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Things were pretty normal until the tie-dye event. We spent some time rubberbanding swirls and stuff into the shirts. Then came the time to dye them. (A funny quote from one of the kids, “Is it time to dye yet?”. Reply, “No, I think we will live for at least a little longer….”)

I should have been warned when Anna asked if I would be the one to dye the shirts. Especially when she said she wasn’t going near that stuff and, when I volunteered, asked me if I was sure. This should have been a clear warning to me, but I sadly lack that self-preservation gene.

Things started to go wrong when I realized that the dye bottles tended to squirt haphazardly. And again, when I noticed some dye getting on my new shoes. I took off the shoes and continued. Unfortunately, some dye got onto my shirt. The gloves which I had been wearing didn’t fully protect me and, in the end, my fingers were completely green and my wrist was red.

I went to wash up and quickly realized this wasn’t coming out at all!  Not even a little bit.  Not even a glimmer of hope that if I scrubbed enough, this stuff would come off me.  Then, I remember Anna saying that this was *professional strength* dye.  Uh-oh.  Seeing my dilemma, she offered, “Oh, well, you can just use gasoline and this will get it off your skin.”

Because it was funny, I showed my problem to the rest of the people there.  Actually, I went and hugged everyone with my extremely colored self and rubbed my hands on their shirt.  Of course, they all recoiled — thinking I was about to ruin their clothing, but it got them to realize the seriousness of my dyed state quickly!   Oh, great.  I leave for Australia in a week.  Hey, at least if someone asks where I’m from, I can…um…hold out my hand and they will see the red, (skin), and green of…Italy?

Then, a more terrifying thought:

Would I be able to receive communion if my hands looked like THIS?!??!??!?:

So, I went to my dad and told him of Anna’s recommendation. He suggested that I try the lighter fluid that he had in the garage. Okay.

Hey! Wait a minute! It’s getting a little late, at this point. Are you telling me that just minutes before we break out the sparklers and stuff, my family wants me to marinate in gasoline and lighter fluid ?!?!?!?!?

I’m not very loved, am I?

So, I walk over from my aunt’s house to my parents’ house and apply liberal amounts of the lighter fluid and stew for a bit. My brother and Sandra follow me, either to see how successful I am, or to laugh at my predicament, or…you know…both. Well, guess what?

The lighter fluid doesn’t work.

I’m laughing hysterically at this point. It’s funny, but it’s not funny. Seriously, guys, what’s going to happen tomorrow at Mass?? Neither Sandra nor Clint are Catholic, so they don’t understand my anxiety.

Finally, my brother pulls me over to the kitchen sink and says, “Here, honey, put your hands over the sink. Good girl. Now. Stay here while I get some acid!”

Are you feeling the love yet?

Sandra suggests bleach. She and Clint head off to the laundry room to see if we have any. Clint can’t find any right away, but does find a whole bunch of chlorine for the hot tub and talks of using it. I’m at the sink thinking that at the end of the evening, I may not be multi-colored any longer, but I may also not have any skin left, depending on what kind of solvent they decide to dump on me.

They finally find the bleach and bring that back. My brother opens the jug and pours it over my hands.

“Aaaah! It burns!”
“Shh, it looks like it’s working! Rub your hands together.”

Again, do you feel the love? The concern for my physical comfort and safety?

Happily, a lot of the color comes off. Not everything, but from a distance, I look normal. In continued picking-on-me, my brother, who had claimed that I was not his sister, but instead came from a corn field somewhere, made fun of my intellect — I would suppose for the fact of getting into these type of situations. Continuing the joke from earlier in the day about my corn field origins, he points out the sliding glass door to my mom’s garden.

“Do you see any corn out there?”
“No.”
“No brothers or sisters for you this year!”

Obviously, I am extremely well-loved by my brother. Obviously. :)

As an update, I did get to Mass this morning at Our Lady of Good Counsel (after fireworks, I drove Sandra back to Tecumseh, got to bed about 2 am, and woke up at 5:30 am to make it back to Plymouth for Mass). I was still wearing the same clothes that I had worn yesterday at Mass (since there was only a 3.5 hour nap at Sandra’s house), and it was Fr. Lee (Fr. Acervo? He’s the new priest. I’m not sure how he’s called.) and Fr. Thomas, same as yesterday, possibly wondering why I am wearing the same clothes and looking a little more…um…rumpled…than yesterday.

I go up for communion and present my still-not-quite-right hands to Fr. Lee (?). He pauses for a second, perhaps wondering if Jesus really wants to sit in that throne or not, then gives me communion. Whew!

I suppose I’ll have to marinate in bleach a little while longer today. :)

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Your Result

Large half caff, low fat, double pump, extra hot caramel latte Coffee is super fun. You are a person of many layers but most of the time you are not sure what is going on due to the tremendous amount of sugar and caffeine pulsing through your body. Watch out though, when you get going on a project at work, wow, that is going to get done in a hurry, and if it has to be written in a foreign language then you are set; as soon as you stop doing laps.
Coffee Quiz by QuizRocket.com Fun Quizzes!
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 Take a look here as the Eccentric came out to interview us.

In other St. Anastasia news, we are celebrating our 40th anniversary this weekend with a parish picnic.  The Eccentric again came out and interviewed our pastor, Fr. JJ, about the founding pastor, Fr. Davidson.

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I already tried sleeping outside on the trampoline, which would have been an acceptable solution, except that all the bugs in the Metro Detroit area got the memo that I was outside, unguarded and tasty.  Drat!

 Go back inside.  Now, not only am I tired, but I’m in problem-solving mode, which means that I will beat my head upside the issue until I get a reasonable (to me) resolution — or die trying.

All right.  I have a window-unit air conditioner in the garage.  I’ll just install that…right now…by myself.

Done.  Now to plug it in  — drat, again!  I can’t find the adapter that converts my 2-prong receptacle to fit the 3-prong plug on the AC unit.  Are you kidding me?

Okay, okay.  I’ll drive up to Meijer’s (since Home Depot’s not open 24 hours) and buy another adapter.  Whatever.  I’m going to win and I’m going to have air conditioning tonight so I can finally go to bed.

Go to Meijer’s.  Well, they are not Home Depot — let me tell ya.  I find almost every conceivable electrical plug thing that I could possibly be looking for except the one that I need.  Seriously?  Come on, now.  I even see if there’s ones that I could make work, or extension cords that would do the trick — nope.  Drat x 3.

Now what?

They *DO* have 3-prong receptacles.  I *COULD* just rewire my bedroom at 1 am.  So….  That’s what I’m about to do.  Hopefully, I will be able to find the correct circuit breaker in the panel to tag out the outlet (my house is *not* wired logically when it comes to the circuit breakers, just so you know).  And, since I don’t have a proper voltmeter or outlet tester (probably should have picked one up while I was at Meijer’s — they had one of *those*), I will be using my back-up method for determining if the outlet is “hot” — plugging in my little fan.  If the fan turns off when I trip the circuit breaker, I’m assuming that means that the power is off.  See what happens when a Nuke gets frustrated?

So, if I get electrocuted tonight, you all will know that it’s because I couldn’t wait the 7 hours or whatever it is until Home Depot opens up.

Reminds me of my first adventure with electrical sockets, as told to me by Mom:

I must have been about a year old or so.  I found the electrical socket and thought that it would be a great idea to stick my finger in there.  My mom watched me and wanted to teach me that sticking my fingers in electrical sockets is a bad thing, since I probably would come across another one in the future and she might not be watching me so close (plus, I’m the terror of child-proofing — apparently, I could defeat anything they tried, so they eventually gave up).  So, as I was about to stick my finger in there, Mom smacked my hand.  Apparently, I was irritated that she was thwarting my efforts, gave her a dirty look, and went to jab my finger into the socket again.  She smacked me again.  This cycle repeated, with me getting more and more angry at her, giving her increasingly dirty looks and trying harder to poke my finger in and her smacking my hand harder, trying to teach her stubborn daughter not to try and do this.  My mom started to get upset, because she was having to keep smacking me and I was too focused on doing this that I wasn’t learning what she wanted me to learn (that sticking your fingers in electrical sockets was bad).  Finally, I got so disgusted with her, that I gave up.  And she had to explain to my dad why their baby had huge red welts on her hand.

She was so happy that my brother was a much more agreeable child.  She smacked his hand once, he looked at her in surprise and hurt that she would smack him, burst into tears and never touched the outlet again.  I think this was what she had hoped for with me.  Sorry, Mom.  :)

I’m going to go play with the socket now….  :)  Oh, yeah, and just to irritate me more…it just started raining.  I mean pouring.  So, I probably won’t even need the air conditioning in a few minutes.  *sighs*

Update: Well, the screws holding the receptacle to the box were probably older than I am, so I tried again this morning.

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Yet Another TestOriginally uploaded by CadyLy
Okay, so I got how to upload pictures to my Flickr account; and I got how to post blog entries; but I couldn’t find a way from the Flickr site to post pictures to the blog as I do from my desktop. I would imagine that I would mostly be keeping things separate, but I might occasionally want to post about a photo.

So, here I go again, trying more things to beat my electronics into doing my will. :)

Good thing I am a Nuke, trained for this frustration…. :)

 Update:  If you get a message where the photo should be saying that the picture is unavailable, don’t worry — I got that too.  The problem being is that I just couldn’t let things be and I had to monkey with them.  Since the photo that I uploaded was a vertical image, I went onto the Flickr site and rotated it, and wanted to see if it would auto-update the photo on the blog….  Maybe there’s just a time lag…  We shall see….   Of course, this all just applies to the photos edited from a computer to rotate them.  I haven’t yet figured out how to rotate things as I post them — to either site.  So, you may have to tilt your head/monitor….  Sorry!  :)

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WHAT IS IT??!?!?!?!Originally uploaded by CadyLy

 This may say a lot about me.  I am getting ready to go to bed, since I have to get up freakishly early in the morning (even for me, who normally sets the alarm for 4:30 am).  I step out of my bedroom for a minute and happen to catch site of this…is it a bug?  On the door.

Eyes get huge.  What is the first thing I do?

Grab my camera.

That’s right, folks.  I need a picture of this sucker.  Because if it manages to kill me, at least someone will be able to download my picture and see the culprit.

 I come back with the camera — and he’s gone!  Aaaahhh!  Monster bug on the loose!!  Oh no!  Oh no!  Panic sets in.

Then, I see him running across the floor.  Aaaaahhhhh!  He’s faster than a cockroach — and *those* suckers can move!  Finally, he ends up on the wall in the living room.  I swap the camera for the Lysol/Windex.  He’s too fast to risk having him on the loose where he might decide to eat me.

I squirt him repeatedly.  He seems to not move for a little while.  Oh, good.  This stuff can kill cockroaches, but sometimes it takes a bit of time.  THEN….  HE STARTS MOVING!  Like a bad horror flick, the monster has come back to life — and just when you were beginning to catch your breath.

He runs again and for a moment I have lost him.  Oh, no.  Oh, no.  In my head, I am screaming.  I pull out the couch, trying to see if he escaped under there.

 Finally, I catch up to him on the wall again.  Thank You, Jesus, for Niki, who kept an eye on the Evil Bug and let me know where he was lurking.  I am so glad that I bought new shoes recently, because I could grab my *old* shoe and crack the sucker with it.  I may have dented the wall…but I wanted to make certain that the little beastie was dead.

So, now the bug guts are in the trash.  I have been sanitized.  And, the couch is back where it should be.  And it’s time again for me to try and go to bed.  I’m almost over my panic.  Not quite, so don’t sneak up on me just yet.

Have a good night!  And please pray for me that he doesn’t have any relatives!

What was that thing???

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What Donut Are You?

I do beg to differ. After all, my favorite donut is a *plain* donut. The cake kind…I think they are called. Not raised, glazed, etc. The kind you can get at the cider mill with a crunchy outside and a soft inside. And, for variety, in the fall, I will pick up some pumpkin-flavored ones, but that’s about as exotic as my donuts get. No filling, no frosting, no powdered sugar.

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