They bought a piano.

Yep. You read that right. They. Bought. A. Piano. The "they" being my upstairs neighbors. They bought a piano and moved it upstairs yesterday afternoon.

Fortunately, I missed the whole moving-a-piano-up-the-staircase-and-around-the-turn-on-the-landing process. The Winged Monkey? Not so lucky. He was at my place, getting my computer ready for a Windows 7 upgrade (I'm sure there will be more on that in the coming days) when the moving in began. And when it finally ended an hour later. He had been relieved when the initial playing had stopped:
WM (whispering): Whoever is up there stumbled through a couple of songs, but they didn't finish any of them, and the songs really didn't flow into one another very well, so it wasn't like a medley.

And they weren't very good.

And you couldn't drown them out, no matter how high you turned up the tv.
Fortunately, the concert ended after a half hour or so. Only to be followed by the professional carpet cleaners. (Believe you me, my upstairs neighbors are carpet cleaning fools.)

I made it home about 15 minutes before my neighbors returned...with their 10-year-old daughter...who hadn't known about the piano...until she stomped upstairs to find her dad playing (here's one of the best parts) Jingle Bells.
WM (still whispering): Have we had Thanksgiving yet?
Daisy: I have got to move.
What followed was about 20 minutes of random playing, mostly Jingle Bells (well, part of Jingle Bells), a few runs up and down the keys, a half dozen scales. And then? Quiet.
Daisy's head: Maybe it won't be so bad.

Then this morning? 8:30 a.m.? The plunking begins.

I think it's supposed to be the beginning of "Ode to Joy."

I am not smiling.

Posted at 8:43 AM
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There will come soft rains...

...and hard rains...and drizzly rains...and cold rains...and any other type of rain you can imagine. For days. And days. And nights. And days.

I'm all about the rainy Sundays when I can stay on the couch with the Winged Monkey, watching tv and eating Thai take out, but I'm not all about rainy Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesday evenings, etc., etc., etc. The past two weeks? Rain and wind. And more rain. And more wind. And just when you think it's done? And just when you step outside to catch a glimpse of the long-lost sun? More rain.

I keep thinking of the old Ray Bradbury short story "All Summer in a Day" where the sun only comes out for a couple of hours every 7 years.

I can't wait 7 years.

This is why I don't think I could ever live in Washington. Or Oregon. Or anywhere else where it rains 250 days out of the year. My house is damp, my backyard is flooded, my knees are aching, and my allergies have gone ballistic. I need sun. Not necessarily heat, but definitely sun.

How does that chic in Twilight stand it?

Posted at 7:45 PM

Howdy, Folks!

(Official State Fair of Texas image linked from

During Fair time, my dad likes to call my sister and I and leave
voicemails in the guise of Big Tex.
Explains a lot about my upbringing, no?

Last night marked my last visit to this year's State Fair of Texas, which, for those of you who don't watch Oprah may not know, happens to be the largest state fair in the nation. And this year? It was definitely smaller.

No Budweiser Clydesdale horses.
Fewer giant pigs.
Fewer bunnies.
Fewer vendor booths.
Smaller crowds (except on the day Oprah broadcast live from the main stage).

Obvious signs of economic downturn.

Thankfully, some things remained blissfully the same.

The audience plant still fell in the pond during the Birds of the World Show (sorry for the spoiler).

The fried food selection was still sickeningly large (but the deep fried butter wasn't half bad).
(Have no idea who to credit because the photo was all over Google images.)
Deep Fried Butter--Tasted kind of like a super buttery biscuit.

And the cinnamon rolls? Do you even have to ask? They are still...hands favorite cinnamon treat on the planet. (And those familiar with my love of most things cinnamon know that that is saying quite a lot.)

So, the run down?
4 trips to the fair in an 8 day period. During which I ingested: a giant turkey leg, an order of deep fried pork chips, Golden Chick chicken tenders, 3 slices of pizza, an order of fried pork ribs (with fries), half an order of Jack's Fries, a barbecue sandwich, an order of deep fried butter, 3 glasses of lemonade, 5 bottles of water, a sprite, a frozen Lemon Chill...and 6 cinnamon rolls. Of course, 2 of the cinnamon rolls were taken home for breakfast the day after a visit, but they were purchased with fair coupons, so they count as fair food. (According to fair rules.)

What can I say? There is no moderation in Fair World. You are constantly surrounded by food...and pictures of food...and the smell of food...and people cooking food...and folks giving away samples of food...and fair-goers lining up for food at booths covered in descriptions of food. Food is everywhere, and it is waiting to be eaten and enjoyed by you as you walk down the midway being tempted on one side by the barkers wanting you to pay a dollar to see the world's smallest horse (Tiny Tim) or carnies on the other wanting you to pay two dollars to try to catapult a rubber chicken into a revolving kitchen pot.

Needless to say, I gained about 5 pounds this past week, but that's pretty much par for the Fair course. Besides, I plan on running most of it off during this weekend's Race for the Cure. And Fair pounds are not allowed to count, since they only come once a year. They are like birthday cake or Christmas cookie calories. Besides, you can't count food that is purchased with State Fair coupons! You already burned hundreds of calories standing in line at the damn kiosks to swap your money for the official currency of the State Fair of Texas.

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly those coupons seem to disappear out of your pocket. Magic really. One minute you have $100 cash. You stand in line for a bit and suddenly you have no cash, but you have 10 sheets of blue coupons. You stand in line a little longer and before you know it you have no coupons...but you are holding an nearly empty cup of lemonade and are searching for a napkin to mop the remnants of fried butter off your chin. And the whole time you've got this stupid, almost childlike grin on your face.

See what I mean? Magic.

Or perhaps an altered mental state brought on by the onslaught of country music being piped all over the fair grounds.

It's a toss up.

Posted at 7:13 PM
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Never in my life did I think a pair of D cups would inhibit my work.

A) My boobs are nowhere near that size.
B) I work in public education, so I could never afford a boob job.
C) A new set was not among the birthday presents I received earlier this week.
D) I'm pretty much against implants in non-reconstructive circumstances.
E) I work in computers. In schools. Really, the only computer-big boob correlation I can think of is the pornographic kind, and I'm fairly certain most of those women aren't visiting high schools.

Well, except one mom.
And she wasn't in a porn so much as she's been charged with prostitution.
Charged, but not convicted.
And she says she's running a massage business.
So, yeah, how'd you like to be that mom's kid this week when she showed up on campus to volunteer? (And, yes, "volunteer to do what?" jokes abound.)

Anyway, they weren't her implants that were in my way Thursday. These implants belonged to a man. A plastic surgeon, actually, who was a guest speaker at school and who thought the kids would enjoy feeling some fake boobs. Well, duh!

So, yeah, I actually got to utter the sentence, "Excuse me sir, would you mind holding your implants for a moment while I hook up your computer?"

There are some days that my job is fairly entertaining.

Posted at 9:12 AM
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Daisy's Tweets

My Momma Taught Me To Share

Tag, you're it!