To bear arms

"Did you ever wish you had a Shut the Eff Up gun?"

Keith asked me this question today, today of all days, today when my stress level can be measured using the Richter Scale, when my inevitable climactic reaction to it is likely to rival Vesuvius. Yes. I replied without a thought. Yes I have.

At times, I've also wished I had a Common Sense ray, or a You Are the Last Person I Want to Deal With Right Now zapper.

Wouldn't it be nice to have an arsenal for defense against those every day oblivious, inept and just generally ineffective people, to protect us from those things they do that contribute so generously to the piggy bank of double compound stress?

I mean, today -- right now -- I could use a Don't Blame Me For Your Incompetance laser.

What would you keep in your arsenal?

Six Random Things About Myself: Part Three

This one sort of speaks for itself, so I'll get straight to it. Random thing number three: I have a healthy obsession with pineapples.


It all started with this:

And it grew from there, subtly infiltrating my house. Let's take a walking tour, shall we?

Well here we are just outside my house-- Regardez! Un anana!

Incredible. Well, turning out attention to my home's facade, you will see that there are no pineapples. But you see that space in the center of the top frieze thing -- the actual name of which is disturbingly absent from my mind right now -- where there should be some sort of neo-classical ornament?

I think a pineapple would fit in nicely. That was originally my father-in-law's suggestion, by the way. But I like it.

So let's step inside, which brings us immediately into the living room, in which you will find a number of masterfully subliminal and diverse representations of the pineapple.

And, if it were not for the fact that I am pointing out as many as I can remember, you would discover them one by one, to your delight and amusement.

Which will eventually give way to the determination of the hunt, as you begin to wander through the rest of the house.

You will say something like, "how many pineapples do you HAVE?!" as you scour in and around everything, intent on finding (and counting) them all.

But chances are good you will not find them all. *I* could not even find them all on my first round around the house. Or the second. You won't see them all here, I promise you that.

Perhaps now you are beginning to think that this girl is a bit quirky.

Or maybe you're wondering what her husband thinks of all the pineapples.

What if I told you that most of my pineapple paraphernalia was gifted? Like this, which was given to her by his grandmother.

Or maybe you're wondering why she is suddenly using the third person. And that was just in the kitchen.

Did you know that the pineapple has been a symbol of hospitality since the colonial days? Can't you just feel the hospitality oozing out all over the place?

I wouldn't necessarily say that my proclivity for pineapples is a full-on obsession. It's not like I think about pineapples day and night.

It's more like a trademark.

And a convenient motif for Christmas shopping. I don't mind it.

In fact -- as we enter my office/studio/guest room -- there's something enjoyable about hearing about a pineapple trinket or shirt or objet that someone saw while on vacation and immediately laughed and thought of me.

I've been hearing that story for almost ten years now and it never gets old. If I make no other impression on the people of this earth, as least I will be fondly remembered as the crazy pineapple girl. That's good enough for me.