Best of Truthiness

I feel the exact same way about "I don't disagree." Oh, you don't disagree? Then just say you agree. It's not that hard.

Best of Things Left in Pockets and Discovered Too Late in the Dryer

1) Change. This one is fun, though, when I do the laundry, because I take it ALL and put it in my change bank.
2) Bad quality paper towels. These tear apart in the washer like Kleenex, and little bits stick to every piece of clothing.
3) Kleenex.
4) Good quality paper towels (VIVA). These amaze me, and they act like cloth by not falling apart.
5) Cut up pieces of straw (Grant chews on them).
6) Whit's passport.
7) Gum.

Best of DONE. FINISHED. FINITO.

I don't think that last one is really Italian, and, if by chance it is, I'm sure I didn't use it correctly. But. You are missing the point! My bedroom is a bedroom again, with four walls, no holes, and no unplanned sprinkler system. Maybe you remember me mentioning Operation Get Rid of the Hole in My Bedroom? Well, last night, I finally finished.

If you want to read more about the details, start here in my photostream on Flickr.

After my mom came to visit, and they fixed the leak (if you can call a pipe cut clean in half a leak), we just lived with a hole in our wall. Then I decided to just fix it. After looking up "how to dry wall" on Google, I came up with a plan. Grant doubted my plan, but it was my plan, I knew it could work. When dad came to help with the tree limbs, he helped with the hole dilemma, too, and improved on my original plan. The problem with drywall is that you have to have something on which to attach the sheet rock. (How many sentences on the internet do you think have both "drywall" and "on which" in them? Not only can I mud and tape, I can do it grammatically.)

Our hole was too big for just a mesh covering, so we made the hole bigger. Dad then cut a piece of new sheet rock to fit, and he left me to tape, mud and sand it. I did, and I'm proud to say that you can barely tell where the hole was. I'm available for hire.


Then, to make something happy come from this, I painted that wall green.


See? Where's the hole?

And this is how it looks now.


Operation Get Rid of the Hole in My Bedroom? MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Best of Simple Motivation

Today is Primary Day in Oklahoma (Q: Do only political nerds say "Happy Primary Day!" to fellow politicos in text messages? A: Yes.), and I am proudly displaying my participation.


I live for these stickers on Election Day, because I like the written sticky proof that I am involved in our democracy. Just another incentive to vote, because I have PROOF that I did so.

I thought about the stickers this morning, and I think more entities should use them. Maybe it's another form of the gold star system from Kindergarten, but I would like to see these stickers available to me.

From the gym: "I worked out!"
From my house: "I made my bed today!"
From my bank: "My account is not overdrawn!"
From my credit cards: "I paid my bill on time!"
From my job: "I'm a hard worker!"

I would be so much more responsible if there were stickers involved.

Best of Finally Dealing with the Ice Storm

How did you spend your Sunday? Relaxing in the air conditioning with an icy drink?

THAT'S NOT HOW I SPENT MINE.

Sunday morning, I joined my Dad in sporting a hardhat, and we worked in my front yard in the scorching Oklahoma sun. I have the nicest Dad ever, since he decided to spend one of his weekend days helping me. Ever since the ice storm, we have had dead limbs in the big tree in the front, just hanging there ready to live up to their "widow-maker" names. They've been there for a long time, and every time it storms, a smaller one falls. I began to realize I was pressing my luck, and my Dad came to the rescue.


Grant had to miss out on the action because he had to work, so Dad climbed the tree while I was on the ground crew. Dad threw a little sandbag attached to twine over the highest limb he could reach, used the twine to pull a rope over that limb, put on his harness (also known as his "butt belt"), and climbed up the tree.

Before he began the ascent, he taught me two knots so I could be helpful on the ground. One, a bowline, and I don't even remember the name of the second knot, much less how to tie it. I'm a great assistant. Anyway, in my defense, it is really fucking hard for a girl who doesn't know her left from right to remember how to tie a knot. I do remember that the bowline involves going out a hole, around a tree, and back in a hole.


While Dad was in the tree (scaring the shit out of our squirrel, Sammy), he pulled dead branches down, I gave him the all-clear, he dropped them, and I, being the Brush Crew Team Captain (and only member), made them into a pile in our front yard. I also gave car warnings, so I think that made up for the lack of knot-tying knowledge. I had to send up his chain saw on the rope, and my made-up knot worked great. I'm going to call that knot The Court, and you have my permission to use that label on any knot you make up to sound like a knot professional.

Only one limb came close to getting me, and that's because it bounced.

Then Dad's chainsaw stopped working, but that's okay because "we" already got all the dead limbs out of the tree. It was also okay because he had plans to make the bigger limbs into firewood (and I would assist), so those plans fell through, and we got to go inside. To air conditioning, with a lunch of shrimp salad sandwiches and fresh tomatoes. And lots and lots of iced water and tea.

Then we began our second project - Operation Get Rid of the Hole in My Bedroom - but I'm saving that for later, because I want to be able to post a picture of the final result (the happy ending, if you will) and we're not at that place yet. Almost, though. Almost.

Best of Signs

There's going to be a new restaurant on Brookside! In the exact spot where a new restaurant on Brookside failed! For the new new restaurant's sake, I hope the cooking is better than the spelling.

Best of Doing It Anyway

I. HATE. SPEAKING IN FRONT OF GROUPS. I do not enjoy giving a speech to a crowd. I think I do whatever the opposite of enjoying it is - my stomach gets tied up in knots, I get nervous as all hell, and sometimes I have to shotgun a beer or drink a screwdriver (nicely packaged in an innocent orange juice bottle) right before I get on stage. I know it's not a big deal for some people, but I hate it. See my first sentence. I think it ties back to my perfectionism, and being afraid I'm going to both make a mistake and that people will judge me for it.

HOWEVER, I do it anyway. Someone asks me to speak, and I agree to it, and then I dread it until the day comes. Then the dread turns into terror, and maybe I have a drink to calm those nerves, and I get through it. Sometimes with a shaky voice, and once memorably when I fell flat on my face on the stage, but I do it.

Today was one of those days. I had to speak to a group of young Latin American leaders about what I do in politics, and I was hoping something would happen (maybe a fender bender?) so I would have to cancel. I worried, fretted, and griped about it all morning, trying to stay in bed. Grant made me get up.

I got dressed, bitching the whole time, threw myself out of my house, and got in my car. I read over the materials about the group again, and realized they were being sponsored by the Secretary of State. That made it cooler and also freaked me the fuck out all the more. When I got to the venue, I was the only car in the parking lot. I tried the door: locked. I thought, "THANK GOD. I can get in my car, drive away, and tell the host organization that I TRIED to make it, but no one was there." I almost drove away.

But I stayed. And I spoke. And I did a good job. And I did it without the edge-taking-off effects of a drink. And I think it is one of the coolest things I've ever done.