This is my daughter for whom I would gladly return to prison

Quote from First Crush

My first crush and his lovely wife had a baby yesterday. In honor of that, I sent him a quote that I'd seen on Facebook:

Guns dont kill people Daddies with pretty Daughters Do

He sent me this in return. But not before he sent me the news that little Penelope had joined the world:

Mum and bub are beautiful and healthy. Dad is healthy

It's fun having long lost folks back in your life. Between Facebook and Google, I've found just about everyone I ever wondered about. There's a few folks I've still not "found". Chris Thornton for instance (in case he ever ego-surfs). Heather Harris for another, though I think I can find out about her through my sister-in-law. Six degrees and all. Oh! And Dan Watola who first dubbed me Debineezer.

Anyway, I have lots of things collected up from all these weeks of silence. I'll get 'em in here soon.

It's amazing how much fun you have with a gift card and a brick

Luann, 12/13/09

I got nothin' on this one. I blame the new Rottenfield Manor. I'm tired, tired, tired. But this is funny.

Contemplating which of the 7 deadly sins to take on next

What I Did for Love by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

I admit it...I like books with no redeeming mental value. I don't always read complete crap, but it's a good break. Personally? I'm thinking of taking up sloth for a while.

I want more suck for my buck!

Debi to Mike while deciding upon a range hood in Home Depot

I love to cook. Sometimes, I cook at high heat. I'm not saying I burn it, I'm saying that sometimes, a nice steak requires a little bit of singeing under the broiler, and I'm just the kinda girl to do it. Cooking a pizza at 450? Well, unless your oven is immaculate, you're likely to generate a bit of microscopic particulate matter.

Our current "exhaust fan" couldn't suck the whipped cream off a mocha. No seriously. I had NO idea that wall mounted exhaust fans existed...yep, flush to the wall. I think maybe it was supposed to be a bathroom fan or something. But it takes out next to nothing. It often fills the neighborhood with a pleasant aroma and I do tend to cook for an army...but I don't think that's part of its cunning plan.

Smoke alarms are designed to detect this microscopic particulate matter and scream at the top of their little electronic lungs that it's time to panic because...um...FIRE!!!!!!!!! The smoke detector closest to our kitchen is in the stairwell adjacent. It doesn't do it too often because we tend to keep the door to the basement closed. It's cold down there. If the smoke alarm goes off, we always say "Dinner's ready" and 9 times out of 10, it is.

No longer. For my new kitchen, I have obtained he who shall be called "Sir Sucks-a-lot". No, Gabe, he is not a Senator from Nebraska (that's actually "Sir Blows-Hard"), though it is easy to see your confusion written across your ex-patriot face. Sir Sucks-a-lot moves 440 cubic feet of air each and every minute he's powered. Compare this to the 300-350 CFM (Cubic Feet per Minute) that is considered to be on the high end of the spectrum.

Sir Sucks-a-Lot is unlikely to allow conversation in his all-powerful presence. Like his mistress, he demands all attention be paid to him. But it is a small price to pay for suck divine suckitude.

Best of all? I saved $100 because apparently, they're phasing out this model. I suspect there just isn't a market for power over beauty. There were pretty range hoods, but they lacked the power of my beautiful boy.

Mock me if you will. I bought $5 light fixtures for my bedroom and an $8 for the stairwell. Why? Because I have my priorities screwed on straight. And if you're good, I'll cook for you to prove it.

What is that? A Par 3?

Mike's response to Tiger Wood's "Accident"

As you may know, Tiger Woods backed out of his home in a gated community this weekend, ran into his neighbor's tree, bounced off the rim and knocked himself unconscious. Um?

First, the man has way too much money to be backing out of anything. Circular driveway anyone?

Second, how does one hit a neighbor's tree hard enough to ring your proverbial bell while sustaining only minimal damage? Was he driving a friggin' hummer? Don't answer that.

So, Mike's theory was that it went mailbox, tree, street for his three hits. Hey, that's pretty good for a man who wouldn't know par if he met it on the street.

Frankly, I'm glad he's dead

Northwest Washington has experienced the execution of 5 police officers in the last couple of months. This morning, the "suspect" was shot dead.

I've been involved in several conversations surrounding these events. From what my SPD officer acquaintance hoped would happen to the killer to the nature of evil and if it exists.

Judaism does not believe in the standard interpretation of "An eye for an eye." Our tradition teaches that this passage means that reparations must be paid, not that you literally take out another.

When we recite the plagues during the Passover Seder we remove 10 drops of wine from our cups to diminish our joy because of the suffering of the Egyptians.

What I'm saying is that by tradition, we're not a blood-thirsty lot. And yet, I find myself incredibly glad the SOB is dead. I'm more glad that he was going to shoot at yet another police officer and died with one of the guns he stole from a dead officer. Without those? There could have been lingering questions over whether or not the got the right guy.

I had the opportunity this morning to tell two Seattle Police Officers thank you. Thank you for facing death every day. Thank you for doing a job I can't fathom. Thank you for protecting us. I'm glad he's dead. I'm glad he suffered with a belly wound for 2 days. I hope this doesn't speak too much of the blackness of my soul.

What does it mean when the spambots get you?

I've been getting spam. Only on old posts. But it's annoying. Does this mean I'm popular? Or I've just been around long enough to notice?

We DID close on the house on November 20. Between that and the WORST computer month on record, I've been doing a GREAT job of keeping up here, even though I've got funny stuff to say.

Unfortunately, I'm in the post-Thanksgiving dinner haze. So, seriously? Tomorrow. Or DEFINITELY by Monday!

We're wearing garbage bags and paying a lot for the privilege

Debi to Mike before the start of Blue Man Group

This is actual the show that started the path to broke-ness that I chronicled last week. We were wandering up the strip from Mandalay Bay...yep we walked all the way back to the Venetian from there. And that is a BLOODY. LONG. WAY. Navigating around people. Dodging in to places reported to have penny pressing machines. Dodging the lines of men (and a few women) handing out cards, broadsheets and magazines about where to find nude women who will do anything you want. JEEPERS.

Anyway, as we came upon the half price ticket place, I asked Mike if he wanted to see anything. He said he wouldn't mind seeing Blue Man Group, which actually surprised me. But we got ticket vouchers which we had to exchange for actual tickets at the box office.

I didn't want to pay for the more expensive tickets, so we got tickets in the red zone. It turns out that the red zone has the four front rows and then all the ones behind the good seats. The four front rows are called "The Poncho Seats". The gentleman at the box office assured us it was more of a drizzle than a downpour. Miss BittyCrazy said something to the effect of "HA!" on my Facebook page when I mentioned this. So, we got them.

We arrived and donned our clear plastic bags with hoods. And sat. And waited. And sweated a bit. And laughed our way heartily through the show. And nary a drop assaulted us. Mike didn't know what to expect from the show, but he expected to have some form of liquid aimed at him. The lack of this disappointed him. Had I known, I'd have saved some of my water and spit it at him after. Oh well.

I love Homestreet Bank!

This is a true story. I am not a paid spokesperson for Homestreet Bank (though I'm happy to be if you guys call).

I went into the Wedgwood branch of Homestreet today to get out some cash. I ran into Gina who I mentioned my last post. I asked if she'd gotten my amusing (to me) voice mail about vanquishing the ATM machine. She said yes and asked what I'd written in my blog. Huh? It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about. Then she paraphrased the line I wrote about her jumping right in.

Turns out that their marketing department must have a web crawler that alerts them to "media" hits, and I guess my post must have hit their radar. Apparently, they contacted Gina to find out if there was a problem that needed to be fixed. It went to the head honcho of marketing, did the hokey pokey and ended up with the president of the bank. SERIOUSLY? What's funny is that only two lines of the entry was quoted and it was something like "Gina said". Not very informative. So she was pretty well in the dark.

Apparently, my humorous writing style of my last post didn't entirely convey that not ONLY did Gina make sure my problem was fixed, she and every person at Homestreet Bank ROCKS! I don't go in that often, but they all know me when I do. I don't have to call a corporate number to get help. I call the branch and they either help me right out or they make the calls and get back to me. I've been pointed to a corporate number once and that was for help on the website that the branch simply couldn't help with.

When I had to go back and get copies of our cleared rent checks for a YEAR? One of the employees probably spent an hour going through screen after screen after screen of check images to find the 6 I needed (I had the latest ones). Then called me back late on a Friday afternoon to say they were done and she'd look out for Mike to come and get them.

I've never had an interaction with them that was less than happy making. So honestly? I can't imagine EVER banking anywhere else, and wish we'd switched more than three years ago. I'll be emailing "whomever" to make sure they know this. Although I'm sure it will show up on their webcrawler by Monday morning.

Broke in Vegas? How cliché!

I mentioned that we went to Vegas. On Sunday, our debit cards started arguing with us. It all started when we were at the half-price ticket place to get tickets for Blue Man Group, which I will write about later. After a weekend of reckless spending, my debit card was declined. Twice. So, I went off to call the bank to leave Mike to try his. Turns out I can't get through to my bank on Sundays. I could have if I'd had a lost or stolen card, but a declined card? Sucks to be me.

All hope was not lost. We had plenty of cash on us to get us through the next day when I could talk to the bank and say "um???". And we have another bank account we could get some out of, but like I said, we had plenty.

We tried it again after lunch, and no problem. No problem for the rest of the day. Then at dinner, the card went through as a gift card and left us with an $18 balance. VERY bizarre.

Well, in Vegas, "plenty" is a relative term. On our way to breakfast, I tried the atm. No joy. I called the toll-free number on the back of my card and was put on perma-hold. I called MY branch of Homestreet Bank and Gina jumped RIGHT in. So, even though I can't talk to anyone on the weekend, the branch makes up for it. She said that we have a $2500/day limit and sometimes Friday, Saturday and Sunday hit all at once and bam! No, we did NOT spend $2500 in Vegas...we did pay for the trip and the hold at the hotel and a couple of things for the house. So, bam!

She said it should clear by 10 a.m., so to try the ATM again after that. We went and had breakfast. (The mini-buffet at the Venetian is AWESOME by the way. There aren't a lot of things, but the things that are there are phenomenal.) We made our way back to the ATM. No joy. Although this time it didn't tell me I had exceeded my daily limit, it just said no.

So, we went to the room and packed up...then we headed down to the packaging center to send a few things home. The card was declined AGAIN. Well, there went the rest of our cash, eh? So, I tried my other debit card for the other bank. The ATM gave me the same message about having exceeded my daily limit, which was amusing given that we hadn't used it in 3 weeks. At this point, I decided that the Venetian ATMs were just friggin' grumpy.

At this point, we'd checked out and I was desperate for my morning fix of Starbucks black iced tea, no water, no sweetener. I have a Starbucks card which is refilled automatically just so I always have the means to feed my addiction. So we're off to Treasure Island across the street. The Venetian/Palazzo complex has no Starbucks. The ONLY thing that gives them less than 5 stars in my book.

But I forgot. Not only does that Starbucks charge $5 for 20 ounces of iced tea (I kid you not), they don't honor Starbucks cards. Luckily, we'd stocked up on quarters for our penny press activities, so we were able to scrape enough together for my fix. I'd also gotten a call back from Gina and she said had called the corporate office and it was just running slow today. She asked me to try it again. So we find an ATM at Treasure Island. SUCCESS!

So, we were sans cash for a few minutes and our ride to the airport was already paid for. Annoying at worst, but so cliché.

Thank you, Veterans

I don't wax sentimental around here too often, but this is important to me and I want to share.

I'm an Air Force brat several times over. My grandfather was a retired Major. My Uncle was a Green Beret in Vietnam and served in the reserves for MANY years after he left active duty. My mother, father, step-mother and two step-fathers were military. My husband served and more friends from high school than I could possibly count (though I'll try later).

I am especially grateful to women veterans. My mother and step-mother joined the Air Force in the early 70s. A lot of folks didn't think they had any business being there and it would have been easy not to be. And they stayed. I chose not to join the armed forces. I am grateful that I had both that luxury and that I had women before me that paved the way for those in my generation and after. When we buried my step-mother, it was in a national cemetery with military honors. It made me proud to be her step-daughter.

Those of you unconnected with the service may not realize, but being military family is its own form of service. I had it easier because it wasn't wartime, but my mom was stationed in Korea for a year and my dad spent 2 years in Turkey when I was young. My parents lived through the threat of Vietnam. My friends were in the first Gulf War. I never got calls saying my son had been seriously injured on a mission in Veitnam. I never had the men visit from the DOD to tell me that my husband was dead. I never had someone return to me different than when they left, or never return at all. I don't have to live with that fear. Many do, and they deserve as much thanks as any veteran.

I may be a bleeding heart liberal. I may think that we're in ill-advised conflicts of our own making. I may think a lot of things. But I am grateful beyond words that I was fortunate enough to grow up surrounded by men and women ready to lay down their lives for their country and those who live in it. I'm grateful that I've had the luxury, and yes, it IS a luxury, not to serve. No one I grew up with was ignorant of the military and military life. So many people I surround myself now don't have any connection, and I think that's a very bad thing.

So, thanks Mom, Dad, Kathie, Uncle Frank, Mike, Ty, TJ, Jon, Ken, Jim, KC, Donald, Adam, Cindy and the two idiots my mom married (who weren't worthy of marriage, but they deserve some degree of gratitude for serving). Thanks to those who love them, support them, and pray daily for their safe return. Thanks to anyone I forgot to name. And thanks to the millions I don't know.

What happens in Vegas comes to debineezer.net

We took advantage of obscenely low priced packages to Vegas this weekend. We could not have had a better time, and frankly, I would rank it as the second coolest trip I've ever taken. It doesn't beat 20 days in London on a student loan...not even a close second, but definitely second. Mike could not stop laughing at his dorky wife who floated on air for an hour after getting pictures with the Coca-Cola polar bear, jumped for joy after winning $11 at video roulette, and generally had the best possible time.

Anyway, tomorrow is my tribute to veterans, but Thursday, I will be here to regale you with FABULOUS stories of our trip. Stay tuned.

You say you're not a bed rubber, either??

Blame it all on Miss BittyCrazy. She needs to back away from the Birkenstocks. I had NO idea you could use Google to alert you to the emergence of random phraseology on the web. Egad! But a commenter on my post regarding fluvial geomorphology indicates that it's EXACTLY how he came across my blog. After offering to allow said surfer to geomorph her fluvial, she suggested I do a series of really dumb job names. I couldn't find any at first, so she sent me a list. And sadly, I can identify pretty much all of them, including the one from the Neutral Buoyancy Lab. You'd think with all this arcane knowledge, I'd have gotten laid more in college.

However, I did run across a few I'll share of the next couple of days that made me sit up and say "Um?". Bed rubber. Yep, actual job. The job itself sounds like a pretty typical foundry job, so I'm not sure why they make it sound like a queen-sized prophylactic. More over, I don't know why the two references I found on the web call it a DOT job description. OOOhhhh...it means Dictionary of Occupational Titles. And according to this page, there are a disturbing number of jobs which use the word "rubber".

In other news, I've posted some pictures of the future Rottenfield Manor.

You are a fluvial geomorphologist, aren't you?

Discussion with Miss BittyCrazy sparked by this posting

As anyone who reads Miss BittyCrazy's blog knows, she was laid off from the Evil Empire in the not-too-distant past. As a project manager myself, I'm currently working for a PM Certificate so I can get a PM Certification. I don't think they're very meaningful, these certifications, but people who hire PMs do. Anyway, I wandered over to the Project Management Institute and clicked through to their job listings. None of the Washington listings are for PMs.

But I think PM is too narrow. I think all our hard work QUALIFIES us for fluvial geomorphology. And since she can't even TRANSLATE fluvial geomorphology, I think Miss BittyCrazy is certainly as qualified as 99.99% of the population.

Of course, this lead DIRECTLY to a conversation about her thought that it sounds like someone who would be boring at parties. And as a Marine Chemistry major, I pointed out that the interdisciplinary folks tend to be more interesting than the pure scientists. Based on nothing in particular. Except maybe the facts that (a) I was one and (b)I hung out with Georgia Tech engineers. So there you go, conjecture, innuendo, and completely unsupported supposition. Happy Monday Morning.

Get off your cross...they're gonna need it at the church come Easter!

I am skilled and educated in many, many things. There may be NOTHING I am more educated in than the concept of martyrdom. Specifically, as it plays out in interpersonal relationships.

In my family, we learn martyrdom before other less important things like walking and bladder control. I'm fairly sure the secret proudest moment in a Vans Evers' parental life is the moment the little devil first puts the back of its wrist to its forehead in a gesture that would make Scarlett O'Hara proud. I have only recently come to recognize some of the magnificent moments of martyrdom exhibited by my beloved grandparents throughout their lives. In other words? We're pretty damned impressive when you consider the family is neither Catholic nor Jewish (my current religious affiliation aside).

I have had martyrs try to impress me...or rather try to manipulate me. They have NO idea what they're up against, really. You'd think I'd have more appreciation and, perhaps, sympathy for these impresarios. But those of you who know me best realize that I mock and judge them harshly. By the same token, I'm unforgiving with my own martyrdom. Unfortunately, I'm so good at it that often even I can't detect it. Ok, so THOSE moments give me a little pride.

I wonder what our kids will learn of martyrdom. With my mother and I both in the house, the potential teaching moments will be endless. Hopefully, she and I can keep each other in check. Hell, with any luck, the kids will call us on it.

I can't listen to politicians no more, I get a seizure

Terry on True Blood

I can't say that this is a good show. They know how to keep you interested from one episode to the next. It's entertaining, and we've only got two seasons left of Season 1, but it's not one of those one we'll be standing in line for to get Season 2.

The sex is a bit excessive. I'm all for sex, and I'm not against depictions of sex on TV. But it seems to be one of the pointless selling points of this show. It's HBO, so the sex is pretty damned graphic, too.

But, you know I'm a sucker for one-liners. And I like to share them with you, my 4.2 readers.

This president believes in global warming, as well as evolution

Obama's Nobel Peace Prize Announcement (for Diplomatically Impaired) on YouTube

Those of you at "work" will have to watch this one from home (or through a Proxy), but it's totally worth it. A friend of mine on Facebook posted this link which has the announcement of Obama being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize with hilarious subtitles. I was planning to drag my weary ass off to bed without an entry tonight, but the above phrase aborted THAT plan.

Now I am one of those seemingly rare, educated, critically-thinking, bleeding-heart-liberal religious types. I swear, I eat non-kosher meat, and I don't claim to believe in G-d on a daily basis, but I believe in religion and am in awe of those more religious than myself. (There are actually a lot of us, but it doesn't seem like it here in the crunchy-granola Pacific Northwest). I also believe in global warming and evolution and the big bang and that the earth is more than 5770 years old (6000? It's OUR friggin' calendar, and the world is only 5770 years old damn it!) I don't exactly disrespect those who don't believe it...I just REALLY don't understand them. I have a great deal of trouble respecting them when they try to make policy that negatively affects the rest of the world based on those beliefs.

Among other useful translations:

Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's hope while selling so many t-shirts.

Those who are to lead the world do not have to be dicks about it to the majority of the world's population

The gentleman ends appropriately by saying:

You can now shit yourselves.

I actually think that one is mis-translated. I think it translates as "You MAY now shit yourselves", but no one would accuse me of being a diplomat.

A lot freaks there…and people from Arkansas

Arlene on True Blood

Later, when her son remarks on how white the vampire is she says "Honey, he's not white, we're white. He's dead."

Now I can appreciate this joke on many levels. I grew up in Lower Alabama (yes, it's true), so I can appreciate jokes about any Southern flavor. And I'm allowed to laugh at them, because I ACTUALLY know Southerners. Second, my dearly adored husband is from Arkansas. I've been there twice. I didn't leave ANYTHING there. Arkansas is a good place to be FROM.

I'm still not sure I like this show. I want to like it. It feels like it has potential. I just don't know if I can imagine what fulfilling the potential would look like.

It DOES come with one-liners, though. And we all know how Debi loves one-liners.

Turbriskefil

The Big Bang Theory

I've been mocked before for relying too heavily on Big Bang, but oh well. You've heard of turducken, right? There's a Wiki article on it, so if you haven't? Go. Now for the record, there are kosher turduckens, so we Jews don't have to deprive ourselves of real, honest-to-goodness, organic, free-range turducken.

But, Howard's mom is obviously special. She spawned Howard after all. No, she makes Turbriskefil. Turkey stuffed with brisket stuffed with gefilte fish. Nope, not as good as it sounds.

I like gefilte fish, actually. I can't imagine it being stuffed in anything but maybe some matzoh. Although some friends told me the first gefilte fish they'd ever eaten was deep fried in bacon grease...apparently, Robert's been trying to recreate that down-home goodness in kosher form ever since he converted. Yeah, no dice.

I got nothing witty to wrap this one with...

I wonder what the non-pathetic people are doing tonight?

Rajesh Koothrappali on The Big Bang Theory

I suspect they're not at home watching True Blood. I think maybe it's the show that's making me feel pathetic. We're supposed to love it. But it's pretty dumb so far.