpsuit.

"Oh, that's pretty," I thought. I checked the price tag. $7? It must be a mistake. But that's what the tag said. The price marked is the price, isn't it?

"What would I do with a purple sequin evening gown?" I thought. I could not very well wear it on Saturday to Wal-Mart, and it would cause too much gossip at the Our Lady of Callused Knees & Holy Order Catholic Church. They might think I had been out all night partying. So, I passed it by and didn't try it on.

Why is it that the thing we didn't buy, is the thing that haunts us later? I had visions of me in the sequin gown going to the Satin Love Orchestra Valentine's Day Ball. I imagined going on a dinner cruise on the Love Boat, or to a fund-raising political dinner dance, or to a New Year's Eve party at the Hilton. It would also be perfect if I ever made it to Vegas.

Unfortunately, I never go to anything that formal, and if I ever was invited to go, through some sort of clerical error probably, I most likely wouldn't be able to go anyway due to work or something.

The purple sequin evening gown taunted my dreams. I fantasized about the gown and how great I would look in it, like Faith Hill or Princess Di. I was becoming obsessed.

I mentioned the fancy duds to my honey. "Why didn't you get it?" he asked.

"Well, I don't need it. I'm not going anywhere to wear it."

"You could get it and you would have it if you ever did need it."

Somehow his logic made sense. I should have bought it, especially for the price. Maybe I could go back and get it. But that never works with thrift shops. If you see something you like, better buy it right then as it will not be there when you go back. Or at least hide it in and amongst the ugly stuff no one even looks at, so you can go back for it later. Re-finding something you hid is like hitting a mini thrift store lottery. Woo hoo! Yes! It's still here!

I could run by there before work and check. But it's been more than a few days. It would certainly be gone. Maybe I could call and ask them to hold it for me? No, no, a thrift store will not do that. Besides, what if I get there, try it on, and it doesn't fit?

If I don't get it, it doesn't really matter. I have nowhere to wear it anyhow.

Wait a minute! What am I thinking? This is Oregon. I once went to The Nutcracker ballet and saw people wearing their fanciest tye-dye. Damned if I can't wear a purple sequin evening gown to sushi or Chili's. Look out skinny-college-student-waitress-chick; I'm sorry, is my shiny, purple sequins reflecting into your eye? Just put on your shades and bring me my baby back ribs. Too bad my man doesn't have a tux. Blue with sequins...um, sorry I digress.

Well, I went by the store before work. I stood staring at the empty space where the gown was hanging before. I looked through all the other dresses, thinking maybe someone had moved it from my hiding place. It was gone, gone, gone, just as I figured it would be. As many Purple Hat lady's in this town, one of them is probably wearing it to the next Sunday Champagne Brunch at the VR Inn.

Would whoever bought my purple sequin evening gown, please return it? I have a lot of places that I'm dreaming of going, and you probably didn't need it anyway. You probably just bought it so you would have it in case you ever needed it.

Adventures in Nutria Land

Last night, one of my dogs, Mazzy caught a nutria. Again. In case you are unaware of what exactly a nutria is check this out.

This time, it was I that was in the back yard with the dogs. Mazzy caught it trying to be sneaky and hide in the blackberry bushes, but she was having none of that. I don't know how she does it, when the other dogs just walk on by not realizing that there is a giant rat in the shrubbery, she just hones right in. She seems to just chomp down on it, breaking it's back then squeezes until it stops breathing.

This one was so huge that she had to drag it out of the blackberries to show me, instead of carrying it. Of course she dropped it before it was totally dead. I was unaware of that when I went to go look at it.

I had gone in the house to get a flashlight to "check it out", and after shining the light on it, it started hopping around but only moving the rear of it's body. Apparently Mazzy had given it injuries that paralyzed the front half of it's body and not the back, so it was jumping and trying to run using only it's hind feet. But sadly the resulting effect was just to continuously slam it's own face into the ground. I, uh went in the house after that. Shall I say, icky?

I called my husband at work to let him know that there was a half-dead-injured-possibly-paralyzed-giant nutria dragging itself around the back yard and could he please dispose of it when he gets home. (The usual "disposing" is picking it up with a shovel and catapulting it into the empty but blackberry over- grown lot behind our yard.) Of course he had to repeat back to me everything I said in his not so sneaky way of sharing with his co-workers the goings on of our house hold, so they can get a chuckle at our wild life.

So last night when he got home, he grabbed my son, the flashlight and the shovel to do the deed. With my son holding the flashlight, my husband examined the now dead body. He announced that "yup, it's in full rigor". What is this, CSI? Just fling it over the fence for shit's sake! I was half expecting him to whip out a thermometer thingee and take it's liver temp to determine time of death. Jeez.

Well, apparently things can't go smoothly in my household. Husband went to shovel it up and he realized he might want to get a bigger shovel. Perhaps a snow shovel if we owned one? Oh well, so with a third of the corpse hanging over on either side of the shovel, my big, strong husband flung with all his might. The body hit an almost solid wall of blackberries approximately ten feet up and rolled back down. EWWW! He makes another Herculean attempt, but to no avail, it rolled down once again. By then he was cussing and swearing that the thing weighed at least 50 lbs. (I don't know if you looked at the link above, but I think the max weight is 20 lbs. but what do I know?)

So here is something interesting that capped off the night. We have a fence that we put up to reinforce an old one. The old one and the new one are six inches from each other parallel and made out of wire. Some how on his third attempt, with my son laughing his head off, my dear sweet husband hurled the dead, giant rodent and it hit the slightly taller rear wire fence, rolled down and is now currently stuck between the the rear fence and the new fence. And it's not coming out. Its like a bug stuck between two microscope slides. But way more gross. I love my husband. Sigh.

So in the mean time I found something amusing. To me anyway. And this is only part one. More to come. If you like B movie flicks, I think you'll like this. And it was filmed in Oregon.