Category Archives: Idon’tknowwhattocallit Category


I was reading about what is causing our health care costs to rise and repeatedly noted that 78,000,000 (78 Million for you three-zero-comma challenged) Baby Boomers are hitting retirement age and subject to the extra medical needs that all old people need; and that these same old-farts-to-be will have at least $166,000 in out of pocket medical expenses if retiring today and living to 100.

Do you realize that if we killed off the Baby Boomers*, the U.S. could apply almost $13,000,000,000,000 to the deficit?? Of course, if you want conservative numbers since not all of these BBs will live to be 100, we could lower the estimate to $6,000,000,000,000.

13 Trillion Dollars (or a minimum of 6 trillion)!

Hey, you want to talk Death Panel? I’ve got your Death Panel right here!

*To my two sisters who are technically categorized as Baby Boomers. . .  I’ll miss you. Really.


Our rabbit, Potter, lives in a large cage – a rabbit run, if you will – and has a covered hutch inside of it that he sleeps in. Every couple of days (or once a week if you are me), the hutch needs to be cleaned out since it doubles as his outhouse.

The other day, I made an unpleasant and very odd discovery when I lifted the lid off his hutch.

On top of the straw, just inside the little doorway, was a dead baby bird.

Granted, above the cage, there is a robin’s nest, so you can easily deduce where the bird came from. For whatever reason, it had fallen out of the nest and into the rabbit’s cage. It would have easily dropped through the wire on top but was prevented from falling through to the ground by the much smaller spaced wiring used on the floor of the cage.

But that’s where it gets odd. You see, the baby bird had fallen inside of the cage. There’s no way it could have fallen into the hutch because it has a lid on it, and the cage’s lid is positioned over that. The baby bird, if it had been alive when it had fallen, also could not have crawled its way into the hutch because there’s a lip on the doorway that keeps the bedding inside the hutch. The only logical explanation for how the baby bird ended up inside the hutch is that Potter had carried it into the hutch.

I would like to believe that Potter found the distressed baby bird and some kind of instinct prompted him to take it inside his hutch to keep it safe. It’s unlikely, but heck, you never know. It wasn’t because Potter had decided to try a miniaturized version of roast duck, either, because the baby bird’s tiny body showed no outward sign of injury in the way of bites or scratches.

To me, it was a bit of a sad discovery, and really pretty irrelevant, but thought I’d share it with you anyway.


I want to like the the new show on FOX, Lie to Me. I really, really do. Tim Roth? Brilliant on the big screen, “I love you, Honey Bunny.”  Only two problems I have with him: I can’t understand most of what he says so I have to turn the close-caption option on for my TV (stupid British accents – speak English!), effectively pissing off Mr. DD; and every once in a while, Roth cocks his head in a way that reminds me of David Caruso on CSI:Miami, and frankly, I find that as annoying as hell.



(Sidenote: whenever I struggle to remember David Caruso’s name, I only have to recall the very first episode from South Park and the line: “Ike! Do your impression of David Caruso’s career!” “Aaaiieeeee!”) (OMG. That was 12 years ago!)

And then we have Kelli Williams. Remember her from The Practice? Me neither, since I never watched the show, but IMDB is useful when it comes to links.

Kelli, Kelli, Kelli. Her characther’s husband is cheating on her. She knows it. The rest of the characters know it, and I can’t help but wonder if the writers thought that they were bringing irony into their show by having an expert team of lie-sniffers ignore the fact that one of their team member’s spouse is lying to them all. On the other hand, how believable is it to write in a lying spouse in a show that sniffs out liars??

kellikellinewActually, my annoyance with Kelli is the hair. It’s 80’s awful (left pix). It makes her look older than me, and she’s only 38. In a recent episode, (right pix) after enough complaints must have been made over the crusty and poorly constructed feathered ‘do, she sported a modern, if not uninspiring style.

My husband’s happy about the change. I’m no longer screaming, “Brush out that horrid rat’s nest, you simp!” every time she steps into a scene. Unfortunately, it was a temporary change, or else the next episode is out of order, because the old hair-style is back.


This post had been sitting in my draft pile for a while and since no one out there seems to be in the mood to comment, even though I have given you the opportunity to hijack comments; or posted pictures of the adorableness that is my daughter, I thought I might as well publish this since it is completely and equally uninspiring and one less draft I need to look at.

You are welcome.


In spite of past comments here, I really do find Nebraska a lovely place to live. In the winter, it holds the stark beauty of a desert; in the spring, it’s an oasis full of countless varieties of life.

I took an hour and a half drive this weekend to the northeast area of the state. I regretted that I had not brought my camera.

I saw pastures that reminded me of topographical photographs of South American pyramids long eroded away. The terraces the farmer put in decades ago, while washed mostly away, left ridges like scars as the land is left  naturalize since it’s more profitable for the owner than to farm it and sell the crops.

I saw where homes once were, where families once were raised on the land, but there were no buildings or fences. The lanes had been long disced under, churned back into the earth. Only trees planted as windbreaks decades ago remained like massive and organic grave markers. Each spring, their leaves come back green and each fall, they fall to the ground, but children no longer play in their crisp piles.

I saw an abandoned piece of farm machinery, rusted from years of rain, snow, hail and sun. Its color that of dried blood. Outmoded and unwanted, it was left next to the property line. Many years ago, there probably was a hand-painted For Sale sign tacked to the nearby fence post.

I saw what looked to be a drift of snow in the middle of a field, strangely out of place with the warming weather. As I drove by, the drift morphed and lifted and fell again. Hundreds of Franklin’s Gulls were feeding off the fallen grain while dozens more circled overhead. If I had opened my windows, I might have felt myself transported back to the beach as their calls carried over the winds.

And I saw prairie grass, so high and so golden, it looked like an animal’s soft, furry pelt as it ruffled in the wind. I imagined the hand of God lightly stroking the tips of the grass to feel its softness and the heat of the ground emanating from below like one would when reaching for the comfort of a beloved pet.

I love driving for miles and still be able to imagine how this land must have looked 100 years ago. Even 200 years ago. The outcropping of trees and terracing give away the simple man’s dream of tending his own land. The small towns between that still remain validate that many survived on the land. But there are many more that did not as indicated by collapsed buildings, their windows black and paneless against the weathered gray of the siding. I don’t drive past the farms that are still intact and wonder about their children, about their past. Instead I think about the ghosts and wonder how could they have just disappeared without anyone caring and mostly unnoticed, except by me.


It’s a good thing I’m sending XBoy to a Catholic school or else I wouldn’t know that it was Lent. I totally blew off Ash Wednesday. Not that I would have done anything different, but you know, I like to keep on top of things around me.

My son has magnanimously decided to give up his Nintendo DS for Lent. Without any prompting whatsoever from us. As kids, Mom would make us give up chocolate with only St. Patrick’s Day giving any reprieve with the traditional gold-foiled wrapped chocolate coins. It only became a hardship when I reached my teen years and something called “PMS” would drive me to the brink.

After I left home, I didn’t partake in this particular custom surrounding Lent. Until I had XBoy, that is.

So I’ve decided that this year for Lent, I’m going to give up swearing on my blog.

I think that’s a rather impressive if you consider that out of  1,060 published posts, I’ve said “fuck” in 215 of them. That’s not taking into consideration all the other four-letter words I’ve dropped without nary a second thought.

So….what did you give up for the Lenten season?


From the MyWay news website (bold is my emphasis)

Suspect arrested for greasy imprints in Neb. town


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Nov 22, 12:15 AM (ET) 

OMAHA, Neb. (AP) – Police have arrested a man suspected of leaving greasy, graphic imprints on the windows of stores, churches and schools in a small Nebraska town. A 35-year-old man was caught in the act by police early Wednesday morning, Cherry County Attorney Eric Scott said Friday. The man hasn’t been charged yet, but authorities believe he is the vandal some townsfolk have dubbed the “Butt Bandit.”

Beginning in spring of 2007, a mystery vandal visited businesses at night, pressing his naked behind – sometimes his groin, sometimes both – on windows. The marks were made with lotion or petroleum jelly, and while police had earlier worried copycat criminals were getting involved, Scott said they now believe it’s “the act of a lone deviant.”

“This isn’t normal behavior for Valentine, Neb.,” Scott said. “It’s an embarrassment for the hardworking people who live here.”

The man was spotted by police about 3:30 a.m. Wednesday and arrested without incident, Scott said. The suspect appears to be the same man caught on a surveillance camera at the middle school last year, he said.

Valentine, a town of about 2,650 in remote north-central Nebraska, lies near the scenic Niobrara River. The city was named one of the top “wilderness” towns in the country last year by National Geographic Adventure magazine.

People from around the country send Valentine’s Day cards to the city’s post office so they can be mailed out with the word “Valentine” stamped on them.

The past two summers, the bandit struck business after business, window after window.

He stopped over the fall and winter.

During one particularly brazen session, virtually all the windows at a local hotel were imprinted.

I *heart* Nebraska.


 No, no, not because if you give me a push I’ll tip over like one of those crazy punching toys that has had some air let out of them (I’d say weeble wobbles, but those lucky bastards wobble “but don’t fall down.” Me? I’d not only fall, but I’m fairly sure I would bounce at least once and not get up again), but because BIRDS seem to be out to get me.

Birds #1: Driving down the road a couple of birds were flying after each other. One hit my windshield (why I ducked, I have no idea – shut up). My husband looked behind us down the road and tried to assure me it flew away. I don’t know if I should believe him. I’ve seen my share of birds fly into the house windows, and that’s a stationary object, and usually it doesn’t bode well for the bird’s head.

Bird(s) #2: Went out to my backyard to try to figure out what the hell happened to my lovely tiger lilies that were thigh high with tons of buds on them just a few weeks ago. Now? Every. Single. Plant? Gone. Disappeared. Like they never existed! I thought maybe my husband mowed them over and then moved the yard ornament so I wouldn’t be able to tell, but no. Deer or gophers. I’m not sure, however either way, I’m pissed.

Oh, yeah, the birds. So as I was walking back up to the house, a small bird flew up out of the weeds and dropped back down a ways in front of me displaying a broken wing. Immediately I knew it was because I was very close to its nest. I looked around a bit and found the tiniest little nest, no more than a few inches across and four baby birds. If I had stepped on them, I would have had to throw away my crocs…gross!

Birds #3: Again, driving down the county road and I come up over a hill and there was a pheasant hen and one of her chicks trying to cross the road. No joke. Pheasants are notoriously dumb. That would mean that pheasant youth are really, REALLY dumb. Hen runs back into the ditch. Chick runs the opposite way, stops before reaching the safety of the ditch, and then heads back the other way. What am I doing? Slamming on my brakes on a gravel road to prevent myself from running over an animal that obviously doesn’t qualify under the heading, “Survival of the Fittest” within his community.

Are these signs of something coming, a “foreshadowing”? Or do you think I’m just building up to the time I’m outside and a bird eventually shits on my head – literally?

Postscript: Did you know that Tippi Hedron is the mother of Melanie Griffith?

Also, I highly recommend this youtube video, For The Birds, by Pixar (though I hate the sound editing which changed the voice of the big bird) (I tried to embed the video, but WordPress can be as fickle as Blogger at times).


I read two posts this week about nose-picking. After reading Jess’s, who referenced a candybar called Crunchies, my memory was triggered recalling that we have a candy that conjures up images of knuckle-deep nasal cavity searching: Goobers.

Except I couldn’t remember that it was called Goobers. Instead I googled “candy Boogers”.

I shouldn’t have.

Not only do they make Boogers candy, but it is advertised as LOOKING and FEELING like snot. What? It doesn’t TASTE like it, too? What’s the point, then?

Maybe you’d rather have some of these:


What about these?

(Actually, these would be good for your work desk because you won’t have to worry about your fellow co-workers mooching your chocolate stash.)

However, if you want something healthy but craving something salty and crunchy, why not pick up a bag of these:

The other green meat! Entomologists everywhere love them! Enjoy your favorite friendly insect…. the cricket, in 3 delicious flavors: Bacon and Cheese, Salt & Vinegar, and Sour Cream & Onion.

Is it lunch time? I’ve got a sudden case of the munchies.


Do you consider yourself a connoisseur of vinyl albums covers, specifically from the early 80s?

Are you a closet rocker?

Do you have a warped sense of humor?

If you answered “maybe”, “not really”, and “yes!” respectfully (or any other combination as long as the third answer is anything to the affirmative), then this YouTube video is for you.

Now rarely do I ever post video links because 1) they take time to load; 2) they require you to have a certain set up on your own computer; and 3) is a cop out for a “real” post (as if any of my posts could be considered “real”!– HA!), but this one is just pretty damn cool. By the way, you can get the jist of the video without sound, but it’s much funnier with.

no. 558 – Redefining Wholesome

When I got home from work last night, I found Mr. DD watching CNN as reporters blahblahblah’ed their way into sanitizing while at the same time, sensationalizing, what happened in Omaha Wednesday afternoon.

For any of you that have watched any national news, you already know. For you others…9 people were shot and killed yesterday in one of the mall stores, including the 20 year old gun man who took his own life.

He stood on the third floor of one of the department stores, pulled out a semi-automatic and just starting shooting from the area of the escalators.

I cried all the way home from work.

People like to think that just a bunch of wholesome farmers live in Nebraska. When something like this happens, I understand the over-the-top horror because of the stereotype, but I also want to smack them over the head. Crimes of violence are relative to population, but that doesn’t make a single act of violence worse depending on its local.

Nine people dead, violently, needlessly. And I would be just as upset if it had happened in Alaska, California or Florida. The local headlines had something to the affect, "It Can Happen Here!" No shit. Anyone who presumes it wouldn’t have has their head buried in a hole.

I guess I learned that lesson five years ago when the nation’s deadliest bank robbery in over a decade took place down the street from where I work.

My heart aches more over the pain another human can inflict upon another without a second thought then it does over the possibility I may know any one of the victims in either events.

no. 521 – Now Where’s That Damn Soapbox

I am not big on politics. It’s probably because I haven’t bothered to let myself get involved in things that are … well … political. In fact, I think this post contains the only reference I have to my view of things here in the U.S.

But I have this friend in Ontario and she is very excited about the recent announcement of Ontario’s Liberal Party platform. And if she’s excited, well then dammit, so am I, and I’m not even Canadian.

The thing is, our U.S. government for as much as they like running roughshod over anything and everything that gets in their way as long as it occupies somewhere outside of our expansive borders, they like to see what works for others before bringing an idea back home for us voters.

Make sure you check out what Aurelia is saying and follow her advice, especially if you are living in Ontario, plan on living in Ontario or know someone from Ontario. Someone has got to set a precedence in affordable infertility and adoption processes to get the ball rolling.