Shelf Life?

I went to all the trouble to get Harrison a new bed, and where do I find him sleeping?


And of course he had to pull down every single item off his shelves to be able to get up there.


I'd like to think the expression on his face indicates some kind of remorse for his actions, but I know better.

You Got a Little Something... No, Not There... Not There.. Yep, That's It. You Got It.

Yesterday I had a night out with some of my friends. My "girlfriends" technically (in that they are female) but I have always hated that word. Or I've hated being forced to specify the gender of my friends every time I mention them. But anyway! We went out to dinner. And lucky me, we went to Tepanyaki! I think I've mentioned before how much I like it.

Our chef - or whatever you call him - was awesome. Very young and funny and good at chopping meat. Good looking too, though I've always been a sucker for anyone wielding an enormous knife. But then he started smiling at me a lot and said something about my mouth. That was just weird. And that's when I looked down and noticed I wasn't wearing my wedding ring! I gasped in dismay and horror. Oh No! Taking off my ring must have deactivated my film of oldness! No wonder he was giving me the eye! Men would be powerless beneath my gaze!

I immediately went into Maximum Male Repellent Mode, and started biting my fingernails, snorting audibly, making loud references to my husband, and belching theatrically in hopes of deterring him (and I never do that stuff under normal circumstances). And it worked like a charm! I could almost see the hearts in his eyes fade out and die. I would be getting no proposals of marriage that evening!

So I was congratulating my obviously irresistible self on dodging a bullet as I dashed into the ladies room on our way out. When I looked in the mirror it occurred to me that when he mentioned my mouth, what he was actually referring to was my chronic dribbling, which he probably thought was cool. (Some people must like it - the dribbling I mean - or there wouldn't be all those Rest Home Casanovas, and we know there are.)
Cuz see my shirt?


It did not look like that when I left the house. I am almost 89% positive. So, yeah. Look out, folks. Contrary to everything you believe, being a shockingly messy eater might actually be considered attractive to the opposite gender, so watch where you are drooling. And if you are in the market, you might want to think about serving corn-on-the-cob and watermelon at your next single adult activity, and just see if that doesn't get people in the mood!

The Corn Conundrum

I love Corn-on-the-Cob Season. I look forward to it all year. You want to know my favorite thing about corn on the cob? Butter. Yep. It's true. I'm sorry to say it, (Well, not that sorry. You all feel the same, I know you do.) but butter is actually the best part of most vegetables. However, there is no other vegetable that I get to eat with quite as much butter as corn. And for that, I adore it.


I always eat my corn the same way. Left to right, like a typewriter, holding the small side in my left hand. Then I butter a strip about 4 kernels high, salt it the proper amount, and eat it like a little chewing machine: nom, nom, nom, until -DING!- I get to the end. Then I butter the next strip and do it again. I was wondering why I only butter one strip at a time until I watched Richard. He butters the whole thing at once, and ends up with all this butter dripped all over his plate. Not me! With my method I don't waste a single drop of that precious yellow substance. And I feel good about that. (Course, one could always lick their plate afterward, but that is a personal choice, and too controversial a subject to be discussed here.)

I asked Richard if he has a specific way he always eats his corn and he said "Fast."

Here is the problem with corn though. Hand in hand with cobbed-corn goes BBQ's. We say we are celebrating all these summer holidays when we get together, but really we are just celebrating the corn. At least I am. But the problem is, corn-on-the-cob is not really a food that should be eaten in mixed company. For one thing, it really isn't a pretty sight. Take me for instance: Imagine a wild board eating a slice of watermelon, and you'll have a pretty good picture of what it looks like when I eat corn on the cob. (Which can be quite a shock to someone seeing it for the first time. I am as delicate and graceful as a flower in every other way.)

And then of course, at this group gathering, right in the middle of your corn fest, someone will walk up and ask you a question.

"Hey Elesa! What the heck is up with your toes? They are super weird looking! Tell me the story?" So I come up from my cob, like a predator interrupted in the middle of eating his prey, and attempt to chat like a normal person, fully conscious of the corn kernel carcasses dangling between each tooth, and the butter dripping down my chin. So I either have to try to talk while hiding behind my cob, or just act like it totally doesn't bother me, and like I could talk with corn in my teeth and butter on my face all day if I felt like it, and still be very awesome and ladylike.

I don't know which option is better. I don't know how to solve the quandary that is corn. I just know that I'm not sure I want to be ok with socializing while my face is covered with food. I grew out of that in like the 9th grade. But I also don't want to have to set down my corn mid-cob and have to wipe my face and floss my teeth just because someone wants to make small talk. I have no idea how long that conversation is going to last. What if my corn is cold by the time they wander off and I get to pick it up again?

But what can we do? Must we eat our corn in our closets? Or will we be forced to cut the corn off our cobs so that we can eat it the way them High Society Folks do, with a fork?!?

The Fat Alarm

Our smoke alarm is really more of a fat alarm than anything else. The only time it ever goes off is when we are frying food. There is never any smoke. Never any fire. No cause for concern at all. But that stupid white disc attached to my ceiling starts beeping the minute I throw something in a pan of oil. And if we are deep frying, it continues to go off about every 5 minutes. To which I take umbrage! What right does that little battery operate contraption have to pass judgment on the food I eat? If I wanted to eat a whole vat of fat (and come on, who doesn't?) I should be able to do so without my household safety devices giving me grief about it.

Though now that I think about it, I wonder if The Fat Alarm would sell? We could call it "Lard Alert", or "The Blubber Buzzer", or something super catchy like that. Would people pay money for a doohickey that reminds them that they are making poor food choices? What if, instead of beeping, it said things like"Are you sure you want to eat that?" or "Step away from the Frying Pan!"? My smoke alarms are all linked so that if one goes off for a certain amount of time, the others throughout the house go off too. The would be a good feature in the Fat Alarm too. So that if you try to sneak in some deep fried twinkies late at night, your spouse, who is watching "Conan" in bed, will be sure to know about it.

Adventures in Decorating: A Few Lessons Learned While Painting A Bed

Well, my two year old figured out how to climb out of his crib. I actually thought this day might not ever come. He is very little. The crib walls still come up to his armpits. I thought we were safe. But one night we put him to bed, grabbed the baby monitor and went to work in the yard. And when we came back in the house an hour later he was wandering around the living room! He had not only figured out how to escape, but he had also done it without making any noise at all.

So, obviously, it was time. I wanted to go out and get him a bed, but Richard said he wants to build one. That is fine. It will no doubt be very awesome. Whenever he actually gets around to it. Someday.

We put his little mattress on the floor, but I thought the whole GOING TO BED thing might be more effective if it looked more like a bed, so I convinced Richard to let me get a little something, just until he has time to do his building. So I found a cheap little metal thing on KSL and made it mine!! Then I bought a can of spray paint at the local 5 and dime, and got to work. And I learned things about painting a bed that I didn't know before. And I want you to know them too. So HERE:


  1. Obtain a bed. You might think that this step goes without saying, but let's stay on the safe side, and say it anyway. Just in case. And don't spray paint the mattress. We're talking about the bed frame here. Again, this should be a given, but I find it is safest to cover all our bases.
  2. Sand away any rough patches and imperfections on the bed frame. Lightly sand any existing paint so that new paint will stick to it. This only took me about 30 minutes to do. It would have been even faster, but I sanded for about 15 minutes using the wrong side of the sand paper, so I had to do it over again.
  3. Use the right side of the sand paper.

  1. As much as possible, work out on your front porch or in the front yard so that your neighbors and passersby will think you are a hard worker. Dramatically wipe your brow from time to time so that they will take pity on you and offer you a cold glass of lemonade.
  2. Protect those surfaces you DON'T want painted. I laid a sheet of plywood down so that I wouldn't get paint all over the ground. Our "Lawn" is pretty (see fig. 1), and must be protected at all cost.
  3. Just Go For It: This was really my first time spray painting. (Not counting back in the day, when I used to spray paint things under the overpass, like "Modest is the Hottest" and "Have you see my Cat?" and things like that.) But I figured I really couldn't mess it up. What could be easier? All I had to do was press a button and wave my hand around. And I've been doing that with the TV remote for years!
  4. Do 2 or more LIGHT coats: About 3 minutes into it I realized that I COULD mess it up and I probably already had. That stuff coats fast and it will start dripping down the sides before you know it. That is when you thank your lucky stars that you only paid $15.00 for this silly bed and it really doesn't matter that much!!!
  5. Overestimate. I figured it would take me about a half a can of spray paint to do the bed, and planned to have enough left over to paint a little set of table and chairs as well. I was wrong of course. It took me a little less than 4 cans of spray paint. And because I kept figuring that SURELY this can would do it, I had to go back to the store 3 times. Argh!

But now it is done! The little boy is thrilled which is worth every minute spent. And if we stay a nice comfortable distance away it really looks pretty good. And with the white sheet and pillow on it it reminds me of a bed in a mental institution. Which is rather fitting.

Welcome home, Bed.