Due by midnight.

I have two assignments due and I am having a very hard time motivating myself to get them done. So, in a blatant attempt to avoid homework, I'm going to post some pics for your viewing pleasure.

Let's start with talking about how counterproductive it is to try to get Boyfriend and Dog to help with folding the laundry. They don't fold at all. All they do is put panties on their heads and watch t.v.

Then let's talk about how lazy the animals are while Boyfriend and I are doing yardwork...

Finally, let's look at Dog's new tag in honor of her full name, Justinie Halloweenie.

16 hours later.....

Here in my little mountain town we have this really cool thing...time release mosquitoes. This is the second time Boyfriend and I have encountered them. Here's how it works. You go out hiking near water, you see a few mosquitoes landing on you but you slap them away, you think you got them before they bit you and you go home happy as a clam. Then sometime the next day one mosquito bite pops up, then another and another and another. It's like the onset of the pox! Right now, I've got about 14 bumps and counting. I'm not a fan of this new technology.
On said hike near water, I also attempted drowning due to hypothermia. Good times. See, we took the dog so she could do some swimming at our favorite little watering hole. Boyfriend was tossing a stick in the water but the dog came out with not a stick but a branch. We quickly dubbed it Diablo's Pitchfork and dog found it to be the absolute best stick ever on the planet. Boyfriend was tossing BEST STICK EVER into the pond much to the dog's delight when suddenly, he got a little too enthusiastic and tossed it into deeper water. The poor dog couldn't swim and get a good grip on the branch to bring it back even though she tried several times. The branch moved into unreachable waters and you've never seen such a sad hound dog in your life. She sat on the shore and whined and pouted and gave me the most pathetic sad dog eyes. Guess who just happened to be wearing her bathing suit? Guess who is a total sucker for a sad dog? Guess who went into the water? Yep, me. I'm an idiot. I waded in to the thighs thinking it wasn't so bad but when I made the big plunge, all ability to breathe was sucked from my body. I made some noises that even I did not recognize as human. I couldn't get my limbs to work. I thought "Oh my god, I'm gonna drown in six feet of water getting a stupid stick for a stupid dog." Luckily, I persevered and got the stick and got back to shore before I sank. HAPPIEST DOG EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. Outcome: I'm the dog's hero. For just a little while, she liked me better than Boyfriend.
So, today I'm bumpy and loved. Guess it all balances out.

So much to discuss.

First off, let's discuss my last post about honesty. I received several responses in my private email. They all had the same theme. It was okay with everyone that I wrote something that I couldn't find the honesty to post. It's very nice of everyone to be so forgiving but I sort of feel as if they missed the reasoning behind it. The post was about me being overweight. I am between 9 and 15 pounds overweight depending on which website you are consulting. My weight has always fluctuated but when I'm on the heavier side, I'm always unhappy. I don't feel physically or emotionally comfortable. I have no trouble admitting I'm a little tubby. The problem with the post was that if I were to push the "post" button, I would have to publicly admit several things that I already know about myself, but if you were to read the post, you would come to these conclusions about me. I don't want people to come to the conclusions and think I'm trying to hide it and feel as if they are clever for figuring it out. Turns out I feel more comfortable just blurting it out than letting my writing speak for itself. Here it is...

1. I'm vain. My looks mean something to me. I have never felt I was attractive but at the same time, rare were the instances that I really felt truly ugly. I've always felt average. Now, I'm feeling ugly way more often and I hate it. If I hate it, then that means looks are something that I feel is important but my value system tells me vanity is an unattractive characteristic. So, I have to deal with the weight and a really ugly trait that I have learned I possess. Double whammy.

2. I'm a big (fat) hypocrite. Seriously, my hypocrisy runneth over. Were I to hear a comment about another woman being heavy or fat or whatever, I will be the first to rip the commenter a new one. I would be only too happy to point out that the commenter has no idea about said woman's personality and maybe she is a wonderful person and maybe she is a much better person than the commenter who is obviously petty and shallow. Then I turn around and decide I don't want to be fat. Fat is bad. What? I don 't believe that. If I'm such a defender of the fact that women are beautiful in all shapes and sizes, then why can't I be any size? And I am a defender. There is this woman who comes into the library where I work. She is black and 50 pounds or so overweight and drop dead gorgeous. One of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. My eyes follow her around the room and I wish I could be her. Her skin is the most amazing shade. She literally glows. So, to sum up, fat is okay for others but I wouldn't be caught dead carrying extra pounds. Am I really like that? How does one live with really being like that? Why can't I just live with the weight? I'm still well within healthy ranges. Boyfriend loves me. Why do I care? Why? Anyone?

So those are the two big things. Vanity and hypocrisy. Oh, and the weight. All of these are very heavy. I'm going for light. I want to be light physically and emotionally. I want to be a good, skinny person and I'm not sure those two can go together with me.

Here are two good things, however, that make me feel light. Things that make the weight matter a little less. (Warning: my own horn is about to be tooted but it's few and far between so I'm entitled)

First, a family came into the library yesterday. There is a father and two young kids, Kai and Eden. Both kids are the sweetest little peanuts. Both are inquisitive and smart. I have spent many hours perusing the stacks with them, trying to find the perfect books. I introduced Eden to The Velveteen Rabbit because she had a small stuffed rabbit that she had rubbed smooth. Kai is a little sponge. He'll absorb anything I hand to him. I've had many good times with them. They came in yesterday to tell me the family was moving to Monterey. I was very sad. I'm really going to miss them. The good part is the father pulled me aside to thank me. That's right, thank me. He said that I and the library had been an invaluable part of the kids' lives. He wanted to tell me how much he appreciated the time and love I had given to his children and that I had really made a difference. Did you guys hear that? A difference. I made a difference. I made these kids' lives better. Me. I'm sorry, was I saying something about body image? Do I even have a body? Who cares. I made little lives better. Sweet, beautiful, full of potential lives. There is no high like that.

Second, I had a party at the library today to welcome the after-school teens back. I was told recently that I was the teen librarian even though no position exists. I earned this title by, well, paying attention to teen services. But I will tell you that teens and I have a very turbulent relationship. There is a great deal of the time that I hate the little punks. They are frustrating and annoying and I'd really like smack their smart-ass mouths sometimes. At the same time, I believe that they are a population that is discarded in libraries, especially mine. Several years ago, I put together a teen advisory committee that in turn built a "teen zone" for the kids. However, we never provided any programming. I couldn't understand why but I was part time so I couldn't do anything about it. Now, I can. I just finished busting my ass and fighting some major battles to get public performance rights so I could show the teens movies, to get a television for the library and getting my hands on a Wii gaming system for them. I planned programs through December, at least one a week. I worked hard and I don't admit to effort often. I like to make things look easy. The kick-off to all this was today. I ordered pizza and got soda and set up the new television with my own personal laptop so they could show YouTube videos on the big screen. 30 some teenagers that hated me last spring due to my disciplinary ways loved me today. They were engaged and excited and polite and curious. They were the teens I wanted to deal with. We laughed and joked and chatted. I even got hugged several times. The tide may be turning and it would be due to my hard work. That rocks. That rocks big time.

Wow, that was long post for me but I've been waxing philosophical lately. Couldn't be helped.

Experiments gone awry.

Some time ago, I made a pact with myself. I would always be complety honest. I had a time where, due to my dishonesty, I lost everything. Literally. Had to begin my life again from scratch. So I decided that it would be complete honesty from here on out. I express every thought when I feel it needs to be expressed and I express it at the soonest possible opportunity. I hold back nothing. It has worked out great for the most part. I have no guilt or regret from the last few years. It's very freeing.

However, I just wrote an extremely long blog about being overweight and my experience with it. Tried to write it with complete honesty. Guess what? I can't post it.

It's disappointing. I thought I had this honesty thing down. I thought I could tackle anything with no fear. I was wrong.

Interesting.

Highlights from time not well spent....

No posts since April from me? Really? Where have I been? Where did May go? Egads.
I have, in my defense, thought about posting several times. Here are just a few topics that I've written blogs for in my own head.
-Legally changing back to my maiden name.
-How the gravelly part of Michael Stipe's voice takes me back in time
-Blue and gold caterpillars
-The reaction of females when you tell them you dreamt that Johnny Depp was gay
-Down's Syndrome adult males with fetishes for girls with "teenage hair" and how that is has creepiness factor of 11
Intriguing, no? Alas, I did not type out any of these blogs but trust me, you would have been moved. You would have laughed and cried and had a whole new reason to wake up every day. Or they would have been boring as hell. The world will never know.
Here's what I have been doing instead of blogging.
-I (or more accurately, my hairdresser) cut off seven inches of hair. People reacted as if I should have reacted more. I have very little feeling about it one way or the other. It's just hair. If I lost seven inches of small intestine, I would have reacted.
-I've been doing work, work, work. The Summer Reading Program starts next week. Man your battle stations.
-I've been doing homework, homework, homework. The fact that I'll graduate in less than a year is the only thing keeping me from an aneurysm.
-I've been doing yardwork, yardwork, yardwork. I'm telling ya, people, my yard is fabu. Flowers galore, new fountain, new teak bench, new outdoor rug (I am unnaturally in love with outdoor rugs.)
Other than that, not much happening. Washed the dog today. There was bleeding involved (on my part, not the dog's).
Keep your eye's peeled for upcoming pics of my completed fabu yard.
Must sleep now. Exhausted.

I'll see your bronchitis and raise you a costochondritis...

I know you all wait with bated breath to see what my excuse for not posting is this month. Well, I won't keep you waiting. I've been sick.
"Oh, Pollywog" you say "Did you have cough due to cold that might have laid you up for a week?"
Oh, if only it had been that easy. Nope, this Friday will be 5 weeks of feeling under the weather. 5 freakin weeks.
So, I had a sore throat and little cold. No big deal. Started to get better but then got much worse with the addition of a hacking cough. Went to the doctor and the doctor said "No more monkeys jumping on the bed." No, not really. The doctor said "Most likely bronchitis. Here are some antibiotics." Okay. Sounds simple enough.
Took the pills. Nothing. Still hacked for a week or two more. Then last Friday, a sharp pain starts in my chest. I think I have "popped" a rib. "Pollywog, what the hell does that mean?" you ask. Well, several years ago, I had bronchitis and this same sort of thing, just with a different rib and the doctor said that the ribs that aren't attached to the sternum are attached to a thin strip of cartilage and that I had coughed so hard that one of those ribs had become unattached. I figured I had done that again.
So after 4 weeks of coughing and a new searing pain in my chest and a realization that I JUST CAN'T BREATHE, I go back to the doctor. She takes several x-rays, sees nothing and proceeds to start poking me in the chest right where it hurts. I wince and whimper and she says (and I quote) "Oooooooohhhh, that's costochondritis!" Oh. Of course. Costochondritis. Why didn't I self-diagnose that one? It is so obvious with a bit of chest poking.
What is costochondritis? Glad you asked cuz I had to look it up too. It is "an inflammation of the cartilage that connects a rib to the breastbone (sternum). It causes sharp pain in the costosternal joint — where your ribs and breastbone are joined by rubbery cartilage. Pain caused by costochondritis may mimic that of a heart attack or other heart conditions. " So, as you can see, nothing serious. JUST THE CONSTANT FEELING THAT I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK! It only really hurts when I, say, breathe or something silly like that. Coughing is an experiment in horror. And sneezing? Good God, no. Won't happen. Would rather cut my nose off. And talking apparently causes coughing which if you were paying attention equates with hell. So, I'm basically worthless as a human being. And, of course, it's viral. Nothing to be done.
Actually, she gave me a shot of anti-inflammitory in the keister and a prescription for Naproxen but "prescription strength" and I think "Great, this has got to be good stuff" but it turns out I'm taking a whoppin' 60 mg more than I would if I took two Aleve. She did, however, give me Vicodin.
So, that's it. The reason I didn't post. Feel like doody caa-caa.
Enough about me. How are you?

Our new bundle of joy...

Not a single post in February, Pollywog? Nope, been very busy. Quite busy indeed. Lots of school (which sucks by the way). Joined the gym hoping to lose the 10 pound that Boyfriend's fine cooking has added to the ol' bag of bones. And here is the biggest thing, a new addition to the family.

Announcing the adoption of our girl, Justinie Halloweenie!!!

Justine was raised by our friend and coworker, Monica, as a guide dog for the blind. The dogs are raised and socialized until they are about 16 months old and then they go off to guide dog school. There they have to make it through 10 phases before they graduate. Justinie made it to phase 8 and flunked out, much to our delight. (Sorry, blind people.) So, we had told Monica we would adopt her if she didn't make it. And her she is. By the way, she failed because of "food distraction". Hey, I'm food distracted too so she'll fit right in. And that's where she got the name Justine but we already have Monster and Ghost so she became Justinie Halloweenie!

Cats are not thrilled. Luckily, they are not scared but nor are they chomping at the bit to play with her. Justinie has had several swats to the nose. In fact, Monster was so distressed, he decided to give up his life as a cat and become a professional mousepad.

Anyway, we are thrilled and today is her 2 year birthday.

Happy Birthday, Halloweenie!

Why I live here.

Sorry the old Pollywog has been absent for a while. School started and then the stomach flu hit. I had one of those lovely moments where you feel you either have to start feeling better or die and honestly, you don't really care which way it goes. I would have been happy with either. Luckily, better was the way it went.

Reason for this post. I have recently been reflecting on why I live in my little mountain town. There has been a recent mass exodus to the big city by many young people seeking a better financial situation. It's true. My little town has a high cost of living, ridiculous real estate prices and low wages. I could make more money doing exactly what I do somewhere else. But there are many reasons I stay. Here a couple:

1. Right now, it is dumping snow. It's a fairly good storm and the second we've had. The first dumped about 2 feet of snow in 24 hours. Here's what I love. No one is complaining. At all. We love it. After the last storm, boyfriend and I decided not to dig the car out and walk to work. Being as the sidewalks were gone, we strolled down the middle of the street. Lots of neighbors were out shoveling. Was anyone complaining? No. Topics of discussion: How the snow was going to make the wildflowers amazing this spring. How the summer was going to be great. How the local ski resort will finally have a good season. No complaints. Snow is like a holiday around here.

2. I looked up from my desk on Wednesday and a good friend who lives in Ohio stood before me. Surprise. I've known him for probably about 10 years. I was introduced to him by my college roommate. How does this relate to my town? It turns out almost everyone I know knows him. It's fascinating to see the different connections. Boyfriend knows him from another friend of his. This other friend of his used to be my neighbor, which is how I knew him. Everyone in this town is one or two degrees of seperation. Another example, a coworker of mine won tickets to a concert on a local radio call-in thing. I know the deejay. When my coworker won, I was in the Caribbean. My coworker said where she worked and the deejay, on air, asked her if she was jealous of me being in the Caribbean. (I love that it was announced on the radio that I was on vacation.) Anyway, my coworker replied that she wasn't not jealous because she had just returned from Grand Cayman, where her two sons live, one of which we had dinner with while we were there. See? All connected.

I could go on and on. Point is I love it here and I will be devastated if it comes to the point I can't live here anymore which is a real threat. I have no idea where I will go. Do they need a librarian in Mayberry?

Molly spoke in class today

I just ran into a rare occurence. Didn't occur to me until five minutes ago. What are the odds of a musician staying around long enough to satisfy your headbanging needs at 19 but provide you with haunting melodies when you are 34? Don't see that much, do ya? But it's happened.

And who is this mystery fella? It's Mr. Eddie Vedder. I was just watching the video to Guaranteed from the Into the Wild soundtrack and thinking this:

The voices in Pollywog's head:
Voice 1: What a gorgeous melody.

Voice 2: What a gorgeous man.

Voice 1: What?

Voice 2: Eddie. Still gorgeous.

Voice 1: Oh my god, he is still gorgeous. I love him just as much but in a whole different way.

Voice 2: That's because at 19 you were attracted to his anger and his bad boy ways because you yourself were angry but now you are older and wiser and mellower and he has mellowed with you. Now you are attracted to him because you respect him and his music.

Voice 1: Yep, still wanna do him, though.

Voice 2: Me too. Pollywog. Me too.

But it's all true. I was sooooooooooo in love with him at 19. I even tried to look like him. I wore a lot of flannel and wore my hair hanging in my eyes. Even had the green army jacket. I'd crank my Pearl Jam cassette tape in my Ford Escort and bang head thus flinging aforementioned hair. If anyone can locate my good friend, Bob, of the time, he can confirm this.

I saw Eddie on something the other day with Sean Penn talking about the movie and I thought. "Wow, this guy really seems to have it together."

My god, I'm old. But it's okay. So is he.


Oh, and btw, news flash. I just saw Sinead O'Connor on the telly. She looks like shit. Just so you know.

C'est beau!

It's time for another list of what I learned on my vacation. This time, Little Cayman. British West Indies. (I love saying that.)




1. Sea cucumbers inspire one to invent the word "blobinous".

2. Boyfriend knows much about Avon's Skin So Soft. Perhaps too much.

3. I'm not sure how much I trust Dutch Peter, the maverick Dive Master.

4. Never defy Gladys. She'll hit you with a brochure.

5. Pink fish heralds the coming of the octopi.

6. Beware falling lizards.

7. Flip flops and lava rock don't mix.

8. Hermit crabs climb trees.

9. Two ladders tied together does not a lighthouse make.

10. When snorkeling above a shark, don't stop to think about how alone you are or how the boat is nowhere nearby.

11. Ubercrab owns the pier.

12. Driving on the left side of the road is fairly easy when the road circles the whole island and has no stop signs. Turning, however, is a bitch.

13. Oh boys, news flash. Drinking Baileys straight does not make it any more manly.

14. When the conch is booking it, make sure there are witnesses.

15. Burgess Meredith dwelt amongst the boobies and frigates.

Um, did I say scuba?

Update of the scuba diving class.

I hate scuba diving. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Could not possibly hate it more. Would rather have a root canal.

I was doing pretty well. We were in a training pool with a 4 foot ledge and the rest was 10 feet deep. Got through day one, but had some issues with one of the tests. That was taking the mask off underwater, putting it back on, and blowing through your nose to clear the water out of it. Had trouble with that.

Came home with a heavy feeling of dread. Couldn't eat dinner. Couldn 't sleep. Hated the idea of going into the water again. I'll say it. Scared. Very very scared of drowning.

Day two, Boyfriend went with me. We were being "buddies" and we were doing this exercise where he was suppposed to swim up to me, pretend to out of air, and I was supposed to give him my regulator (that's the part in your mouth that you breath through) and I was supposed to grab my secondary regulator and put it in my mouth.

What really happened was I took my regulator out of my mouth, gave it to him, couldn't find my second regulator, got a noseful of water, panicked, headed for the surface, Boyfriend be damned. Instructor tried to stop me. I hit him.

That was it for me. More than two hours later I still have water dripping from my sinuses. So, it looks like Little Cayman is going to be lot of beachcombing, reading and hammock time for me.

Hate it. Really really hate it. Snorkeling is cool though.

You were right, Braids.

Blog on Demand

My beautiful and dear friend, Braids, has tagged me to blog. Can't you see I'm busy, busy, busy. Finals are sneaking up. I'm going on vacation in a few weeks. The holidays. But just for you, my little redheaded bunny, I will blog but I won't play tag. Sorry, nothing personal, I just hate those chain letter sort of things.


She said she wanted 5 somethings "weird and random" about me.


When driving down an aisle in a parking lot, I have to park to the left. Just feels better.

Scottish men or any other man using a Scottish accent, especially Boyfriend, ranting about anything makes me laugh hysterically.

When I was young, I enjoyed banana and mayonnaise sandwiches. Now I'm allergic to bananas.

I'm scared of sloths.

I can't say "contiguous".



There. Now here's something not so random.


I snorkeled in the bathtub the other night. Here is why it is not so random. I'm going scuba diving in 15 days. Actually, that's a lie. I'm going scuba diving tomorrow but that's going to be in a swimming pool and that doesn't count.


Let me back up. About two months ago, Boyfriend walked into my office and said "We are going to the Cayman Islands to go diving for a week." I said, "Okay, sure, whatever." Why did I say this? Because Boyfriend is always telling me we are going somewhere and we rarely go. But then a few days later he walked into my office to tell me the tickets were purchased. Imagine Pollywog's look of surprise. Yep, looks like we are leaving on a jet plane. We are spending a week at a dive resort in Little Cayman, the smallest of the three Cayman Islands. 10 miles long, one mile wide, population 60.



















Anyway, I have to get certified to scuba dive. I just finished reading the manual and my theory and pool classes are tomorrow and Sunday. I will do my four open water dives for full certification at the island. But I did want to test my new mask and snorkel so I snorkeled in the bathtub. Turns out all these little intsy bintsy bubbles stick to the walls of the tub underwater and you can write your name in 'em.


So there it is. One random and one not so random thing. Now I must go to sleep and rest up for the big pool diving so I can get ready for this......

It's so true.

I know I haven't blogged in a while. Ever go through a period where everything you have to blog about is negative and whiny? I was waiting for something good.

My father used to say that the most important communication in any relationship always occurred in the kitchen. It's so true. Parties always end up with people packed in my kitchen which is the smallest room in my house.

Some nights, for no particular reason, Boyfriend and I will spend an entire evening in the kitchen. Last night, I got home from work and he was already in the kitchen making beef stroganoff. I made guacamole. Two great tastes that taste great together. So, we went into the dining room and ate dinner but after cleaning up, (and this has happened several other times) we end up staying in the kitchen with a bottle of wine and "70's Soft Pop" playing on the radio. We come up with a topic for conversation and laugh and laugh and laugh. Absurd statements are made such as "Wilcox? The question is when is he 'Won'tcox'?" and "Whereas I'm the mayor, I hereby declare this My Wife Dresses Up Like a Catholic School Girl and Blows Me Day" and my favorite quote of the evening, "The horns are still phat in Carpenterland. Andy GibbLand, not so much."
Occasionally, we run out of conversation which is good because it leaves time for stupid dancing. I've searched and cannot find but think of Joan Cusack dancing in the neck brace in Sixteen Candles. It's much like that. And it's usually to some fine piece of musical history like Another Saturday Night by Cat Stevens.
My point is I live for these evenings. Sometimes I get soooooooo focused on the crap I don't realize how much I need to let it go just for a night. There is never any warning that these evenings are coming, so it's such a gift when they appear.
Sometimes I think all I'll ever need is bad 70's tunes, a good bottle of wine and my favorite boy in the smallest room in my house.

Worm update.....

So two of the three tobacco hornworms have gone underground to pupate. So I thought I was left with one who has been eating and eating and eating. Going underground any minute now. Remember, though, that these worms came from a coworker and with the worm, she brought a large Rubbermaid bin of tomato plant cuttings which have been the worm's source of food for the past two weeks. I've been pulling wilted cuttings out of the worm tank and putting fresh ones in. What I didn't know was that the fresh ones apparently had eggs on them. That's right. I've got two new baby worms. Damn. Did I mention I hate caterpillars?

Anyway, the one who is about to pupate looks like this....

The baby looks like this........

So, you can see I will need a few more leaves. Damn.

Houston, we have pupation!

So, someone at work who grows tomatoes thought it would be great if she brought me some Tobacco Hornworms to raise into moths. The kids at the library would just love it. Unfortunately, the kids do love it, oh so much and in the meantime, I'm busting my ass trying to keep these damn things alive. I've already lost one to, get this, "black death" which is apparently like the bubonic plague to caterpillars. I have three left but they need fresh leaves everyday. Fresh tomato leaves. Where the hell does one get fresh tomato leaves in October?

Anyway, the get big and fat and then they burrow under the ground and pupate and come out as hawk moths. Some of you know them as hummingbird moths for the get nectar from flowers and tend to hover. But the trick is you have to watch them carefully and get them to dirt when they are ready to pupate or it's curtains for 'em. How do we know they are ready? I'm glad you asked. First, they stop eating. Second, they leave the host plant and seem restless. Third, their heart appears. Their little hearts are really nothing but an aorta and it runs up their backs. When they are ready to pupate, you can see the dark line running up their backs and pulsating. Ewwww.

So here it is, the weekend and who's going to keep an eye on the damn worms. Me. That's who. I took them home with me. (I told them they had won a weekend at a luxury hotel. Boy, were they surprised.) Co-workers scoffed at me saying they would be fine for the weekend if I left them at the library. Well, I realized on Saturday, one of them was not eating. Didn't eat all day. Just kind of sat there upside down on a branch, but I notices he wasn't holding on with all feet. By bedtime, I went to take one last look and he was only hanging on by two sets of feet so I picked him up and turned him over. His back was a dark pulsating line. Ewwww. So I transferred him to a jar with some dirt in it, added some leaves and went to bed.

I woke up this morning just in time to see his little caterpillar butt disappear under the soil. I'll be damned if the stupid little thing isn't pupating. Cool, right? Wrong. Now I have to keep him in my fridge for the winter, making sure to take him out for light occasionally and keeping the soil moist.

Did I mention, with the unpupating ones, I have to clean their poop up twice a day or it will make them sick? I hate caterpillars.

"It's not nice to hate...."

I need to explain something to all my adoring fans who do not know the real me...

I LOVE TRASHY STUPID B-RATED HORROR MOVIES. I MEAN LOVE. LIKE "TINGLE IN MY SPECIAL PLACES" LOVE. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. IS THIS CLEAR ENOUGH? LOVE.

So, last Friday night, I realized I had no reason to get up early on Saturday. None. Seriously rare occurence in my life. Therefore, I decided to stay up late and watch bad television. Always a treat. I surfed, flipped, watched two episodes of "What Not to Wear" (little in love with Clinton) and some interview with Michael Buble who is actually really funny. Then, about midnight, I stubbled upon something. Black and white...good. Lon Chaney Jr....good. Grown women in little girl clothing...good. Spiders...good. Imbecile man kept in small confined areas...good. I think to myself, "Ooooo, Pollywog, you've happened upon a good'un." I got all settled in my recliner, pulled a blanket over me, fixed my pillow behind my head and prepared to enjoy a crappy old film. Then I promptly fell asleep. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Long story long but not quite as long as it could be, I found out the next morning I was watching a film called Spider Baby. It's also known as The Maddest Story Ever Told. It's also known as Attack of the Liver Eaters. It's also known as Cannibal Orgy. I knew then and there I must own it. I jumped on Amazon and ordered it. It arrived yesterday and I watched it in its entirety last night. Oh...my...God. I beyond loved it. I want to marry this movie. I'm thinking of watching it again tonight. It is the first appearance of Sid Haig who you might have seen in a Rob Zombie movie (which explains why it was on TMC. They have a program called Underground which is hosted by Rob Zombie.)

My point is if you can get your hands on this movie, please watch it. It is soooooo fucked up in the most glorious way. Would make for great October entertainment.

I'm such a follower.

A few of my blogging reads have been making lists lately so I took it as a sign to make my own.
Here it is, ten thing you don't know about me.

1. I rub my feet together to go to sleep.
2. I don't mind cockroaches until they fly and then I'm paralyzed with fear.
3. When I was a child and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I replied ballerina/real estate agent. I truly wanted to be both at the same time.
4. I'm watching the whole series of 21 Jump Street on DVD and by God, enjoying them.
5. I can't remember my ex-husband's birthday which doesn't sound bad except for the fact that I couldn't remember it the entire time we were dating and married. There is absolutely no reason for it. I remember family's and Boyfriend's birthday just fine, but after 13 years of relationship, his just wouldn't stick. Weird.
6. I have a space heater at work that I keep on year round. Doesn't matter if it's 90 degrees outside. I'm cold.
7. I didn't know Jimi Hendrix was black until I was 18 years old. Never saw a picture. How was I to know?
8. I don't call my mother enough.
9. I hate Henry David Thoreau. Who the hell does he think he is? Poe, on the other hand, he's hot. I'd do him.
10. I put salt in my orange juice (and everything else, for that matter).

There you have it. All you need to know about the ol' Pollywog.

Silo and Roy are my heroes.

Here in the library, Banned Book Week approaches. We love BBW. And why do we love BBW? Because it gives us a chance to push literature that ignorant backward galoots try to tell us to censor in the name of religion or race or creed or whatever. Oooooo, that makes them so mad. I've been dealing with this a lot lately.

Recently someone asked us to remove a book called You're Different and That's Super by Carson Kressley because it promoted homosexuality. Well, yeah, granted it's written by one of the Queer Guys but it's really about being different in any sort of way. Hell, it's about a unicorn in a world of horses.

And then it was a formal complaint on Whale Talk by Chris Crutcher. Yes, it's a tough book to get through, lots of naughty words, lots of painful situations, lots of character you loathe but so so so good. And what was our patrons main complaint? Ready? That the main character is black and the author is white and therefore cannot authentically speak to the situation. My response was "Does she know J.K. Rowling is not a 17 year old wizard?" I ended up writing a two page response to that one backed up with 25 pages of Crutcher support from the internet. Mr. Crutcher has been through this several times. Saw him speak once. Seems to be a helluva guy.

So I attacked Banned Book Week this year with vim and vigor. Put a display prominently in the teen area with books that have been challenged because of sex, drugs and rock & roll generally. Put another display right beside check out where people will have to see these books. Just saw a father reading The Stupids Die to his 2 year old while waiting in line. But in my research, I found this gem of a book that had slipped past me. It was the most challenged book of 2006 and I had it here in my library and didn't even know. Here it's is, the most hated book of last year......

Yes, people, hold onto your hats. It's And Tango Makes Three and it's about, dare I say it, GAY PENGUINS. That's right, homosexual chinstrap penguins. A blight on society. And furthermore, they hatch, raise and love an unwanted baby penguin. My God! What's next? What if this spreads to humans and unwanted children are successfully adopted, nutured and loved by, gulp, same sex couples? We must put a stop to this. Before you know it, this world could be full of acceptance and peace. DOWN WITH GAY PENGUINS!

For y'all who might be interested, it is a true story of a couple of same sex penguins at the Central Park Zoo who became a couple and hatched an egg that was laid by a female who laid two eggs. The female can only care for one so the zookeeper gave Silo and Roy the unwanted egg and they hatched it and raised a little girl named Tango! All three are still there at the zoo being a family. How freakin' cute is that? I mist up just thinking about it.

For more info on Banned Book Week, go here. ALA Banned Book Week You'd be surprised what has been banned!

Happy (and scandalous) reading!

Vegas and Ghostly Warnings

Time for a multi-subject blog. I know, I know, I know. I don't blog and I don't blog and then suddenly I throw a bunch of crap at you. Sorry.

Anyway, first subject. Vegas, baby! I just spent a quick spontaneous 24 hours in Las Vegas with my siblings and a cousin and her husband. It was not nearly long enough. My god, I love Vegas. I mean, love like if I could have sexual congress with it, I would. (Come to think of it, I think you can have sexual congress with Vegas for a price.) Anyway, I was sitting around trying to figure out why oh why do I love Vegas (besides the free drinks). I think I've got it. Nothing is real there. Nothing. It's all make believe. It's soooooo good when you've had a healthy dose of reality and you're ready for something else. Nothing but good and crazy things have happened to me in Vegas. Actually, I once had severe, I mean severe, strep throat in Vegas with a fever of about 103. I was 14. My best friend and I were walking around Circus Circus while my parents were off gambling and I remember all the sounds and sights being distorted and blurry. It was so Alice in Wonderland. I still find, in perfect health, that everything is distorted and blurry. So good.

Okay, next subject. Ghostly warnings. As mentioned before, I saw my cousin in Vegas. Her name is Cathy and she's very spiritual, not in a God way, but in a "I will explore every religion and take bits and pieces of each to fit my needs" sort of way. She's a shaman. I don't know what it takes to be a shaman but she did it. Some sort of training with a vision quest, I don't know. Now I wouldn't say she really believes in ghosts, per se, but she definitely talks a lot about feeling the energy of those who have passed around her at certain times. My sister is the same. She will often stop in the middle of what she is doing and say "Grampa is here." The closest I've ever come to this phenomenon is smell. I will sometimes walk into a room or be sitting there and I will smell one of my grandmothers. And there is never a reason the smell should be there. For example, part of Grandma's smell is coffee. It's not the whole smell but it's part of the mix. So I'll be standing in the living room and the smell will show up and stay a few minutes then go and there is no coffee anywhere. I like to think it's my loved ones stopping by to check up on me.

So, I was at a buffet in Vegas listening to Cathy talk about how she felt the energy of her father when she was at a convenience store counter and looking at a scratch ticket. So she bought it. She put it in her purse and went to dinner with her husband but in the middle of dinner, she felt her father again so she got out the ticket and scratched it and won $200. My sister went on to tell stories of feeling our father around her. I was jealous for I haven't felt a thing.

Here comes the warning part. I dreamt last night I was walking through the library and my father was sitting there in a wheelchair. In the dream, I knew he was dead and shouldn't be sitting there but I was so so so happy because I could see him in such great detail. I could picture him perfectly and in real life, I'm having a harder and harder time bringing his face to mind. So I was standing there being thrilled I could see him and I walked forward, knelt beside the chair and put my hand on his leg (the same spot I was touching when he died). He looked up at me and laughed, the sort of snort that comes before you say something ironic, and said these exact words "Everyone I see here, I know. Don't you be one of them."

ANYONE HAVE ANY CLUE WHAT THAT MIGHT MEAN?

I mean, even if it's not my father's spirit coming to tell me something, it's definitely my own subconscious telling me something. It'd be nice to know what. Theories are most welcome.

I hate truth in art.

The Radiance

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush?
We sense that there is some sort of spirit
that loves birds and animals and the ants.
Perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in your
mother's womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around entirely orphaned
now?

The truth is you turned away yourself,
And decided to go into the dark alone.
Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten what
you once knew,
and that's why everything you do has some weird failure in it.

-Kabir

Translated from the Hindi by Robert Bly

Ouch.

-Pollywog