$317 richer

(Note our snow globes lining the curb. Who loves herself?) I guess our moving sale was a hit. We made at least $317, and I think more, but it is impossible to say because Marvin kept putting the money in different places all day. I kept thinking the money was stolen. "It's in the orange box," he'd tell me, then "It's in the yellow thing in the bedroom" then "It's in my pocket." So $317 is what I found in the SILVER thing he said it was in at the end of the day.

And could the end of the day have gotten here sooner? People showed at up SEVEN, even though the signs clearly said 8:00. These were the professionals. They even knew each other. I heard them say, "See you tomorrow!" It reminded me of that cartoon where the sheep dog and the wolf punch in at the time clock and say, "Hello, Sam" "Hello, Ralph" then spend the rest of the day trying to outsmart each other.

Our cat Winston was delighted to have people over. He is seriously the most sociable cat I have ever met. He just sat in the yard like a sentinel. A couple people asked how much he was, and one busybody tried to tell us a coyote could come right up into the yard during the sale and eat Winston.
As you can see, we tried giving him a name tag but he was having none of it. That picture of him ripping it off makes me pee a little every time I look at it.

At one point, I was in our beanbag chair, and Marvin told a guy that the beanbag was $5 and I was $2. The guy said, "You'll have to move. I want the chair." He wouldn't even buy me for TWO DOLLARS?! Insulting.

Speaking of which, I have mentioned before (but am too lazy to find out where then provide you with a link), we have a Winchell's Doughnuts on our corner that old men in cowboy hats hang out at (like my prepositions) and today was no exception. I walked down there to hang our sign and on the way someone had their sprinkler going. Because I am 10 years old, I jumped through it and got all wet. I even had to wipe off my glasses. It was delightful.

So, I get to Winchell's and the men in hats are being particularly nice to me. They're telling me where to hang the sign, they're helping hold it up. Really nice.

On the way home I realized. The sprinkler had made my tank top COMPLETELY SEE-THROUGH.

Finally, in the late afternoon, we just gave stuff away. Less to schlep to North Carolina.

And I'd like you all to know that Marvin wanted to CHEAT with our winnings today. He wanted to go to a movie or to a restaurant, but I stayed strong. The winner of the Winchell's wet T-shirt contest has to stick with her convictions.

One man's junk is another man's junk that they bought for a dollar.

Tomorrow morning we are having a garage sale. Actually, we are calling it a moving sale, as that sounds more classy. "Hey! Here's all our crap that we don't want cause we're moving! Come take it off our hands!" Yep. Classy.

Did you ever notice that the word "classy" is just the opposite?

One realizes how not spartan one is when one gets ready to move, doesn't one? (Does one wonder how many times one can say "one" in one sentence?) We are selling much of my once-exciting snowglobe collection, clothes we no longer fit into cause we're heifers, books that we thought we might read again but haven't because we are intellectually stifled, and oh! with the knickknacks. Good Lord, we are knickknack-y people. You'd think we were 72 years old.

Remember in the '70s when everybody's mom had like eighty-six Avon perfume bottles on their dresser? Or was that just moms in Michigan? There were the doll bottles that wore hoop skirts, men's cologne in racing-car bottles, and the ever-present Sweet Honesty, for the "I still want to be young" mom.

I recently found a bunch of Sweet Honesty roll-on deodorant at an Amish store and bought some for everyone I could think of. Well, I guess it wasn't THAT recently, as it couldn't have been this year. At any rate, I think I thought I was way funnier than any of my Sweet-Honesty-sweat-smelling recipients. I thought I was heeeeelarious.

I will write again soon to inform you of the results of our classy Moving Sale. Also, please note that our savings went up again, to $17,550, and one of my freelance jobs already paid me, so technically I will have $18,000 total in savings once I get to the bank. However, Marvin Gardens has decided to pay off my car before we sell it for the move, and to do so he is taking the money out of savings. But we will get that money right back when we sell the car, so I am not going to futz with the total in savings if that is all right with you.

And come on by tomorrow! Buy our crap! Give it a good home! No early birds.

Why we don't buy things.

6 p.m. I get home after a hard day of wielding the red pen at work, and as Marvin Gardens and I eat dinner, I remember that I am completely out of conditioner, and that for two days I have been using leftover leave-in stuff purchased during the Cro-Magnon era. Which is fine except that I am allergic to it, and it makes me cry all day, leaving me looking as though I take proofreading errors very, very seriously.

I make the fatal mistake of saying to Marvin, "You wanna go with me to CVS?"

6:30 p.m. Marvin and I get in the car.

6:36 p.m. We pull in to the CVS located about half a mile from our front door. As we are turning in I say, "Oh, let's go to Walgreen's instead." "Too late," says Marvin, "We already committed to turning left here."

Turning left is a very important thing in LA. You do not take it lightly.

Nevertheless, I say, no no, I want to find conditioner that keeps the red in my hair, and they probably won't have it at CVS. After nearly barreling over a poor old lady, who I smile at apologetically while sensitive Marvin mutters, "Move it, Gramma," we peel out of CVS toward Walgreen's.

6:40 p.m. At Walgreen's, Marvin drives past 79 convenient, open spots to park in the most far-away place possible -- so that we require trail mix in order to make it from the car to the store -- then spends his usual 45 minutes removing his seat belt, looking at himself in the mirror, rolling up the windows, sketching out a rough map of the store and putting push pins in it to designate aisles he might peruse, or WHATEVER ON EARTH HE DOES WHEN HE TAKES SIX YEARS TO GET OUT OF THE CAR.

6:45 p.m. Finally in the store, Marvin does the thing where he pretends he is looking at stuff, but really he is following me to hurry me along. I have never bought hair conditioner that enhances red, so for me this is an important purchase. It was relaxing, therefore, to have someone standing seven inches behind me at all times, picking things up and making fun of them. "Can I interest you in some Scoopios, which are like Cheerios but only a dollar?" Marvin brightly queries, interrupting my reverie over the conditioners.

6:46 p.m. Intimidated by my "shadow," I grab a bottle of red conditioner and go to the line. Which has one cashier and 7,098,453 people. I hear a weak little voice calling, "There's a register open here!"

Remember that scene in the Bugs Bunny cartoon, where Bugs Bunny is at the theater and he turns on the "Intermission" sign? And all the people rush out in a clump to smoke? That's what it looked like when that poor woman said a register was open. It was as though she were dangling bacon at a pack of wild dogs. Once we got there, the woman realized the register didn't work. So she lead us all, like we were on a field trip, to another register. THAT register didn't work. This was about the time Marvin shouted, "THIS STORE SUCKS. LIKE IT ALWAYS DOES." I scurried out of there before anyone knew I was related to him.

6:59 p.m. We go back to CVS. I find the same conditioner. Marvin tells me how much more he likes this drug store, because it is carpeted. Which, really, is what you need in a drug store. I take my conditioner to the front where there is no one waiting, only an employee purchasing something. So I wait. And wait. And wait. And make eye contact with the cashier, who gives me a dirty look. It becomes evident to me that these two are scamming the store, as they keep trying to run something through the scanner with their employee cards. Finally, I turn into Marvin Gardens. "LET'S GO!" I yell, and toss my purchase on the tube socks.

7:01 p.m. I call the CVS to complain to the manager, who tells me I should have found him in the warehouse, that he would have taken care of things right away. What warehouse? I am supposed to magically know about a warehouse? At this point I am ready to drive to Tarzana and shave my head, like Britney. What conditioner could possibly be worth this?

7:20 p.m. Marvin and I drive to the ends of Burbank to go to some ridiculous, grimy drug store that no human has ever entered in the history of time. We get in there and Marvin says, "Dirty, Gramma" which is a thing I say because my friend Cindy says it and Marvin has NO IDEA why he is saying it. Believe it or not, I get the same ding-dang conditioner and FINALLY purchase it. Seriously, I had better be STUNNING tomorrow.

7:30 p.m. We get back in the car, and Marvin says, "That conditioner was cheaper at Walgreen's."

Funeral services are pending.

Underpantch

Enclosed please find a picture of one of our birds, all grown up. He sat at the edge of that bucket all night -- and you can't blame him for being a tad concerned about actually leaving, after what happened to his brother. In the morning he was still there, on the other side of the bucket. Ten minutes later when we looked again, he was gone.

I do not know if he was Benedict, McMuffin, Shelly or Omelet. Birds tend to look the same. But he was the only one of my little chicks to survive. The others died in the nest. I have no idea why.

So, good luck, my little survivor bird!

Nature is cruel. Look what it's done with my ass. But I have to tell you I would welcome a nest all over again. I can imagine that in our new house in North Carolina there will be plenty of opportunity for nest action.
And hey, did you notice that we saved more money, even though Marvin was not technically employed all month? (He has actually been subbing quite a bit, but hasn't been paid yet.) Despite this, I still managed to sock away around $900 total for June, bringing our stellar savings to $17,000 in six months. Man.

Completely unrelatedly, I really do have to spring for some unmentionables, which I am gonna go ahead and mention. Cause I'm crazy that way. Stop me.

Beleaguered Office Mate once pointed out something brilliant. Did you ever notice that people who announce how fun and crazy they are really never are? "Oh, this accounting department is crazy. We have some fun here. Especially at tax time." Kind of like how people who are rich never really mention it. And how tasteful people don't go telling nine thousand strangers that they need new underpants. Or underpantchs, as I spelled it on my Christmas list in 1972 (my grandmother saved it) (and by the way, mom, nice manipulation. "Tell Grammy you want underpants!" Cause that's what every 7-year-old wants).

When I finally spring for said chones (see how bilingual I've gotten living in LA?) I will be sure to tell you all about it, in great detail. Color, style, maybe even a photo essay.

Before I sign off, I did want to plug one of the blogs on my list: The Hawaiian O'Brien. Dan and Renee are good friends of ours and they are selling everything except for their child and they are moving to Maui. No, they are not rich. (Unless they are doing the we're-rich-so-we-don't-really-talk-about-it thing I mentioned. But I don't think so.) Their blog is going to keep us posted on what it's gonna be like to actually make your lifelong wish come true.

You know, like how you wish for underpants when you're seven.

Pauline Bunyon

The good news is I made $825 doing freelance proofreading this weekend. The bad news is I worked nearly ALL WEEKEND. Relaxing. Whoo! Thank goodness I am back at work where I can unwind. I will blog, or "bog," as Renee's mother would say, when I get home tonight. I have to tell you about:

1. Wearing my mother's girdle because I desperately need new underwear.
2. Our bird who grew up and flew away.
3. Dan and Renee's going away party. I shot Coca-Cola out my nose in front of Dan and Renee's friends.
4. A bunch of other crap that I can't think of because I am exhausted from working all weekend.
5. Oh! And my bunion. Because I just get sexier.

Meet me in St. LOUis

My coworker Lou is annoyed that I never mention him in my blog, which is technically untrue, as he was one of the better players on my ill-fated softball team experience. So I mentioned him as part of a group.

Lou always looks like he is about to say something funny. I guess you could describe his expression as bemused, which he probably is, as he has worked for our company forever and has seen it all. Also, I know about 10 people who would quit on the spot if he ever left. Plus also too, his wife rocks.

So, go **Lou**.

Now that I have made Lou happy, I can tell you that I have gotten very lucky in the clothes department lately. Someone in my last post asked if my clothes were getting tiresome. Well, yes. I think probably more tiresome for the people who have to see me every day. Maybe they don't notice me as much as I'd like to think, but someone out there HAS to be saying, "Oh for heaven's sake. Is she rocking those Lucky jeans AGAIN?"

Last Friday, I got a large box from my Aunt Mary, and do you know I was so exhausted and flustered (or flusterated, as Marvin's old coworker used to say) from work that I LEFT that box on the porch till Saturday? I forgot about it! But when I opened it, my Aunt Mary, who similarly rocks like Lou's wife, got me a whole bunch of really good clothes. A long-ish khaki skirt, a blue stripy kind of shorter shirt (should I write fashion articles? Don't you feel like I'm modeling for you, these descriptions are so good?) a sexy wraparound black top and three white shirts that are all crisp and summery and oh! I felt cute for the first time all year wearing those.

Then yesterday I was having an equally flusterating day at work and my thin coworker left me a little pink square on my desk. I am sad to report it took me like three hours to even find the time to unfold it (seriously, it was like an ER in there yesterday. Without that girl from Bend it Like Beckham.), but when I did it was the prettiest Indian sort of peasant blouse. It has little sparkly mirrored things on it, too. I am making it sound like that thing you put on elephants at the circus, but trust me, it is pretty.

And I guess you could also count the lovely sweater my best friend sent me, which she was mortified to receive for her birthday. It is so awful that she sent it to me and dared me to wear it to work, so I did, and someone actually said, "That's a cute sweater!" It had HEART buttons. And shoulder pads.

So the good news is, my coworkers have gotten to see me in all new clothes all week. Even Lou.

Back to our regularly scheduled topic

which is not spending, in case you have forgotten. I wanted to tell you that for the first time, ever, in my makeup-y life, I have used up an entire eyeliner pencil. It was a dark brown one.

So I dug around and I will now be using a dark green one, which seemed like a great idea at the time, which was probably 2005, when I was footloose and spending freely. "Oh, how WHIMSICAL! A green eye pencil! A splash of color!"

Now it will be my everyday pencil till it runs out. I am going to go around looking vaguely like the puppet Madame.

You know, if you actually USE the same makeup every DAY, it actually gets used up pretty quickly. I have used up at least two lipsticks this year too.

Not to mention, I am going to need to buy me some delicates soon too. We do have a new underwear clause in this agreement, you know.

That's all. Again, only interesting to the women and the drag queens. I'll try to talk about spitting and football tomorrow.

Red state, red hair

Okay, I am finally home and have no new dead bird stories, so I can now tell you how we are moving from a city of 3 million people to a town of 3,000.

Marvin Gardens got his teaching credential in December of 2005, and he started looking for teaching jobs in L.A. even before that. You know that crap about "they need teachers"? Yeah, not so much. He could not get one teaching job in the L.A. area.

You know what's annoying? When I tell people this and they say, "really?" in an incredulous way, like Marvin Gardens has been PRETENDING to interview for teaching positions for almost two years. Yes, really. It is apparently quite difficult to get a teaching job here now if you have not taught before. Go on Marvin's blog if you really want all that guff.

For a while, I have been wondering if he is a poor interview or something. But he is very smart and articulate and he looks like a normal person, so I couldn't quite decide what he must be doing wrong. Was he wearing his "I Hate Children" T-shirt to the interview?

Marvin's teaching credential also works in North Carolina, which I have been to before and liked. Marvin kept getting emails about teacher's job fairs in North Carolina so finally he went to one last week. Yes, he spent money.

He left Monday night, and Tuesday morning I was in Beverly Hills in the midst of my interminable commute to work and he called. He had already gotten a job.

So, good job, L.A. Here was a person who would have taught your kids with originality and passion. Here was a man who would have been a good role model, who would have been a permanent, positive influence on your children. Fortunately, North Carolina saw that right away.

After he secured the job, he found us a house to rent. It has hardwood floors, four bedrooms, a fireplace, two bathrooms (which we have not had since 1998) and it is set in a woodsy yard. The price? $600 a month.

That's A THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH less than we pay now.

So I gave a 6- to 10-week notice at my job. The other proofreader is still out herniating his disc or whatever and I want to make this as easy for them as possible. Marvin has to be in North Carolina by August 1, but if I have to stay at work until the end of August, I will.

Beyond that, I have offered to freelance for them once I get to this little town. It's 50 miles outside of Charlotte, but I do NOT want to move all the way there for another hour-long commute. I freelanced for years, and I think I can get some clients back. And my L.A. rates will take me further in a small town.

It is all very exciting and yet I am terrified. I hate change. Here, in no particular order, is a list of a few of the things I have worried about:

I will get no work and we will starve to death.

I will have to work at 7-Eleven.

I will have anaphylactic shock for the first time ever and there will not be a hospital close enough and I will fall over dead.

I will find a rattlesnake in the bathtub.

At least these are rational fears.

I think we'll be fine leaving L.A. It's not like I am clamoring to break into the movies or gee, will I miss those desert hikes. On Saturday afternoon, Renee and I went to a wedding. I left my house at 4:30, the wedding was at 6:00, and do you know we were TEN MINUTES LATE to the wedding? Fortunately no one does things on time here so the ceremony hadn't started. But almost two hours to go 27 miles? Come ON. With Renee leaving for Maui in a month and me going to a place where I will never see an automobile again, that stupid traffic was just what we needed to tell us we are doing the right thing.

Oh, and I will enclose photos from said wedding, so you can see my hair. Perhaps you are wondering what I am doing in that Being John Malkovich crawling through the window shot. Or perhaps you are wondering if they showed the wedding video on my butt, as clearly they could have. Using the wide-screen feature, too. But I do like my new red color.

That's the story. Sorry you had to wait for my bird trauma to abate before you heard it.

One of my birds died.

I know I am supposed to talk about my quitting my job and my hair and our move and our lives, but when I got home tonight I did what I always do, which is go to the back porch and look at my nest. When I got there, one of the baby birds was on the ground, dead.

Online it says when the birds get bigger they get too crowded in their little homes and sometimes they jump out before they can fly. I noticed this morning that they were moving around a lot in there.

If I just would have looked this up this morning. If I just would have known this could happen, I could have put something soft there and he wouldn't have landed on our cement porch. Usually birds land on the grass, so they live. I hope his death was quick.

We put blankets under the nest so if anyone else jumps, now they will land softly. Then I dug a little grave next to my lavender plant. Marvin and I put him in there and I told him how much I loved his little bird self. He was two weeks old today.

I covered his grave with lavender blossoms.

What's new? Just everything.

Just quit my job. Marvin Gardens got a job in a town in North Carolina with a population of 3,000.

Also, I dyed my hair red.

Other than that, not much is new.

Big Love for the HBO

Who watched 13 episodes of "Big Love" in the last five days? Why can't I have that kind of drive when it comes to exercise or curing diseases or something?

I know spending $13 on HBO was cheating, but it was the best $13 I have spent so far this year. When I finally deigned to watch network TV at some point this week -- and I am not making this up -- I looked at FIVE channels, five, and ALL were showing a commercial. THIS, network folks, is why you have the lowest viewership EVER, in the HISTORY of TV!

I always thought HBO was for fancy people who were rich. (My family has always had odd ideas about what constitutes being rich. My mother always thought glass measuring cups were only for rich people. When my Uncle Leo first started dating my aunt, he thought we were rich because we had grass. Sad.)

Anyway, in a nutshell, which I am so good at placing things in, I like me the HBO. Can you tell?

Oh, and I wanted to tell you one other thing. It happened again: I got an Evite to someone's birthday party. Unfortunately it was being held at a public place, and there was an admission fee. I am trying to be vague in case the inviter reads this. It was not the invitation you sent me, Jen from the legal division at work!

I hemmed and I hawed. That stupid Evite sat in my inbox, mocking me, for days. Finally I lied. I chose "no" and then wrote, "I have a wedding!" which technically is true. I have a wedding, it's just a week before the party.

I am telling you, I cannot think of an honest way to get out of these things. It is so self-centered to assume everyone remembers our little experiment. And you KNOW they are going to say "I'll pay your way in!" and I cannot do that over and over again. That is not a non-spending experiment, it is a mooching experiment. So the only thing I can think of is to lie.

And yes, I am aware that "no" is a full sentence; I don't have to give a reason for saying no. But if someone did that to me I would assume it was because they don't like me. Wouldn't you? Be honest.

As per usual, it is seventeen seconds until I have to leave for work and I haven't showered yet. I have been trying to do three-minute showers, because renowned Africa expert Jennifer Aniston says the water used in the typical American shower is all the water a family in Africa uses all day.

Okay, shocked that no one is shocked that we spent $13 to buy HBO,

and that the whole world kept from me how GREAT "Big Love" is. Wow! Love my TV.

I have the gift of gab, that's for sure

Remind me to tell you later about how we, you know, BOUGHT HBO. I know. Sue us.

I have another wedding to attend this weekend, one of three so far this year. This is the scariest one to not bring a present to, because the bride and I haven't talked that much in the past year -- probably starting with when she met whoever this guy is she's marrying.

When she got in touch with me, I told her what we were doing this year and sent her a link to this blog, and she wrote back, "You are the cutest thing ever" and then promptly sent me an invitation to her shower. I do not think she read the blog.

Anyway, I am going to her wedding, because she is my friend and I know how I felt when people didn't attend MY wedding. And I will enclose the card I have been enclosing, wishing them the best of luck and promising to send a gift on January 1.

But here is my question: when did gifts stop becoming gifts and start becoming obligations? I thought gifts were little surprises that one could CHOOSE to give or not. That is what made them special. But for instance, with weddings, a gift is your price of admission. I will feed you so you bring a nice gift. I mean, you wouldn't dream of going to a wedding and not giving a gift.

I do not like this. I have several friends who are just not birthday people. It is not their thing, they don't remember and they don't send gifts. And I don't care! They are good friends otherwise. Isn't solid, dependable friendship more important than someone remembering to put a scented candle in the mail on your birthday?

Anyway, I am in my robe with wet hair and I should have left for work four minutes ago. So I will end on that note. Your thoughts, please.

Thoreau and Tony Soprano. And also my Uncle Leo.

Well, I certainly appreciate everyone giving me their two cents re my hair. If you had REALLY given me two cents each, perhaps I could afford the haircut. But as it is, I have to tell you that even though the majority of you said "Get your dang hair cut," I think it was Shannon who affected me most, with her Thoreau quote.

Did you all read the Thoreau quote (it's the 10th comment)? It is deep, dawg. I'll bet Thoreau said "dawg" quite a bit.

Shannon and our good friend Henry D. are correct. I do not NEED the haircut. I already have a husband and a job. I can go around looking slightly ridiculous. It will not kill me. So, no haircut yet.

In other news, we actually got to go out last night. My Uncle Leo is in town, and he was kind enough to take us to a play. If you did not just click on the link, you did not read about how my Uncle Leo (and yes, that is his name. I did not steal it from Seinfeld. I am the only person in America who did not find that show very funny.) grew up in Michigan to English-speaking parents, and yet because he is 1/448th Mexican, feels the need to become Speedy Gonzales whenever a Spanish word is used. This amuses me to no end, and luckily for me, he forgets that this amuses me, so he does it nearly every time I see him. Last night I got to hear him say, "taquito" like this: "thakeeeeetho!" and also "Hhhhhhwwwakamolaay!" for guacamole.

I mean, I am tickled about being part French Canadian, but I do not turn into Jacques Cousteau when I say "crepe."

Anyway, it was good of him to take us out, and even though I generally hate the theater, it was a good play. And extremely exciting to be anywhere.

Speaking of being anywhere, I will tell you about our latest obsession. We do not have HBO, but thanks to Netflix and my mother, we have seen every episode of the Sopranos. It is a riveting show, and tomorrow is the series finale.

Well. To say that Marvin and I are distracted by this would be an understatement. We are Fatal Attraction obsessed. Calvin Klein is going to make a new perfume just for us: Pathetic Obsession. We would pretty much do anything short of spending money to see it. First we hoped and prayed that one of our friends would have a Sopranos-watching party [crickets chirping]. Then we thought about cheating and checking into a cheap motel for the night just to get HBO, but of course we can't.

Tonight during our walk, we started thinking about those gas stations that have TV screens at the pump. Maybe tomorrow night we could fill our tanks real slow. Then we walked past this weird place in our neighborhood that sells walk-up water and inexplicably lets you watch TV during the six seconds you are filling your bottle (see photo). Do you think there's any chance they will show HBO tomorrow night? If so, boy. Will we be waterlogged.

Nest in the yard, nest on my head.

Well, yeah. That's pretty much how I feel 24 hours a day, too. "Got any food up in here?"

So, I ran out of my face wash. I guess it's soap for me from here on out. Oh, am I getting vastly unattractive.

Also, I know I never complain about my hair, but I really think it is getting ridiculous and that I need to get it cut. It is looking precisely like a Christmas tree.

For those of you who have never seen me, let me try to describe it. Okay. It is at this point just past shoulder length and getting wider instead of longer, and it is wave-wave-wavy. It has even been described as curly by some hairdressers, but they always say weird things.

Did you ever watch that beauty makeover show on that girl channel? What is it? Is it Lifetime, Television for Depressives? Whichever channel has A Baby Story, then A Wedding Story, then A Divorce Story all day long during weekday television. Is it The Learning Channel? Oh, this is going to bother me. When I used to freelance I would watch these dumb shows during lunch and I would always cry.

Seriously, do you know anyone who digresses more than me? What I was trying to say is one of those shows was like A Makeover Story, or the You Used to be Ugly Story or the We Used Your Face to Make Gorilla Cookies Story, and in that show hairdressers would always say they wanted to cut the woman's hair to add "movement" and what they ended up doing was exactly the opposite. They would always cut it in this matronly way which didn't move at ALL. So this is why I do not trust hairdressers who describe me as "curly haired." I say I am wavy.

Hi! (I was being wavy.)

Now, I know I have told you before that I go to John Freida Salon, which is fancy. So listen. I currently have enough in my checking account to pay for a trip to the fancy hairdresser. I say, if I manage to keep that amount in my account all week, then I can go. Since I obviously do not spend anywhere, all this means is that I have to eat as though I were back in college. Without the 58,000 bottles of Heineken.

What say you? And don't tell me to just get it cut somewhere cheap. I have made this error. I end up looking like those makeover women with "movement." About as much movement as Lot's Wife.

Please advise.

Free to be Cute and Tweet

Okay, first of all, to my Aunt Mary, Omelet is NOT disgusting. He is just a little featherless, that's all. I'll bet you weren't so cute at two hours old, either.

And to anyone who is worried sick, there seem to be three baby birds in the nest now, and we think we still see the fourth egg underneath them. And they are starting to grow feathers. Aunt Mary. You are very looks-ist, anyone ever tell you that?

It's hard to look in there and/or take more pictures, cause that nest is a flurry of action, with the mom and the dad going back and forth with food. They're schlepping pizzas and Brach's chocolate stars and Orange Crush; you'd be amazed.

I like it that the mom AND the dad are getting involved in the child rearing. Very '70s of them. Very Free to be You and Me. Perhaps later they'll all sit in a circle in the nest and share their feelings. Am I giving away a little too much about how I was raised?

So. My bank statement. To move on to a subject that actually addresses this blog. It used to be, back when I spent money and all, that my bank statement was several pages long. Usually I didn't really look at it. Just made sure there was still money in there, and then I shredded it.

For the past five months, that statement is one page long. It shows deposits from work, transfers to savings, and purchases for gas, grass and ass. (Okay, my Michigan is showing. Am I the only person who remembers people saying "Gas, grass or ass. Nobody rides for free"? Oh, no. What if I was the only person anyone ever SAID this to?) Gas, food and migraine pills, is what I was GOING to say before I started listening to Led Zeppelin and hanging my goat high.

So, it's been exciting to have my bank statement be so simple. Makes me feel all smug. But you know what I discovered yesterday? I discovered that I managed to spend SEVENTY-ONE dollars this month at Try-Not-Ta, the restaurant in my building!! Oh, I knew I had wandered down there once or twice, had me a little snicky-snack, but SEVENTY-ONE DOLLARS worth of snicky-snacking?! If I did that every month, that'd be $852 a year spent in that stupid place. And the food isn't even that good!

So I thought I had better admit it to you, dear reader. Man. Man alive. Man Polly, quit crying. I have got to stop that behavior now.

I will leave you with that promise and one final query:

Must we hear about EVERY hour that Paris Hilton is spending in jail? Really. I know that she ate bread yesterday. Who CARES? Why do I have to know this? Today on my Google home page, which is full of hard-hitting sites like People.com, I read, "Paris had a Good First Night in Jail" and then later "Paris gets a Visit from her Therapist in Jail." Now SERIOUSLY. At this point, I am more well-versed about Paris than Pepe Le Pew. Now THAT, Aunt Mary, is what is disgusting.

Your Omelet's ready!

I know he looks like a pterodactyl. I will keep you posted on when the rest are born.

Marvin Gardens says he looks like my side of the family.

You lingered over the coffee pot, now you can Eclipse it. Well. You could if you were allowed to buy Eclipse gum.

You know what we did this weekend? We didn't buy anything, that's what we did. Actually, I spent 27 dollars and something to provide food for a barbecue we had with some friends. But that is all, and that is allowed. I had an "I want to buy Eclipse gum" temptation in the checkout line, but I resisted.

For our cookout, we had to put the grill on the side of the house, in the driveway, so as not to disturb Angelina Towhee and her four eggs. We also had to not eat on the back porch for the same reason. So, I spread a blanket on the dining room floor, and we all picnicked there. Our friends brought their wiener dogs, at my request (certainly not at the request of our three cats, who were less than pleased and very puffy all night), and I am pleased to report that the dogs were told to lie down when we ate, and they DID. The just LAY there (lied there?), looking hungry. Wishing another cat would walk by.

When we started this year, I really was not what you'd call a cook. I remember moving out of an apartment once, and they tried to charge me for cleaning the oven and I had a fit. "I never once even opened that oven!" I told the landlord proudly.

But now, five months later, cooking is relatively easy. I have less of that everyone-will-be-here-in-20-minutes-and-I-am-naked-with-wet-hair-trying-to-cook-everything panic.

I knew I was getting old some years back when it dawned on me that I was way more concerned with how my house looked than how I looked before I had a party. Back when I was 25, I spent three and a half hours in the bathroom, grooming myself, and six minutes opening a box of wine and putting chips in a bowl. Now I spend three hours on food, flowers, dishes, cleanliness of the house and general ambiance, and 14 seconds slapping on mascara and putting my hair in pigtails.

And for those of you getting fat and hosting a party? Get a cute apron! I have my grandmother's sort of 1960s-looking apron, and I wear it over some boring ensemble, and it sparks the outfit right up! Plus, it hides a myriad of abdominal flaws!

I do have to report that I made deviled eggs, right there in the kitchen, which is maybe seven feet from where the birds' nest is. I felt terribly guilty during the whole boiling, mashing, mixing with mayo procedure. I did insist that we did not grill chicken, even though the grill had been moved. I know I am being weird about the bird nest.

At any rate, Marvin Gardens is off at band practice, and I may, sadly, do a little work. I have been doing some freelancing to make up for the fact that I made Marvin quit his job. He had an interview last week, by the way, and two more in the weeks to come. He needs to find something quickly, because when these eggs hatch, I am totally going on unpaid maternity leave, over here.