If you answered “yes” to that question, then schedule a mammogram today.
Do it now. Right. Now.

This is how I felt when I woke up this morning:
Not happy. JUBILANT.

No particular reason. Just one of those days when you wake up on the right side of the bed.

Then I toasted a bagel for my breakfast. It was one of those pre-sliced jobbies and one side was significantly thicker than the other. Probably some exhausted worker at the bagel factory slid it through the slicer a little lopsided, noticed it too late, said, “Who gives a fuck?” and moved onto the next bagel. That’s probably what I would’ve done. The significantly thicker piece got stuck in my toaster so I was forced to pry it out one tiny bit at a time with my handy dandy Pampered Chef Bamboo toaster tongs. ($2.00. An excellent investment. I heartily recommend purchasing one of those puppies.*) That’s frustrating. And yet my jubliance remained intact.

I decided to share my broken bagel with Franny the Welfare Squirrel and her family. I tenderly tossed the toasted treats treeward.

It scared the shit out of them. They ran for home. Back to their Lazy Boy recliner.

The bagel pieces are still sitting there. In the snow. Getting soggy. Franny & Family probably think they’re some sort of demon spawn on a mission to retrieve their mortal souls and yank them hellward. That’s what I would think if I was a fat, lazy squirrel and a crazy lady threw bagel pieces at me. So my gift will sit there and just keep getting soggier. Until finally it disintigrates into nothingness.

Yet, I’m still jubilant!
And I still don’t know why…

* I don’t work for Pampered Chef. Honest.

My family moved into our current home back in July and–as is my custom–I immediately set up a bird feeding station. I like birds. They’re pretty and sweet and cool and they make loverly noises. I am proud, in fact, to report that I had a pair of cardinals just last week.

Now, many bird lovers hate squirrels. I don’t. I like ’em. They’re cute and furry and make…uh, noises. I don’t like ’em messing with my birds, though. So I set up a little squirrel feeding station hoping they’d let my birds be.

It worked! It immediately attracted a pair o’ squirrels. Franny and Jack are their names. (That’s what they told me, anyway.) And they leave my birds alone.

This was–however–a big mistake. I took two perfectly self respecting, hunting & foraging squirrels and turned ’em in fat, lazy freeloaders. Their hunting & foraging days are over. Now they spend their days sittin’ on their asses, drinkin’ beer and watching Springer on the tube. Every so often they come out of their lair and fill their disgusting cheeks with my food, as you can see here (taken last summah):

So you see, dear readers, I have become Squirrel Welfare. They now have three squirrel children who will never know the joy and satisfaction that comes from honest toil; eating the fruits of their own labors. And it makes me sad.

I’m trying to be excited. Really. Truly. It’s hard, though, knowing there will be no hotness this year. Again.
This hotness:

But. Life goes on and so does the Superbowl. Even without the hotness. And so I will attempt to make my:

Annual Superbowl Prediction.

It won’t be easy and this is why:

1. I know nothing about football. Except that Tom Brady is hot.

2. My second tried and true ‘who should I root for and therefore predict as the victor’ method is usually to pick the best looking uniform. Well, both the Colts uniforms and Da Bears uniforms suck big fat eggs. Butt ugly. The Colts have a slight–very slight–advantage in that their ugly blue isn’t as ugly as Da Bears’ ugly blue.

3. I know that–as a Pats fan–I’m supposed to hate Peyton Manning. But I don’t. Mostly because “Peyton” is a cool name.

However. I have decided to root for Da Bears and this is why:

I think it’s fun to say “Da Bears” just like the dudes on SNL. And so:

KEL’S PREDICTION:

Bears: 29378
Colts: 7

Or something like that.

Wednesday evening I hit a deer on the way home from my friend’s house. Behold the following cell phone conversation:

Me: (frantic, freaked out) Oh my God! Oh my God! I hit a deer!

Hubby: (frantic, freaked out) Are you hurt? (instant bonus points for hubby)

Me: (not quite so frantic, but still freaked out) No. I’m fine. But…I…hit…a…DEER!!!

Hubby: How bad is it damaged?

Me: It’s dead.

Hubby: What?! Totalled?

Me: Well yeah, I creamed it pretty hard.

Hubby: Not the deer, you dope (bonus points taken away instantly) the van!

Me: Beats the hell outta me.

I was still hovering over the poor, dead, mangled deer and so had no time for trivialities like damaged mini vans. (For all my guy readers: dented bumper. Goes in to be fixed on Monday. Comprehensive coverage. God Bless Allstate. We’re in Good Hands.)

A friend of mine has a fifteen year old daughter who works a paper route. The family is going away this coming weekend and I offered to take over the route while they were gone. Early this morning I drove the kid through her rounds so that I would have at least a vague clue of what I was doing come this weekend. Here are my initial thoughts:

1. Damn! Three o’clock comes twice a day?

2. Motion sensor lights are a good thing.

3. So are circular driveways.

4. Waking someone’s dog in the middle of the night is not a good thing.

5. Neither are skunks, especially when camped out underneath a deck. (In case you are reading this, Mrs. Mullis, that is why you did not get your newspaper this morning.)

6. Tip your paperboy/girl/woman. Generously.

Went to see Pirates of the Carribean #2 yesterday with the hubby. Very likely the boringest sequel ever*. I fell asleep. That is right. Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom were bringing the hotness, not to mention that there was this pretty cool CGI Davy Jones squid guy…and I still fell asleep**.

* I forgot about “Oceans Twelve.”

** I literally fell asleep.

My buddy H2 requested me to update this poor, neglected blog.
Here is an update, for what it’s worth.

I’m editing the book I blogged so much about in the merry, merry month of March. And let me tell you now: Editing a book isn’t as much fun as writing it.

It’s not the spelling and grammatical mistakes. That I can do with my eyes closed (and with the help of my very excellent spell check!) It’s the whole “fill in this gaping plot hole” thing, and the “this character is one dimensional” problem and the “WTF is this steaming pile of horse crap you call a chapter?????” quandry.

It ain’t sexy (unlike my book–Hi Mom!!!) but it’s an update.

I am pretty excited.
My new house came with a dishwasher, the first one I have ever had.
I used it today for the first time.

Kel has finally arrived in the 20th Century!
That’s right. 20th. Not 21st.

I discovered this the hard way: don’t unload the dishes right after the dishwasher stops. Those suckers are freaking HOT!!!

I was reading the headlines on my Yahoo homepage and came across this:

“King Kong star, Black celebrates son, ‘Nacho.'” [insert picture of Jack Black here]

I swear to Bob, I thought the headline meant that Jack Black (whom I love more dearly than just about anybody out there) had named his son Nacho. Turns out he’s celebrating the birth of his son, name unknown to me at this time, and the release of his new movie “Nacho Libre.”

Although I consider myself pretty laid back in general on the whole celebrities-giving-their-kids-weird-names thing, that frightened me just a tad.