Um . . . oops, I totally forgot I had a Pay-It-Forward going on. I'll pick a winner soon, if you're checking in.

Especially when there are goodies in it!
I got my PIF package today from Andrea all the way from AUSTRALIA! Yes, I did. It's awesome. Observe:


Behold, what awaited me in the mailbox this morning. (I took great pains in iPhoto to blur my info, so please  don't try to steal my identity.) Also, SEE, SEE, it came from Australia (upper left corner), and look how dedicated she was to pay that much to send it to me!
Here's what the box held:


How awesome does that stuff look? Gah! Here's some close-ups:


So, that green tea and bergamot soap thingy has little sheets of PAPER SOAP (oh, those wily Aussies!). It's like she knows how neurotic I am about washing my hands away from home (and I don't think I included that in my profile!). Those frogs, ladies and gents, well, they're . . .

that's right, they're . . . CHOCOLATE FROGS! And I love both chocolate and frogs! Did Andrea peg me or what?

But there's more:

Ok, The Boy can play with the elephant, but Duckie is mine.

And finally, she included this sweet, lovely book for The Boy, that she says is the board book version of a popular Australian children's book. It's easy to see why it's popular with it's bee-you-tiful watercolor illustrations.


Thank you SO much to Andrea from Down Under!

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Because I had so much fun putting together the package for TeacherMom, who won my first contest, I am going to run another one now that I've actually gotten my package.
But, I'm going to put a serious spin on the comments (which I will still pick a winner from at random.) Since I'm sitting here watching the Democratic  National Convention over the back of my computer, I have two  optional questions for the comments section. (Yes, I'm going all political, so if you don't want to answer, you don't have to. It's an optional contest.) If you watched the DNC, did you have a favorite speaker and why? Whether or not you watched the DNC or not, who do you really, honestly (perhaps despite your political leanings?) believe is going to  win this momentous election in  a few months?

*********************************************************
And just so I don't leave you with a sour political taste in your mouth, here are some photos of the cutest boy ever to swing in my front yard, and how that went wrong . . .






Go!

And the winner of my Pay It Forward Contest is . . .  Teacher Mom . Congratulations!

Also, I haven't yet gotten my Pay It Forward prize since it's coming from Down Under,  but as soon as I do, I may start another contest because it was fun buying the prize. Stay tuned . . .

When I clicked on the "Post an entry" button for this entry, beneath it read "Last entry posted 102 weeks ago." Apparently, I used to keep another blog long, long ago, when I was still just a single, childless, heavy-drinking, chain-smoking, poem-writing English grad student. Sigh. Now I am merely one of those things (no, not heavy-drinking) but so much more (mother, cleaner-upper after the Love of my Life, etc.). Bear all this in mind if you choose to read the preceding entries. I barely know that person anymore.
BUT, if you're here just for the contest, WELCOME. Here's the deal. Swistle is promoting this around the web, and I won a non-blogger prize, so I'm spreading the love, paying it forward, if you will.
The rules:
Easy enough, enter in the comments (by answering the upcoming question) and if you win, you get a surprise in the mail from me. Then you create your own contest on your blog, and send a present in the mail to your winner and so on and so on. However, you don't have to have a blog to win. You just have to want to enter, be able to type, and enter in the comments to this post. To read more about it at Swistle, click here, here, here, and here.  Seriously, if you're curious, go read them. She writes about the contest much more eloquently than I ever could.  Also, she's got solutions for all kinds of questions, such as how do you throw a contest if you don't have a blog, etc. However, I imagine many of you are coming to me from Swistle, so you'll already be familiar with the contest.
So, the reason I haven't posted here in so long is because I grew to loathe livejournal (sorry to the enthusiasts), and in composing this post  am remembering why, so I quit blogging for a while. Then I got pregnant, unexpectedly, and started Baby Momma over on VOX. Eventually, I also started Baby Liam over there too. Then I became addicted to the world of Parenting Blogs and realized I would rather read other people's wisdom than spend the time composing my own. I'm lazy that way. I'm also cheap (and a broke grad student with bills and a baby); thus, I have only used "free" blog sites so far.  However, I am currently considering starting up a new, improved, World-of-Clarabella blog. So, here's the question you can answer in the comments to enter the contest: If I'm gonna cough it up and pay to post, what blog site (is that even what you call it? Sheesh.) should I use and why? Thanks, and I hope YOU win. I really do.

P.S. This contest will close Friday, July 18th, at midnight. KTHX.* EXTENDING DEADLINE INDEFINITELY UNTIL ENOUGH  FOLKS ENTER TO MAKE THIS DAMN CONTEST FAIR!

P.P.S. Closing contest for good Sunday, July 27th @ midnight.

"The idea that religion and politics don't mix was created by the devil to keep Christians from running their own country."

'WASHINGTON (CNN) -- President Bush sharply defended Donald Rumsfeld on Tuesday, saying the embattled Pentagon chief is doing a "fine job" despite calls for his resignation from six retired military generals.

"I listen to all voices, but mine is the final decision," he said. "And Don Rumsfeld is doing a fine job. He's not only transforming the military, he's fighting a war on terror. He's helping us fight a war on terror. I have strong confidence in Don Rumsfeld.

"I hear the voices, and I read the front page, and I know the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what is best. And what's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense."'

Mine is the final decision! Dammit. I'm the decider! Dammit. I am in charge!
YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME.

Serious evidence that our President may actually be a five year old.

Shaking my head,
CL

Just because I choose to use my first and middle name on myspace.com doesn't mean I'm married.

Africa is not a country.

My students are morons. No, I will not be apologetic. And, yes, I am a good teacher.

Grad school is overrated. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaay overrated.

Three-legged great danes are cool. Waaaaaaaaaaaaay cool.

If you had a hermaphroditic baby, you know you would get the surgery.

Tomkitten's tomkitten is NOT special. And her name means "princess red rose." Give me a fucking break. So she's gonna be Snow White. I could give a shit. Get it off the CNN headlines. It is NOT news.

Baton Rouge is the closest place in LA to the equator. My face is seriously peeling off.

I'm bored.

Cheers,
CL

Our dean of students is named Sparky!
http://media.www.thedmonline.com/media/storage/paper876/news/2006/04/11/News/Three.Arrested.In.Connection.With.Assault-1843444.shtml?sourcedomain=www.thedmonline.com&MIIHost=media.collegepublisher.com

Sorry, but so I don't have to type it again:

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=33869900&blogID=104264706&MyToken=00511876-8a74-4686-bafc-6eea4d8ec1c4

The state of my living room in the midst of working on my written comp, which consists of a 20-30 pg "publishable" paper, due Friday, as in 5 days from now, and which I'm still reading sources for:
There are six pairs of shoes in the various places I've dropped them over the last week, including two pairs of flip-flops for the days it reached 75 degrees.
There are at least five glasses with the remnants of various beverages, anything from whiskey to tea to gatorade.
My couch is somewhere beneath a pile of papers and a pillow from my bed.
The TV is dusty from no attention.
Three ashtrays brimming with butts on various end tables.
Dog toys strewn not-so-strategically around the floor as if a puppy minefield or an obstacle course to those who would impede my frantic scholarly endeavor.
But, but, absent of the CNL who has been warned by penalty of alienation that I have no time for her idle talk or company this week.
A very stressed out crooked who has barely managed to bathe over the past five days, and who has subsequently gone color-blind (see my outfit) from both the lack of hygiene and the intensive small-black-print reading that this paper involves.
Send help,
CS

Literary Facts Sophomore 200-level English students still don't get right on their papers on Beowulf and "The Wife of Bath's Tale," even though they have three weeks, and the primary texts to refer back to:
1. Grendel is NOT a dragon.
2. Gentile is not the adjective form of gentility, no matter how Chaucer spelled the word.
3. Beowulf did NOT become king of the Danes after Hrothgar died.
4. The old crone that told the knight "what women want" WAS the very same woman who turned into a young maiden when he "gave her what she wanted."
5. Hrothgar did NOT summon Beowulf to help him. The glory-hungry Geat came of his own volition, TO WIN MORE GLORY.
6. The knight did NOT rape Guinevere.
7. Wiglaf was NOT Beowulf's son, and he did not reign the Geats, or the Danes, in ever-after happiness after Beowulf died.

Their mid-term is next week, and I feel sorry for them. I don't even have the energy to tell you how they dealt with King Lear today. Too tired, going mad, must run onto the stormy moors.

Follow your bliss,
CL

Greta got sprayed by a skunk!
Yes, she did.
I know. It's unbelievable. For several reasons. Let me elaborate.
My yard is completely fenced in, with two big dogs lording the domain most of the time. No skunk, even one as dumb as Bambi's Flower, would venture into this yard. I don't even have any squirrels, yo!
It is young Nico, not the good Great Dane Greta, who strays from the yard.
How did she get sprayed? The events unfold . . .
I was in O-town for a couple of days last week, staying with Philly, because every day brought a new reason to work late and stay away from home. Greta and Nico were kosher, being left with plenty of food and water and an over-anxious neighbor who feeds them even when I ask her not to.
So, I come home after a couple days gone. Nico's broken his collar and is roaming the neighborhood, no doubt "terrorizing" old ladies and redneck neighbors (read: sarcasm).
Greta was in the yard. I wrangled Nico, and all was happy and fine in the Agua Valley household, until . . .
"What the FUCK is that smell?"
and half an hour later:
"What the FUCK is that smell?"
Took me two days to figure it out because either I'm extremely smell-challenged or Greta was avoiding me.
Friends come over.
"Do you smell that?"
Friends: "No."
"I think it's Greta. Sniff her."
After bemused looks, one reluctant friend does. His response: "Oh my God. She's been skunked."
And so she had, folks, so she had.
Of course this realization came during the weekend of snow and ice, so I couldn't take her outside to bathe her, and there was no way I was employing a tomato juice bath on a 150 lb. Great Dane INSIDE!
So, as any self-respecting 21st century person would do, I resorted to the internet. The most prevalant, and efficient, remedy posted was one made up of peroxide, baking soda and liquid soap.
Sounds good to me. I have those things. So I mix the concoction. And I apply it. And reapply as needed and reapply as needed and reapply as needed.
Call me a dumb blond, without being a blond.
But Greta is now. Or at least a dull red head, around her roots. Thank god she only got sprayed on her neck.
She doesn't stink anymore, but it will take a while for her hair to grow completely black again. I'm such an idiot.

Why she got sprayed? Go figure. I did find out a couple things, by consulting the dependable locals:
It is skunk rutting season. They are about.
It probably wasn't in the yard. Wouldn't take the risk. But it might've been at the fence, and she surprised it, and thus was sprayed.
Most dogs only get sprayed on the face and neck (see: Greta) because once the spraying starts, they retreat and turn away.
I have unbelievably bad luck with my dogs.

Take your pick. It's been yet another adventure.
Wouldn't the reality TV crew have been amused?

Peace,
CL

This is a made-up holiday. Observe:

St. Valentine was brutally killed during February, for defying the emperor's ban on marriages.

15% of U.S. women send themselves flowers on Valentine's Day.

Also known as "singles awareness day."

Romeo and Juliet died, within minutes of each other, probably in terrible pain from the poison and stab-wound they suffered, respectively.

Teen pregnancy among unwed mothers is an astonishingly high statistic in this country, especially in the south.

Most of the time, the sex isn't that good, the communication sucks, and you end up breaking up never wanting to see each other again.

Most of the marriages officiated on Valentine's Day end in divorce.

Diamonds are mined, bought and stolen from otherwise resource-poor countries in Africa, often at a large cost of life to the child-workers of the mines. (Sierra Leone, baby; listen to Kanye.)

I repeat, no one gets remarried in an Italian square after sneaking their in-laws across the Atlantic, no matter what De Beers says.

It is illegal for madly-in-love homosexual couples to marry in this country, with the same rights as heterosexual couples.

Infatuation leads to lust, which may lead to love, but more often than not leads to venereal disease.

Sometimes you spend years, and multiple Valentine's Days, with a person you think you're meant to be with, and may want to marry, only to find out he's a bigot and a commitment-phobe.

AND, he takes you looking for engagement rings, only to buy a rusted-ass mustang the next day with the down payment for said ring. (Still a little bitter.)

High-school sweethearts are for suckers.

When your significant other DOES convince you to make reservations for the black day, you can't eat until 10 pm because the rest of the blind masses have already taken up the 7 o'clock spots.

I like turkey better than ham.

It's just another fucking day of the year, no matter what the card companies say. Damn those cute little square (that require extra postage!) "Fresh" cards . . . oh but wait, there's something about a hug monkey on this one . . . NOOOOOOO! Resist! Resist!

"All romantics meet the same fate someday, cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe," says the ever-trustworthy Joni Mitchell.

and "I met a woman; she had a mouth like yours. She knew your life; she knew your devils and your demons. She said, 'go to him, stay with him if you can, but be prepared to bleed.'"

Happy Black Tuesday, ladies.
CL

Nico's out again. Although I'm still scared of my neighbor shooting him. He bolted out the door when M. left. Yeah, she was over here late. I tuned her out. God, it's like I have a girlfriend I can't break up with.
Watching "Boys on the Side" on TV. Tried to read "Uncle Tom's Cabin" today, but it beat me. What a melodramatic waste of space. Sorry for those enthusiasts. But quite honestly, even though a black woman in the time of abolition wrote it, Twain and Faulkner did it better.
Well, that might be the most un-feminist thing I've ever said. I'm so proud of myself.
Meeting with my "COMMITTEE CHAIR" tomorrow. It sounds so scary to me (see: I hear it in capital letters). He's either going to fuss at me for being behind, or I will wow him with my ability to embellish and bullshit. I'm hoping for the latter.
Philly's having sympathetic, or empathetic, PMS. And I want to feng shui my bedroom this weekend. Go figure.
I hate February. It's my least favorite month. Even though January 24th is the day when "the most people commit suicide," or "the most depressing day of the year," I hate mid-Feb. It's so boring. And intimidating.
Valentine's Day? No, black-whatever-day-of-the-week-it-is.
Feeling a bit dark these days. I want to name the 10th planet.
I'm going to Disneyworld in a month, and I couldn't be more terrified.
Welcome to the world of non-sequitors. Perhaps I should write a poem . . .
CL

I cannot resist posting this. There is currently a heated debate about opposing this on my department's listserve. If you feel as strongly as some of my associates, please feel free to "Leave your local State Senator, Gray Tollison, a detailed
but polite voicemail about your opposition on this issue.
His number in Jackson is 601-359-3425."
This also from the original email: (via the humble D. Allan Mitchell)

"It has come to my attention that Paul Ott's "I Am
Mississippi" poem has passed the state house and is headed
over to the senate for further consideration as the official
state poem of Mississippi. There was an article in the
depths of the DM about this serious issue.
I know of the poem. It is of no literary merit. It is also
blatantly sexist, as it mentions no famous Mississippi women
other than Miss Mississippi. In my opinion, I also find the
poem latently racist in its glorification of antebellum
imagery.
It is also copyrighted material that stands to make Mr. Ott
a profit from its "official state poem" designation. Mr.
Ott is a passionate Mississippi gentleman and a Good Ole
Boy, but a poet of the first rank he is not.
Please stand with me in opposition to this sentimental
doggerel. I do not want America...nay, the world...thinking
that this is the best poem Mississippi can offer."

I Am Mississippi, by Paul Ott

"I Am Mississippi
I'm the land of the Choctaw
The hills of Vicksburg, and a cross-cut saw
Dinner on the ground and muscadine vine
I'm a longleaf pine, and Mississippi on my mind
I'm a banjo pickin' and all night sings
Azaleas a'bloomin' in Ocean Springs
I'm a Gospel Singer and the old folks at home
And I'm the eagle on the top of the capitol's dome
I'm coffee in the morning and an ole smoked ham
Cathead biscuits and blackberry jam
I'm a Mississippi moon, a dusty Delta Dawn,
B.B. King,
Magnolias in bloom
I'm an antebellum home on the Natchez Trace,
A rusty plow on the old home place
I'm Walter Payton catchin' a pass, Elvis Presley,
Coon hounds and bird dogs and tea of
Sassafras
I'm Miss Mississippi and all her glory
I'm William Faulkner as he writes a story
I'm Jimmie Rogers, the Singing Brakeman
John C. Stennis, a southern statesman
I'm the Mississippi River as it rounds the bend
I'm Gone with the Wind, ya'll come back again
Well, I'm everything good you have ever dreamed about
Hush yo mouth, I'm Mississippi - I Am the South."

I have been notified that the misspelling of Walter Peyton's name has been addressed. But he still spelled Jimmie Rodgers wrong, and Faulkner's of course better known for his novels than stories. Also, where the fuck is Oprah? I mean really. How could you ignore Oprah! Never fear, I have left mutltiple messages already, addressing these issues!

Enjoy.
CL

Republic Day, India.
Sydney founded, 1788. Celebrated as Australia Day.
Michigan became the 26th US State, 1837.
Douglas MacArthur, American General, born, 1880.
World's largest diamond, the Cullinan diamond, found in South Africa, 1905.

And something else . . . I just . . . can't . . . remember . . .

But somebody famous was born . . .

The Big Easy is no longer so easy, I found out the hard way this weekend.
The blow-by-blow:
It rained the whole way down to LA, as we drove the length of this damn Crooked Letter State on I-55. Once we hit I-10, traffic came to an almost stand-still, only get worse and worse as we progressed over the big bridge into the Crescent City.
Then, I made the same mistake I've made before about getting off on the right exit and sat in traffic for 25 minutes, running out of gas and going stop and go on a hill in the rain in my stick-shift car, only to realize I was in the wrong lane and would therefore miss the chance to get off on the right exit. Luckily, I realized my former mistake, and did the same quick turn around I did last time.
So, we're finally in the city, we find our hotel on Magazine, check in, take quick showers, down quick beers and head out for Philly to be famous at the reading that brought us to the Crescent City.
The night-staff at the hotel was less than helpful. We finally got them to call a cab for us, after almost having to beat down either a valet or a deskperson. Only to have that cab stolen by some grumpy yankee who seemed to have forgotten that a hurricane of devestating force hit the city a few months ago.
The second cab finally showed up, and we progressed ALL the damn way across town to the venue, which was a wine shop literally at the river. Like the traintracks was all that blocked the view. On the way down Poland Ave to the venue, we passed many of the homes marked with the codes of rescuers. I was very happy I hadn't paid more attention to what the spray-paint marks meant that day on CNN because I quickly realized I didn't want to know if a red 'X' meant 'dead inside' or if that was the orange 'X.' Either way, it was seriously sobering, especially the two houses we saw with a list of the pets left inside and "HELP! HELP! HELP!" on the outside, respectively. Interestingly enough, you could tell the houses with the conscientious landlords; they wore sparkling new coats of paint.
The reading went well. Philly was a super star. We got to drink free and fancy wine and buy fancy imported beers. And smoke cigarettes in the rain.
On to dinner. At the advice of N and S's (who met us in New Orleans)friends who live in NoLa, we hailed a cab to Adolpho's on Frenchman (I think). On the way to the restaurant, the area lights went out, and the cabbie told us he hoped we didn't mind eating in the dark. The streets were seriouslly dark, yo!
When we pulled up in front of the restaurant, the power magically restored and dude sitting outside told S "thank you." We were the saviors of the moment, bringing the power back with us. We ate an amazing meal, including Escargot! (I never get to eat snails!), only to have the power go out again as our entrees arrived. We were lucky to get them. No one else got any after that. But no one left. Merriness and good-eating by candlelight ensued, since red wine doesn't need to be cold and requires no electricity to flow freely.
On to N and S's swanky hotel on Bourbon, where we drank a bottle of champagne and watched the rain. Then on to a dive on Bourbon where we drank expensive Jack and Cokes and had to fight off aggressive singles while Philly and N glared. Philly didn't like the whole scene of the bar, got grumpy that I wanted to dance, so we got to have a drunken argument back at the hotel in which I said a majority of those things referred to as "things you might regret," "things you don't mean," "things only to be hurtful." Well, you get the idea. Wasn't a high point of the trip.
The next day, we met up with N and S, who having drunk more than us the day before, felt like they were dying. Then we ventured into the quarter to find a place for lunch. The walking did the wonder-hangover kids good, and I got to have another of my fave NoLa specialties, a yummy, greasy Mufalletta (sp?).
Leaving town was once again stressful, since I couldn't find a gas station by the entrance ramp to the interstate, and I thought we were gonna run out of gas when we finally reached a potential exit, only to pass closed down gas stations. But we finally found one, needless to say, and got the hell out of Dodge.
All this is only to say that I've had much better times in New Orleans. There is an attitude about the city that is hard to describe. The locals seem harder and aggressive, as if they're not sure to entreat you or attack you. And I know New Orleans was never considered a "clean city," but it's truly frightening now. I think I held my breath as we walked down some of the streets. While the devastating footage of New Orleans after the hurricane brought me to tears many times, it wasn't until I saw it five months later that it truly hit me that the city will never be the same again. Locals were talking about, and CNN covered it simultaneously, that over 2500 homes are scheduled to be demolished starting in a WEEK! Many of them in the 9th ward, to be rebuilt or forever lost is your best guess as well as mine.
I'm sorry to say, I told Philly as we drove over the mist shrouded lake on the way out of town, that I don't think I ever want to go back to New Orleans. I want to remember the trip previous to this one with my two best girls rocking a pre-Katrina city rather than the frustrating and sobering place I encountered this weekend.
(Disclaimer: Please don't think I'm being insensitive about a city still in the thralls of recovery from devastation. It was just an at-times-miserable experience, and that's not how I want to recall the Crescent City.)
In other news, the illness of my goldfish is distressing me way more than it should, and I just watched the Panthers get mauled by the Seahawks. Although I do love those "West-Coast Eagles," so it wasn't that bad, but I'm really glad I didn't have to watch that game with my dad. Super bowl in two weeks, folks. And then it's miserable Nascar until Baseball season comes back around. I do not do Basketball.
Be safe. Have fun.
S.

But my newest term of endearment from the love of my life is "cream and sugar."
Isn't it amazing what will amuse/melt heart in our old age. Just thought I'd share.
This in addition to the already melting "baby girl" and "honey bear."
God, I've turned into a sap.

Since this might at some point demand litigation, I have chosen to keep an extensive record of the events surrounding the now infamous "New Year's Keg Dispute."

December 20-something:
CNL: We might get a keg for the party (that we plan on hijacking from you).
Me: Not a good idea. Beer is illegal in this county. (Yes, I live in the backasswardest state ever.)

December 30th:
CNL: D picked up the keg today. I'm going to have to borrow your wheelbarrel (it's wheelbarrow!) to get it over here.
Me: I don't want the keg at my house.

December 31st:
CNL: (on the phone) So what are we doing about the keg? Bringing it over to your house?
Me: No. Leave it at your house.
CNL: But . . . well . . . um, ok.
(Good answer.)

January 1st, 2006:
CNL: So we were going to take the wheelbarrel over to our house to bring the keg over.
Me: Why?
CNL: It's never going to get drank at our house.
Me: It's not going to get drunk over here either.

January 4th:
CNL: Do you want us to bring the keg over here?
Me: No. Why? I have beer.
CNL: We're never going to drink it.
Me: Neither am I.
CNL: Well, do you want to come get some beer? At least keg beer doesn't go bad, especially outside in the cold.

It was 70 degrees today. Has this girl never been to a keg party? I've said my peace. Next time, I'm advising she speak directly with my lawyer over the custody dispute of the keg.