names of pets

Many years ago I decided that I would be a cool spinster that lived alone with two dogs and two cats. I was picturing late twenties. And I had their names all picked out.

But it was not to be. I am now inarguably in my late twenties. Getting later. Which is fine. And I have no pets. Which is also fine. And I married a man who dislikes dogs. That is ok because I'm not the biggest fan of dogs. So long as they don't try and lick me. I hate that.

The imagined ownership of two dogs and two cats was nothing more than whimsy. Especially coupled with the names I chose.

Dog #1: Picture a tiny but loud dog. This dogs name is:

Agamemnon

Dog #2: Picture a giant, possibly scary-looking but secretly nice and lovable dog that does not drool or lick me. This dogs name is:

Sir Snufflepuff (and no this is not in anyway connected with Hufflepuff House).

Cat #1: Picture a cat. This cat's name is:

Confucius

Cat #2: Picture another cat. This cat's name is:

Leviticus

At this point in life, I have used 1 of 4 names. I named my wireless network Confucius. At some point I hope to use up the other names. Stay tuned. And if you for some reason want to use these names because of how amazing and awesome they are, I won't hate you.

Emily Dibb's Hair

Emily Dibb was in 7th grade orchestra with me (and more..). I adored her hair. I told her I would devote a chapter of my book to her hair. (That is, the book that I was going to write eventually about random stuff. It hasn't been written. YET. Don't give up hope for me.)

Poor Emily has been waiting so long. She likely does not even know that I still think of her--or her hair--quite often. I doubt she remembers it was going to be a chapter in my book.

Here is my 1st mini-draft. For Emily.

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Emily Dibb's Hair

Emily's hair was like nothing I had ever seen. Thick. Curly. It was long. Like mermaid hair. Long enough that you wonder how long it really was when it was wet. Emily told me once that she didn't like it. Was even poked fun of for it. I forget the exact word she said was used against her, but I would not repeat it if I remembered! Emily's hair should bear no false names. Not even in memory.

But I adored it. And still do. The tiny curling wisps that frame her forehead. The bangs that come and go. Always thick and curly. I wanted it for my own.

twirling

whirling

curling

Emily Dibb's Hair.

worlds of possiblility

I know how they do it.

Yes.

I KNOW.

For all of you who have tried and failed to take dried black beans and cook them up into what you'd hoped would be a tasty equivalent to canned but then realized you'd failed beyond the extent of comprehension...I feel your pain.

Yes. Pain. Black beans are hard to make just like they come in a can. One might say painful. Or impossible. First, they taste bland. Second, their skins split. And they take forever. You have to soak them for at least 8 hours and then boil them for 2. So how does S&W do it?

Probably just how I did it. They use FRESH black beans. My Salvadoran friends gave me a bag of freshly picked black beans a few days ago. She said not to soak them. Just cook for 30 minutes in boiling water with salt and garlic.

I looked at the beans in the bag. I tried to squash one. They felt hard as rock. I should have stomped on it to check, but I missed my opportunity. After questioning her, I discovered that beans come out of the pod looking the exact same way we buy them in the bulk bins. Except the older they get, the drier and harder they get. Wow.

So I just made perfect beans. Yay for me.

urban slang to the rescue

"I don't know many office managers who would take a punch for somebody"

"I don't think he meant to"

"He clocked him"

"He punched him out?"

"No, clocked"

"Whats a clock"

"Maybe lets do a demonstration"

Apparently "clock" is not the same as "punch." Urban Dictionary says "to hit someone."

Unfortunately the demonstration came to nothing. For the record, I was not a participant in this conversation. Of course I have never used clocked in a sentence though. Yet.

for the cause

I signed up to STOP breast cancer before it STARTS. Have you? Join today at www.armyofwomen.org

by dint of the force of the dint

Dint.

I think I have never used this word in a sentence. And yet, I know it. Five years ago I could have told you the definition of several hundred GRE hit list words. I even tried to use them in sentences. But I forgot them all. Mostly. I still remember:

panacea

recidivism

and

pulchritude.

Many of them did leave a mark in my brain though. Often when I hear a vocabulary term I don't know, I remember that I USED to know it. Is knowing I forgot what it meant better than never knowing it at all? Hopefully.

And yet, suddenly I was seized with the notion that I must write about the word "dint" and even felt compelled to use it in the title in some witty way.

My first thought was to title the post, "by dint of reflection." I was then going to lament how I often recall 3 barefoot steps into the kitchen that I am supposed to be wearing shoes. The kitchen, at the moment, is home to many tiny shards of glass that I am ignoring for a while. Vacuuming and sweeping are tasks I avoid as long as possible. While I did sweep and vacuum the morning following the great glass explosion, I'm guessing I will not do it again until we have people over for dinner. A few weeks maybe. That's the only motivator I have to clean. Probably, there is not much glass left.

Yeah. Hence the shoes. The glass shards will be left in peace by dint of my shoes. Maybe I should re-title this blog "the slovenly housewife." Too bad the blog name is already taken. (http://slovenlyhousewife.blogspot.com/) I could give have given techniques for how to avoid dishes.

By dint of reflection I have decided to create a new tag. Slovenly housewife. It so rocks. There must be a dozen posts so far where I comment on my slovenliness. Now I can revel in it too.