How to walk a fine line

For several years, my real goal in life has been to discover by trial and error just how many pagers I can wear to make myself look uber-important but without making my scrub pants fall off. 

Four.

If I wore them on a bandolier like Rambo, I think I could push the number higher.

Brace Yourself

Let July 26, 2011, go down in history as the day of a huge paradigm shift. (It used to have to content itself with being the day that's 2 days after Pioneer Day, but now it might finally get some intrinsic dignity.) Allow me to tell you why:

First, rewind to a month ago when my sister called to ask, "Did the package come yet?" and I said, "No." Two weeks before that phone call, she had sent me a box of fresh, delicious, home-baked cookies. You will always find cookies high on the list of things that make me near-comatose with happiness (along with back scratches and an 80-degree apartment in December), so I spent the next week watching the mail for that package until finally giving it up for dead.

Second, flash forward to today when the box arrived exactly 6 weeks after its postmarked date. I think the US postal mail between Arkansas and St Louis routes through Egypt. To state the obvious, the cookies had seen better days. I cradled them in my arms in their mangled Ziploc bag, wishing there were some way to save them.

That said, on to the groundbreaking paradigm shift!

One of my long-standing theories is that everything looks more alluring in black and white. The theory has never failed me. Models become supermodels in a black and white photo. Cluttered spaces become artsy. I become interesting and mysterious. You become intelligent and well-dressed.

This guy:

...becomes this guy:

But the smashed, decayed, stale remnants of oatmeal butterscotch cookies become mold-spore-ridden props from Night of the Living Dead:

The theory fails at last. The world is changed forever.

Please join me in a moment of silent mourning for the cookies, or suggest a way to save them.

Brought to you by the letter "P"

A really great friend of mine was in St Louis last weekend so we went to the farmer's market where he purchased a pair of purple peppers at a farmer's market. Purple peppers? I would never lie about such a thing:We also visited the St Louis Zoo (which is free, and therefore awesome, but also awesome by its own merits). I was surprised by how active the animals were. Even the poor Sloth Bear, which the sign informed me is not merely threatened, but THREATENDED, somehow summoned the will to frolic around instead of fixating on his morose threatended status. In the event that you wonder why the poor Sloth Bear is threatended, maybe it's because dudes in terrifyingly short-shorts keep chasing it around, as shown on this other very informative zoo sign: St Louis is hot and humid -- a sticky, sweaty, drippy heat that I've started ranking in terms of how many showers a day I feel like I need as a result of it. The day we went to the zoo was a 3-shower day. Luckily, the zoo has a penguin house which was a really nice relief from the weather outside. I hope the penguins know how good they have it. The penguins are messy. Fortunately for them, the zoo imported some Oompa Loompas to clean up after them. The very best place of all was the hippopotamus tank. Behold the majesty of the multi-talented hippo as it swims, feeds the fish, and inspires the children: Further educational enrichment:

A Letter to My Cats

Dear Hubble and Mars, I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but if you don't stop scratching my furniture and chewing my power cords I solemnly swear that I will start to retaliate by making you wear stuff like this: Love,

Sarah