Thursday, December 26

Well, we're about half way through the festivities of the season and all is well in the Krause household. I saw a few former classmates out at the bar, talked to even fewer, but still had a good time down at the old Horse & Plow. Christmas Eve day was filled mostly with preparing food for after church, most of which didn't really get eaten, but that's ok. I'm sure my bro and dad did their best to put a dent in it Christmas day. Before church I sent UPB on a mission to get my dad his new keyboard, and he picked up one for us, too. I just plugged it in and I'm thinking it's going to take a lot of getting used to. TJ said he felt like he was going to sprain his fingers, the way you sprain your ankle when you step off of a curb wrong, and I totally understand what he means. Oh well. At least if we decide we hate it, our old one still works.
Many of you have seen at least one of my presents, my dad got me the entire series of "The Young Ones" on DVD... so excited!! We're going to have to schedule a viewing very soon :)
I have a pounding headache, and there is nearly no one at work today, so it's totally boring. This should give me the opportunity to catch up on some stuff that I've kinda been slacking on, but it's awfully hard to feel motivated. *sigh* I woke up asking myself why I didn't save a vacation day for today. Then I remembered that with my boss gone, I probably wouldn't have been able to take it anyway. At least I don't have to go in tomorrow.
This is probably about all the finger spraining I can handle for right now. Plus, other than recapping all the presents I got and sounding really materialistic, I don't have much else to report. Except I got a phone call from Shan, who didn't make it to Kohler for X-mas this year, and I am convinced as ever that she needs a blog, if for no other reason than to share with the world tales of her crazy nieces and nephews. When a story ends with a 5-year-old girl's mom saying, "Well, at least they had their clothes on" you know it has to be good.
Oh - one thing I got for Christmas that I should keep everyone informed of.... my grandma gave me some of her recipes. Stay tuned for goodness, or at least, attempted goodness, coming your way. :) (And no picking on my sentence structure or no tasties for you!)

Monday, December 23

Since we'll be leaving (by car, not a jet-plane) this afternoon for Kohler, I just wanted to wish all you and yours a very merry Christmas, and a Happy Birthday to Mr. Jones.
I believe there are still plans to meet at the Robin's Nest on Christmas day night for games and whatnot. So don't forget your whatnot.

Friday, December 20

Yeah... don't worry, Plinko. We all know where we stand with you now.

Thursday, December 19

So I was kidding about the lesbian thing. Honestly. Although word seems to have leaked out, as I received this e-mail today (and not to my junk-mail-filled hotmail account, either):
I'm not sure you are having the same troubles I am on yahoo personals, but I
have had major difficulties getting ahold of you :) First, I wasn't able to
reply to your email on the site, did you take your ad down? And then I wasn't
even sure if you got my first messages ?? I hope you did !! i loved what you
wrote. you seem like my type.. and you sure sound like someone I would like to
go out with. I am a very down to earth person, very open, honest and upfront,
and I love to play around. Guys tell me i am pretty, but I figure there is no
use in beating around the bush right?? I think that most girls lead guys on
too often, and then all that is left is bitter feelings. i am not that type of
girl at all. I am very honest and very comfortable with myself. Like i said
before, I am not sure if you ever got my first is very
frustrating !! Well, I would love for you to check my personals page out:
My best pictures are on there, and pretty much everything you need to know
about me !! I would love to get together sometime....well I guess it
depends on whether you find me attractive or not and if you get this email. I
am sure you will not be dissappointed though. I think I am too picky
sometimes, so I am excited about the possibility of us !! Well, this is
getting pretty long, so i will stop writing for now. Write back soon !! At
least let me know you got this. I have nothing to do, I've only lived here for
a few weeks. =o( Love, Maria

Wow. Porn. E-mailed especially to me. I feel so... ew.

Wednesday, December 18

Tonight I was a shopping machine. Got something for my gram, my boss, my dad, my dad-in-law, a special surprise or two for hubby (which he's already seen, so I guess not much of a surprise at this point), the gift exchange tomorrow... I rule. Plus new clippies and new penguin towels for me. And all in about an hour. Ah, Target, there is no other like you. So much style, so much class, so non-pricey. You make me smile with your gift receipts and your lack of lines at the check out for some reason. Upon exiting the store I learned that my car, though small and made nearly entirely of non-metal (or so it usually seems), had become a cart-magnet. Luckily, I still had enough space to back out into a herd of mouth-breathers. I evidently spent all my good fortune inside the store. Oh well... home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Tuesday, December 17

You've been found out! Ah, the wonders of the uberweb. Is no one safe?

Thanks to the magic that is office place gossip, I got to work to find out that both of my pets had died. Also, I'm a lesbian. I guess all is forgiven because my boss brought me back a jingly monkey keychain from Singapore. At least, that's what the metal tag says. Of course, the other side says "Memory". I don't know if that's suppose to mean the same as souvenier, or if monkeys are suppose to represent memory (instead of elephants?) or if my boss has already picked up on the fact that I am one of the most forgetful people in the world and she's trying to subtly let me know. Regardless, it's a monkey keychain and I'm not about to complain. I might complain about the kitty beany-baby thingy from the Hard Rock Cafe in Singapore that she also brought back, but everyone got one of those, so that would just be rude. The dumb cow in my department must have thought they were so cool that half her Christmas list is getting one - she had 6 sitting on her desk today and considering that there were some duplicates, I can only assume that she's planning on giving them to "friends" as gifts. How thoughtful.
This evening I made a Christmas present for my bro's girlfriend (slightly more original than beany babies, not that I'm bragging, but...) that's about it. After 11 hours of sleep last night, you'd think I'd be wired for sound, but not so much. I've been in my pjs almost all night cause I didn't feel like sitting on the Hydie floor in my "work clothes", so I'm all set for bed. 'Night all!

Monday, December 16

Thank you to everyone who made this weekend bearable for me, including strangers at the Mini dealership, friends with flowers and hugs, and especially Phil. I know I've said it a hundred times since Saturday morning, but thank you. Thank you for understanding my tears and for cheering me with early Christmas presents and for driving me all over creation just so I wouldn't have to be home. And for a million other things you've done.
I'm really so lucky to be surrounded by such wonderful people. You should all know that I won't ever take that for granted. As A-Lo so eloquently put it, I have the best friends in the world.

Thursday, December 12

One more thing: play MASH and M does not stand for Moat. I mean, honestly. A moat? That doesn't even not make sense.

I promised an old friend with a disfunctional blog that I would share one of the wonders of the uberweb with my adoring fan base. Friends, feast your eyes on Ill Mitch. Note how he "very politely" neglects to show his nipples in any of the photos. I propose that he doesn't actually have nipples. You be the judge.
Tonight was the Oshkosh B'Gosh family holiday gathering. And by family, I mean, only those people who are employed by B'Gosh may attend. I won a plant, that, I just realized, I left in the car to die. Sorry, Jen. I should have just given it to you for your cat to eat and get sick on. The event was the epitome of work clique-iness. I was the only person I saw there that wasn't sitting with their department, or former department in the case of the new woman I work with who sat with Customer Service and her real friends from that floor. I was abducted by select members of the shrinking art department, and we spent most of the evening alternating between playing "make the pregnant girl puke" (although maybe only I noticed that part, as I was sitting next to her) and "let's see how much we can drink without turning in a drink ticket". Also there was nearly continuous ripping on others, always a good time. And the bonding over the love of Journey. Don't stop believing. Unless what you're believing is that the DJ is actually going to play "Baby Got Back", 'cause he's not. Someone got "a little tipsy", and lost a quarter or two when we got to Peabody's. And her purse. But I probably shouldn't bring that up. No one else from OKB showed, which was fine by me. Especially no one with a strange walk. Jen is hyper-sensitive to the way people walk, so you may want to keep that in mind if you're ever trying to make an impression. Not that people can help how they walk, but that might just make it better fodder for insults, I'm not sure. There was kid who's walk we made fun of from the minute he moved to town when I was little. Man, kids can be cruel. Now he has kids. I hope they don't have walks worthy of a John Cleese reference.
Anyway. I think I've blogged nearly everything I thought I should. Except that telling people "Now you're just being offensive" is much funnier than "Now you're being defensive". Oh, and having nearly no one at work tomorrow will be really interesting. At least nobody will be there to tell me not to leave to take Chia back to the vet. Again. Cross your fingers that the little guy will be eating by then. This is just getting ridiculous and terrible. Ugh.

Wednesday, December 11

News flash II: Chia didn't actually eat the pop tart. But nearly all of you know that already.
I took a vacation day today because, damn it, I can. I was all set to spend wads of cash with the birthday gal. Instead she headed up nort and I took Chia back to the vet. Yesterday young Dr. Schatz thought the problem was not his teeth. This morning I decided he was probably wrong, and it seemed extra cruel to feed my baby an appetite stimulant if he couldn't actually eat, so back I was with the sick, sad animals at the vets' office. The nice (though, I have to say, odd) Dr. drugged up the poor kid, filed his tooth down, and sent us on our way. No charge. I can get behind that. So... I'm suppose to continue with the meds, and if Chia hasn't eaten by Friday, we're back in for blood work. It was very reassuring when the dr. said that he had drawn blood on chins "two or three times before, and it went ok". *gulp* And he's the small mammal specialist in the office. Large mammal owners don't know how lucky they have it. Vets with experience, food at any given chain store, people not mistaking their animals for other animals. "That's a rabbit, huh?" Sure, sure lady, it's a rabbit. Whatever. Chia does draw a crowd at the vets, though. He's very popular. Especially since half the staff have never seen a chinchilla. One lady evidently was a bit more informed and she even commented on his coloring. I decided I liked her immediately. Everyone else should put down their Field Guide to Retrievers and pick up something a little more broad, if you ask me.
I'm actually in a fairly good mood, though that endless paragraph would suggest otherwise. This evening I got to eat breakfast at Perkins and then went to the Hobo Lobo. Then I made a Christmas present. So industrious on my day off. I'm very impressed with myself. And now it's getting late. Tomorrow I actually do have to go to work. And I'll probably go in Friday as well (since I don't work on the third floor!!) and since the new girl would be the only person there for our entire team, and that seems a little harsh. I wouldn't want to lose my rep as the nice one.

Monday, December 9

News flash: Chia will eat Pop tarts. I can't decide if that should make me more or less worried.

I just wanted to post a reminder to all that tomorrow our little girl becomes a woman. A cock-wasted woman. And so therefore all should attend the P for what looks to be an amazing time. Girls, wear a pretty bra. (And let's all learn from experience here: try it before you buy it.) Shaft: kilt. You know you want to. And I think you said you would. You wouldn't want people to say you're a liar.
I'm feeling like poo today. Possibly cheesecake for dinner was not the good idea it seemed at the time. But what sane person can turn down cheesecake? No one.
Also, I'm very concerned about Chia. He doesn't seem to want to eat. Anything. Not even apples or fingernails. So I get to call the vet this afternoon. That leaves Ting as the sole healthy member of the household. A little scary when you think about his mental state.
Now I'm going to go see if I can figure out the real deal with the nearly post-game fight last night. It was a beauty. Anyone who skipped out of the game early (or just plain didn't watch it) missed out. Even UPB enjoyed the last 4 minutes.

Sunday, December 8

Sunday Sunday Sunday!
Seeing as how I slept much of yesterday away, the weekend has gone way too fast. Yesterday we saw the new Bond movie. It was silly, of course. And having sex on a pile of diamonds? Ow. And Madonna was stinky. Other than those issues and a few bad breaks in the film, it was a good time.
Then we had dinner with the family at the Ponderosa, which was better than it has been, but still not, you know, great. We ditched pretty fast and I met up with the Joneses at the P, where the Fat Slapper tried to kill my sister with alcohol poisoning. I think he thinks he's doing people a favor when he hands you a glass of paint thinner. Not so. Stupid Fat Slapper.
And today I'll finish my Christmas tree - honestly! and then watch the big game minus one lucky bastard who'll be freezing his - let's say bum - off. Yet I'm jealous. The love for the Pack can make you do crazy things. I just pray I don't see anyone I know sporting a cheese bra. Or bro. Or manssiere.

Saturday, December 7

Go Army! Beat Navy!

Once again, thanks to V-O, we have the technology. What would I ever do without the skills of my friends? I hope I never need to find out.
So now I am able to share with y'all some funny sent to me by my friend Shan who should definitely have a blog of her own so I know what the heck she's doing with her life. Here goes:
Jesus Shaves

"He nice, the Jesus. He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead

By David Sedaris

"And what does one do on the fourteenth of July? Does one celebrate Bastille Day?"
It was my second month of French class, and the teacher was leading us in an exercise designed to
promote the use of one, our latest personal pronoun.
"Might one sing on Bastille Day?" she asked. "Might one dance in the street? Somebody give me an answer."

Printed in our textbooks was a list of major holidays alongside a scattered arrangement of photos depicting French people in the act of celebration. The object was to match the holiday with the corresponding picture. It was simple enough but seemed an exercise better suited to the use of the word they. I didn't know about the rest of the class, but when Bastille Day eventually rolled around, I planned to stay home and clean my oven.
Today's discussion was dominated by an Italian nanny, two chatty Poles, and a pouty, plump Moroccan woman who had grown up speaking French and had enrolled in the class to improve her spelling. She'd covered these lessons back in the third grade and took every opportunity to demonstrate her superiority. A question would be asked and she'd give the answer, behaving as though this were a game show and, if quick enough, she might go home with a tropical vacation or a side-by-side refrigerator-freezer. By the end of her
first day, she'd raised her hand so many times, her shoulder had given out. Now she just leaned back in her seat and shouted the answers, her bronzed arms folded across her chest like some great grammar genie.

We finished discussing Bastille Day, and the teacher moved on to Easter, which was represented in our textbook by a black-and-white photograph of a chocolate bell lying upon a bed of palm fronds.

"And what does one do on Easter? Would anyone like to tell us?"

The Italian nanny was attempting to answer the question when the Moroccan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, but what's an Easter?"

Despite her having grown up in a Muslim country, it seemed she might have heard it mentioned once or twice, but no. "I mean it," she said. "I have no idea what you people are talking about."

The teacher then called upon the rest of us to explain.

The Poles led the charge to the best of their ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus and . . . oh, shit."

She faltered, and her fellow countryman came to her aid.

"He call his self Jesus, and then he be die one day on two . . . morsels of . . . lumber."

The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.

"He die one day, and then he go above of my head to live with your father."

"He weared the long hair, and after he died, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the

"He nice, the Jesus."

"He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today."

Part of the problem had to do with grammar. Simple nouns such as cross and resurrection were beyond our grasp, let alone such complicated reflexive phrases as "To give of yourself your only begotten son." Faced with the challenge of explaining the cornerstone of Christianity, we did what any self-respecting group of people might do. We talked about food instead.

"Easter is a party for to eat of the lamb," the Italian nanny explained. "One, too, may eat of the chocolate."

"And who brings the chocolate?" the teacher asked.

I knew the word, and so I raised my hand, saying, "The Rabbit of Easter. He bring of the chocolate."

My classmates reacted as though I'd attributed the delivery to the Antichrist. They were mortified.

"A rabbit?" The teacher, assuming I'd used the wrong word, positioned her index fingers on top of her head, wiggling them as though they were ears. "You mean one of these? A rabbit rabbit?"

"Well, sure," I said. "He come in the night when one sleep on a bed. With a hand he have the basket and foods."

The teacher sadly shook her head, as if this explained everything that was wrong with my country. "No, no," she said. "Here in France the chocolate is brought by the big bell that flies in from Rome."

I called for a time-out. "But how do the bell know where you live?"

"Well," she said, "how does a rabbit?"

It was a decent point, but at least a rabbit has eyes. That's a start. Rabbits move from place to place, while most bells can only go back and forth--and they can't even do that on their own power. On top of that, the Easter Bunny has character; he's someone you'd
like to meet and shake hands with. A bell has all the personality of a cast-iron skillet. It's like saying that come Christmas, a magic dustpan flies in from the North Pole, led by eight flying cinder blocks. Who wants to stay up all night so they can see a bell? And
why fly one in from Rome when they've got more bells than they know what to do with right here in Paris? That's the most implausible aspect of the whole story, as there's no way the bells of France would allow a foreign worker to fly in and take their jobs. That Roman bell would be lucky to get work cleaning up after a French bell's dog -and even then he'd need papers. It just didn't add up.

Nothing we said was of any help to the Moroccan student. A dead man with long hair supposedly living with her father, a leg of lamb served with palm fronds and chocolate. Confused and disgusted, she shrugged her massive shoulders and turned her attention back to
the comic book she kept hidden beneath her binder. I wondered then if, without the language barrier, my classmates and I could have done a better job making sense of Christianity, an idea that sounds pretty far-fetched to begin with.

In communicating any religious belief, the operative word is faith, a concept illustrated by our very presence in that classroom. Why bother struggling with the grammar lessons of a six-year-old if each of us didn't believe that, against all reason, we might eventually improve? If I could hope to one day carry on a fluent conversation, it was a relatively short leap to believing that a rabbit might visit my home in the middle of the night, leaving behind a handful of chocolate kisses and a carton of menthol cigarettes. So why stop there? If I could believe in myself, why not give other improbabilities the benefit of the doubt? I accepted the idea that an omniscient God had
cast me in his own image and that he watched over me and guided me from one place to the next. The virgin birth, the resurrection, and the countless miracles -my heart expanded to encompass all the wonders and possibilities of the universe.

A bell, though, that's fucked up.

Thursday, December 5

Slack slack slack... remember when I worked with a guy whose last name was Slack? That just came to me. Anyway. Today I took most of the afternoon off, got some tasty cure-all soup for my sick hunny, and started to slowly put the lights on my tree. So far I have on the blue ones, and I'm torn about which others to add. And I'm a little confused because I thought I had more blue ones than I do. And I don't exactly remember buying the white ones, but I have a bunch. Maybe all the blue fell off of some of the lights from last year, and now they're white. Or, I'm just forgetful.
I love Christmas. I wish I could leave up the tree all year round without the neighbors thinking we're extra strange. And without losing the space in my already mostly cramped living room. 'But then it wouldn't be as special...' I disagree. Why should pleasant lighting be reserved for the time of year when it's dark the longest... oh wait.
On a different note, I don't think I like the new girl (ok - woman) in our department. I can't quite pin down why just yet, but I'm pretty certain she's going to bother me. I'm willing to give it a little more time, but I'm just letting you know my hunch: she's bad.
I also overheard today at work that the after Christmas party Christmas party is going to be at Peabody's. I'm guessing no one has told W. I'm intrigued to see just who will be attending this soiree, and since OP is twisting my arm into going for lead and brick hors d'oeuvres, I'll get to see the whole thing from start to finish. It's next Thursday, Rev. You may want to stear clear if it's an option. Or not. Maybe you'll get to see Clown Bonnie's bra. (Trust me when I say, "EW".)
Oh yeah, neps isn't a word according to In case you were on the edges of your seats. I still don't know what it means. Oh well.
I should be getting back to my tree. *yay*
Go Army! Beat Navy!

Tuesday, December 3

Look at me, getting so much done tonight. The kids' cages are clean. The Christmas tree is up. Not decorated, but up. I took the garbage out (in the cold, mind you) and now I'm blogging. So impressive. Unfortunately, that's about all I've got to report.
My coworkers missed their flight out of Chicago this afternoon because of delays flying out of Appleton. That airport is no good. Sure, they've spruced it all up for the many, many business travelers that frequent the fox cities, but they still can't seem to get planes in or out in a timely manner. I suppose O'Hare is to blame, as well. At any rate, they had to stay overnight in Chicago and they're leaving tomorrow. Which screws up their schedule completely, and which I'm suppose to help take care of from this end. Um... sure. Ok. Let me just... er... that I guess I'll worry about that tomorrow. And now it is time for good little girls and me to go to bed. ZZzzz.

Monday, December 2

Things you didn't want to understand: the last search that I got hit from: Pete Woodman Meatloaf
I have no idea.

Oof. What a weekend! Monday back at work was nearly relaxing in comparison.
Thursday: food with immediate family at Mozybot's with her multi-talented kids and hubby. Note: my cousin Sam makes techno. Who knew? He should e-mail me the address of his site so I can post it for all my cool friends to see (hint hint).
Friday: new hair
Saturday: back to Mad-town burbs to see more extended family than I have missed since my wedding (and longer). I met some cousins for the first time who are both amazingly cute and halariously sarcastic. You gotta love that in a 6 year old. I got to see my other aunt Mary (cause one just isn't enough!) and numerous uncles esq. Also got another dose of my bro and Becca (who we love~am I right Mozy?) then driving driving to get back in time to pick up boots a la Cher, pound one down, and get to bed.
Sunday: ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL? Hell yes, I am. Or, was. I got to go to my first Packer game at the literally frozen tundra. I was squeaking with delight from the moment the stadium came into view. I felt no pain, no cold, no insistent pressure on my bladder. And my sweet sissy even backed me up on that. So :P And - needless to say - we won. And I mean WE. As in, I'm sure I had something to do with it. Because, damn it, we're the best fans in all of sports. Or something.
And then the next Thanksgiving meal... so tasty. So filling. So... sleepy. And in celebration for such a meal I can only say:
Go Army! Beat Navy! (I told you I wouldn't forget!) :)
And we're to today. Which was just fine at work. A new girl started in knits who will be taking care of boys' stuff the way I do girls', so that will be nice. Plus, she's picking up adultwear eventually, and that will be a huge load off my shoulders. So - yay me! Plus, to add to the happy mood, my bothersome coworker is now gone for two weeks in Asia. Ahhh.... Also - my boss won't be around to sign my time card next week and she suggested that I just lie and say I worked 100 hours of over time. Have I mentioned how much I love her?
I just feel bad for her 'cuz she's kinda broken up about having to leave her baby for the next two weeks while she's traveling. He's very cute. I would be sad, too.
So that's work. And that's that. But before I go, a friendly reminder that you can't talk to a psycho like a normal human being.