Me: I’m planning on dying with my eyes open.

Boy: How will we know you’re dead?

Girl: She won’t be talking.

I have no idea WHY I thought having children was a good idea, especially that last one . . .

 Well, I’ve almost made it through Amylynn’s vacation – almost.  Here are a few of the things that helped me make it without her.  Obviously, I was off yesterday for Thanksgiving but I also took today off so I was able to annoy the girl who lives at my house – that always makes me happy!

Soft Claws

 1. Soft Claws – I forgot to tell everyone about this incredible product and was reminded of it by a guest yesterday. When we first got our kitten last year, I was at wits end trying to keep him from ruining my furniture – anyone with a cat knows how that goes. In desperation, I consulted the Internet and found this invention. These are plastic nails that you glue to your cats claws. Ricky doesn’t mind them at

Juice - lots of Juice

all and the work like a charm! They come in a rainbow of colors but we put the clear ones on our cat because he’s very elegant kitty.

2. Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead – Kelli and I watched a documentary about juice fasting.  We’re going to spring this on Amylynn when she gets back from the cruise.  The man in the movie lost 98 lbs in 60 days and he got super healthy.  Here’s to feeling great and losing weight – chink!!!!

 3. Pumpkin Pie – My favorite part of Thanksgiving is the Pumpkin Pie.  I know that’s not original but I don’t care.  In fact, I’m eating a left over piece right now while I’m writing.  My aunt makes the best pumpkin pie in the world – admit it, you’re jealous.  I wonder if we can juice pie?

 4. Vampire Babies – The 4th installment of the Twilight movies is out.  Since I have a pre-teen in my house, I had to go see it.  Truth be told, I really wanted to go because I knew Bella Swan was going to have a half human/half vampire baby.  The entire birth scene was extremely squirm worthy.  But the big payoff was a vampire baby – awwww so cute.

 5. Nova’s Brian Greene – You all thought I watched Nova to become smarter,

Nova's Brian Greene

 but no!  I watch Nova because of Brian Greene.  Nerdy boy scientist didn’t look like this when I was in school.  Actually, nerdy boy scientists looked a lot like nerdy computer boys – picture Bill Gates.  I’m certain I don’t need to say more . . .

Here’s how I figure out what my holiday budget is going to be each year.  I buy everything I want for my family and friends, including decorations and party needs, and save all of the receipts.  When I’m done, I add up all of the receipts – and tadaa! – my budget.

This always makes Ed angry.

Gifts!

For some reason, he thinks this is not a budget.  He says a budget is an itemized summary of estimated or intended expenditures for a given period along with proposals for financing them.  What?!  What does all of that mean?  Where does he get this stuff?

But, trying to be a good little budgeter I said the items were gifts and the given period was the holidays and my proposal for financing them was the same as last year, he’d pay the bills when they came in.  See – I can budget.

For some reason, that made Ed angry.

I’m not good with a budget.  In fact, I’m bad with a budget.  Budgets always seem to prevent you from getting all of the stuff you need.  What good is a budget if you are left unhappy?  Life is too short for that and I want to be happy.  Happy during the holidays!  Therefore, I refuse to be hemmed in or constrained by a holiday budget.

But don’t tell Ed.

This is a good picture of me, don't you think?

Sometimes, when I’m supposed to be working, I worry about stuff.  Usually, I worry about important stuff – like world hunger, world peace, when the heck Jax is going to take his shirt off this season on SOA, you know important stuff like that.

For some reason, today, I’ve decided to worry about what other people are worried about – so I called my sister.

I asked her what she was worried about.  She said she wasn’t worried about anything in particular but now that I called to ask, she was now worried about why I was worried about what she was worried about.  It serves me right for being concerned.  I hung up.

Next, I asked one of my co-workers what they were worried about today.  She immediately launched into her worry that it’s only 32 days, 12 hours and 46 minutes until Christmas.  She’s worried she won’t be ready in time.  Geeeeez, now I’m worried about that too.  Note to self, don’t talk to coworkers.

32 days left 'til Xmas

I texted the girl who lives at my house and asked her what she was worried about.  Following standard protocol, she didn’t answer the question but told me that I should be worried about texting her in class because I know she can’t get texts and I’m going to get her into trouble – again.  Sorry about that, girl who lives at my house.

Everyone gets worried, even Leonardo Dicaprio

I’d ask Amylynn what she’s worried about but everyone knows she abandoned me to go on some horrible Caribbean cruise.  Her father told her not to drown and I’ve been worried about that since she left.

I thought I’d contact the White house and see what they are worried about over there.  There’d have to be a lot of worrisome issues on their minds – right?  I mean, as a nation, we’ve got some troubles.  I told the receptionist that I’d like to speak to the president and she asked me why.  I told her that I wanted to discuss his worries.  I was certain she’d go find him because I’ll bet most people call there to discuss THEIR worries and not his.  Somehow, we got disconnected.

There must be a problem with the governmet phones because something like that happened yesterday when I called NASA.  Now I’m worried about that.

As readers of this blog know, I watch the science program NOVA while I’m running on the treadmill and you also know that the Sisters have applied for the space program.  Because I am certain they are going to take us – how can they not – I’ve been trying to come up with ideas of what to do with our spare time while in space.  Also, the space program gets less and less publicity as the years go by and I think the Sisters can change that once we’re involved.  Ed is certain that if the Quill Sisters go into space there will be publicity – he snickered when he said that, I wonder why . . . 

So, I’m watching Nova last night and the topic of discussion is something called the “Multiverse”.  Now you smarties out there might make the connection between the Multiverse and our Universe but I had no idea what a Multiverse was until that moment.  I did not know that there is a theory that we are not the only Universe but that there are many, hence the Multiverse.  Essentially, there are some scientist who believe that the Big Bang didn’t happen once but multiple times. 

Anyway, the show goes on to say that if there are countless Multiverses it stands to reason that eventually a universe just like ours and a planet just like ours would exist but more importantly – there would be a person on Earth #2 that would be exactly like me.  That got my attention.  I’m surprised that didn’t get NASA’s attention.

Just imagine, we go find Earth #2 and for a LARGE fee, we bring You #2 back and you make her do all of the the things you don’t want to do.  It’s a gold mine!

Oddly, I called NASA about this little money making idea, thinking it would help us get hired, after all the country is in big trouble financially and you won’t believe this – they hung up on me!  The receptionist must have been busy or something . . . I’ll just call back later.

Before anyone gets excited, let me explain the above photo.  After the demise of the evil Muammar Gaddafi, Amylynn and I went on the Internet to look up photos of his clothes for which we have already admitted a weakness.  Admittedly, this happened in the airport on our way home from New Mexico (Hi Uncle Ken!) and we were a tad bored.  Anyway, we came across this photo.

At first, we thought it had to have been photo shopped.  Just look at it closely – Muammar appears to have been added since he is standing in front of the other two men on either side of him.  Also, look at what everyone else is wearing – suits.  Suits and ties.  Dark businesslike suits, ties and shiny shoes.  I know what you’re saying – “Muammar is wearing a suit as well.  It may be WHITE and he may have accessorized with a robe but surely Ava, you see it’s a suit.”    Now, look at everyone else again – they are all looking to the left, but not Muammar, noooooo, he’s looking to the right.

He’s wondering when the bus is coming.  He’s wondering how he got involved in this event to begin with.  He’s thinking he’s glad he wore his sunglasses because maybe he’ll go unnoticed and can slip away soon.  Where is that bus!

He’s definitely thinking he’s never attending the G8 Summit again with such poor dressers.  You know this is exactly what he’s thinking.

Every-time Amylynn and I want to laugh, we pull up this photo.  We’ve looked at it so many times that we’re surprised the FBI hasn’t shown up to interview us about it.

Feel free to send us your silly photos – we especially like anything that may cause the authorities to become interested in you.

I went on a small vacation this past week to the northeast.  The trip required airplane travel and necessitated using the Philadelphia airport. On my way through security, I dutifully removed all of my jewelry, shoes, jacket, the metal in my teeth, etc.  I placed all of this in the on fall color trend grey plastic tub and then on to the little conveyor belt  so the guard could see the feminine hygiene products in my purse.

Next, I stepped up to the metal detector.  I hate the metal detector.  I always feel like an idiot.  I do this stupid thing with my arms that I have no explanation for – it’s kind of like I’ve been told to place them at my sides and six inches from my body.  “Why do you do that?  You look stupid,”  says my soon to be divorced husband.

The metal detector never goes off (except for that time in Miami, sorry about that Miss Unhappy Security Guard) but this time it did.   Beep.  My first thought was that I forgot to remove something metal.  My quick mental check tells me that I’d removed everything except my shirt, jeans, bra and underwear.  Hmmmmmmm, what could it be?

“Can you step forward, maam?” Says a 90 year old security guard.  I say nothing but do as requested. 

“Please put your hands out.”  This confuses me since I’m expecting to be rescanned.  I see Ed out of the corner of my eye tense up.  Which is fair because of the Miami incident.  Anyway – I put my hands out, palms down.

“Palms up.”  I turn my hands over and the guard uses a Q-tip to swab both palms twice.

“Wait here while we run the test.”  Test?  What test?  I didn’t study for a test.  Seconds later I hear another beep. 

“Okay.  You’re good to go.”  I step away, confused.  I have never been swabbed at the airport before and I go to the airport a lot. 

“I wonder what that was for?” I say to Ed.

“Perhaps you touched something you weren’t supposed to, you know how you are.  Or maybe it was punishment for that stupid arm/hand thing you do.”  Ed is such a funny guy.  But he won’t be laughing in divorce court when I obtain custody of his extensive 30 year old ratty rock ‘n’ roll T-Shirt collection – will he?  Anyway . . .

The Internet says they swab your palms at the airport to see if you’ve been handling materials to make explosives.  Let me assure you, everyone who knows me knows I don’t look like I’ve been handling materials to make explosives.  Materials to make cake and cookies – yes, explosives –  no. 

I was still disturbed by this and was telling the boy who lives at my house the story for the 10th time when the truth of what had happened came to me. 

“They were stealing my DNA!” I exclaim to the boy. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“To clone me.” I say. 

Boy rolls eyes.  “Mom, no one would clone you.”

Mom rolls eyes.  “Sure, they would.”

“Nope, they most certainly would not.  Why do you think anyone would purposely clone you?”

“To make an army.” 

Dead silence for a moment. 

“An army of you!?  For what reason would anyone want to do that?”  He seemed appalled.  “If they were going to make a clone army, they’d use a Navy Seal’s DNA, not yours.  That is unless they needed an army of shoe buyers, then they might use you.” 

“So, you don’t think they stole my DNA at the airport in Philadelphia ?”

“No, mom, I don’t think they stole your DNA at the airport in Philadelphia.” 

Maybe not but here’s what I think – I think the boy might be right, they are cloning me into a shoe buying army so that we can take over the world by depleting every other nations supply of footwear.  The Navy Seals can’t do that undetected.  You can’t fight a war in socks – now you can you!  Genius.