All Rileyed Up

If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to know there’s purple in the air.

IIIIIIIII’m coming up so you better get this party started.

Oh I wish I were in the land of Georgia where the mountain’s green with envy of the Nooorth, of the Nooorth, of the Nooorth, because they won.
(Psst–in case you don’t know what this is a postcard of, it’s Stone Mountain Park.)

A popular tacky postcard. I’ve got these for several states, but the Kentucky one is a lie. Everyone knows there’s lots of fun things to do in Kentucky, like this:

Golgotha Fun Park (thank you Veronica for bringing this to my attention).

Little No Limit has a new hairstyle these days, the Knotted Hair Look:

She achieves this look by twirling her hair around and around until it almost cuts off the circulation in her finger and then she removes her finger and her hair is beautifully knotted. Perhaps she enjoys this hairstyle because of the feeling of accomplishment. After all, she can do it without help, without permission, and once she starts twirling, it only takes a few minutes to reach the end product. How’s that for realizing a goal once a day!

I racked my brain trying to come up with other people in the world who sport this most upscale of updo’s, and know who I came up with?

Hippies.

Hell no, she won’t go (in the potty chair).

Time to switch out those Veggie Tales CDs and start playing this:

I used to live next door to the sweetest family. Their two daughters loved the Notorious F.O.X. and dog-sat for me when Hubby and I wed and honeymooned. We celebrated holidays with this family. We swam together. We broke bread and held hands and sang Kumbayah. Life was one big happy commune.*

We were sad to move, but we still keep in touch. Now these sweet daughters are older, and I just received an invitation to their joint-graduation party (joint meaning two-in-one—what were YOU thinking, pothead?). Older Sis graduates from college, Younger Sis from high school.

Older Sis graduates with a degree in visual arts with an emphasis in film. She is currently entered in a film contest in which YOU can cast a vote. Behold her film:

Know what I like about this film?

Brevity. Subtlety.

It makes a lovely statement with a little bit of music, a little bit of color, and some well-chosen words. It’s so NOT Oliver Stone. And I love all things that are not Oliver Stone.

Don’t you want to vote for her?

Really, don’t you?

Come on, vote for her.

So… good luck to Older Sis with the post-college life and good luck to Younger Sis with the starting-college life. Both are good times. I miss those days. I envy those days… sob, sob, sob… excuse me, I need to go have a premature mid-life crisis.**

P.S. Did you vote?***

*Some statements have been embellished.
**Not this one. Okay, maybe a little.
***Vote NOW.

I drove to Vegas over the weekend with Lawyer Girl and the kids. The tacky postcards were slim pickins, but in Baker CA, home of the World’s Biggest Thermometer—

—I stumbled upon an entire treasure chest of tacky, The Alien Fresh Jerky Store:

If you don’t care about the aliens, at least you can pee.

In case you want to visit, you’ll need these helpful postcards:

The all-too-important map to find your jerky. And Area 51.

A picture of what the place looks like (mind the outer space and flying saucer).

You never know who else might drop in.

Unfortunately, the place didn’t have postcards of these things:

The helpful mileage sign outside the store, or

the Make-A-Wish alien next to the aforementioned clean restrooms.

As I mentioned last week, the Elvis recipes are no more. But look who came home from Vegas with me:

Thank you, thank you very much.

Elvis loves being at home with me, though he may start to cause problems with my marriage.

When the time came for Little No Limit to start using a bed, the crib was in poor condition. Due to multiple moves, several screws were missing and the crib was held together in two spots by, well, nothing. A very mobile child could hurt him or herself in it. Fortunately, Little No Limit, while during the day time is living up to the full extent of her name, in the evenings is a calm sleeper. So we let her sleep in the crib. Now that she was done using it, though, there was no one we could give this shaky, missing-pieces crib to. So we disassembled it and planned to throw it away.

Now, here’s something you should know about me: I hate throwing things away. I love sites like Craigslist and Freecycle were you can give junk away for free, just in case someone really has a use for my broken chandelier, my rusty fertilizer spreader, and the like. I fantasize that some Homer Simpson-style modern artist is taking my junk and turning it into art.

So, this broken down crib was a real dilemma of mine. It seemed our only option was to throw it away. Husband was disassembling it, and made a remark about how nice the wood was and asked if this was the kind of wood I’d like for the computer desk I’ve been wanting in the kitchen.

And the light went on.

“Gosh, honey, do you think you could just… make me a desk out of this?”

And behold:

A desk made from a crib. Yeah, it doesn’t have the polished finesse of Pottery Barn, or even Wal-Mart, but it serves its purpose.

(And don’t ask me how he did it. Once Husband gets a hold of his table saw and biscuits and wood glue, and whatever else amateur carpenters keep in their garage, I just sort of… leave him alone.)

*This post brought to you by the Crazy Hip Blog Mamas writing carnival. The prompt was “Crazy hacks you have come up with — unconventional uses for baby items or things you thought you’d never do as a parent but find yourself doing out of sheer desperation!”

The topic for Scribbit’s Monthly Write-Away contest is Vacation. As usual, it is any take on the subject matter. I considered a number of different ways to address this topic—upcoming vacation plans (lots of out of town weddings coming up), embarrassing moments while on vacation (tucking my skirt into my panties in the restroom of a Paris cafe, only to discover the feat after the waiters did), dream vacations (scotch tasting with Duncan MacLeod in Scotland), or send-ups of vacation resorts (although Alpha Dogma already covered the swim up bar). Such a dilemma…

I thought of this Louis L’Amour quote, courtesy of my A Word A Day emails: “Too often I would hear men boast of the miles covered that day, rarely of what they had seen.”

When I think of the most memorable things I have seen on a vacation, I’ve noticed a theme. Extremities. Extreme grandeur, extreme poverty, extreme color, extreme cityscape…

This moment falls into the category of extremely brief (and fortunately, I’m not talking about sex)–

In October 2005, I went on a ten day trip riding/camping trip in the Canyon de Chelly in New Mexico. I went on the trip by myself. Long story of what led up to it, but let’s leave it at Husband supported me in my need for a break. He stayed at home with the kids (score!) and I went on this random rugged camping trip with no cell service, no restrooms, and no bath facilities. Oh yeah, after ten days, I looked hot (score!).

On one particular night, I walked out of the campsite with my fellow camper, Karen, and one of the Navajo guides, Justin (you’re not allowed anywhere in the canyon without a Navajo guide).

We lay down in the sand to stargaze. As it was October, the winds of winter rustled the drying, dying leaves of the cottonwoods and nonnative Russian olive trees to remind us that in another month, we would be freezing and wet, as we were on the brink of the rainy season. The sand we lay down on felt similar to the beach–rough, like it contained traces of pulverized shell, cold like the Pacific ocean embedded itself in it. There was no roar of ocean, though, nor was there an endless starry night with the glitter of moonlight on a thousand ripples of water. Instead, I lay on the floor of a canyon, staring up at monolithic walls, that towered at a height I could barely comprehend. In the daytime, these walls boasted more shades of brown and red than even Crayola could name, but in the middle of the night, they were huge and black, but not in the 2001: A Space Odyssey sort of way, seeing as I did not start jumping around and shrieking (also, I’m not an ape). Though these walls seemed to be the kind of thing nothing could pass through, the wind whistled right on through, forcing me to zip of my sweater and pull my hands inside my shirt so I could rub my knuckles together.

Justin pointed out satellites and constellations I could not see, and in the midst of one of those “It’s right there! Can’t you see it?” claims, it happened.

A falling star. A circle of white light that gleamed and died away almost instantaneously.

Simple, I know. And therein lay its beauty.

I found myself enthralled by its appearance, awed by its ferocity, and accepting of its departure. A vacation in three seconds. A lifetime in three seconds.

It’s amazing what can happen in three seconds.

Well, that’s no ordinary rabbit!

That’s the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on!

A five ounce bird could not carry a one pound coconut!

Will only the cheese makers be blessed, or does this refer to all manufacturers of dairy products?

We dine well here in Camelot, we eat ham and jam and Spam a lot.
(This is the final Elvis recipe. Enjoy.)

My son made a portrait of mommy in preschool:

It looks just like me, especially the yellow hair.

In addition to the lovely muffin, melon, and berry spread the preschool class served us, we were also treated to a song performed by our children. Except mine. Who decided he would rather sit and scratch himself.

E stands for Eczema

Today, I had mother’s day brunch with the family at a restaurant in the harbor, and it was so crowded and disorganized, valet parking lost my keys.

Lost them.

Know where they found them? SITTING ON THE WINDSHIELD WIPER OF MY CAR.

Excellent.

I really needed something to relieve my headache when I got home, so it’s a good thing my husband got me this for Mother’s Day:

“Happy’s Head Trip”

It’s a head massager. I actually do feel better. Don’t I look it?

See Dick talk on his cell while he should be placing his order with the girl behind the coffee counter. He is the old creamer that once poured into your coffee curdles.

See Dick talk on his cell while driving. He is the long drive when you keep checking all the radio stations and all you can find are car dealership commercials and Spanish rap.

See Dick talk on his cell in the library. He is the overdue book that you’ve been waiting on, only to find out that the user re-checked it out and you have to wait another three weeks.

See Dick talk on his cell so loudly that everyone in the restaurant is looking at him. He is the undercooked steak that you dare not send back because you don’t want them to spit on it.

Don’t be a Dick.

Or suffer the wrath of Darth Vader:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVcHhJD9bh0]

*Courtesy of some bumper sticker my friend saw.

Making bandits look hot since the 1860s.

Well is this the airport I see before me?

Save a horse. Ride a cowboy. Yeeeeeeeeeha!

And last but not least—

You know what he’s got his eyes on—

Mmm!