In which technology replaces humans

I'm currently trying to send an email to a group mailing list in order to answer a question I received at work.  However, my email address has changed from ldschurch.org to familysearch.org so they don't think I'm actually subscribed, so they won't let me send anything in it.  I had to jump through all of these hoops and send all sorts of emails and click on confirmation buttons to prove that I wasn't sending spam.  All of it was worth it, however, when I received the following in an email:

Your message to [email address here] has been forwarded to the
"list owners" (the people who manage the [company name] list). If you wanted
to reach a human being, you used the correct procedure and you can ignore
the remainder of this message.

Heartless pointed out the irony of an automated response telling me that I reached a human being.

[Happy Dance]

Humble Master brought to my attention today that, as of this morning's posts, I have reached 1200 answers, which ties me with Duchess for the #10 answering spot of all time.  (And since "Dr" comes before "Du", I am in the 10th spot on the list.)  In 8 more questions, I beat Optimistic.  (I love competing against retired writers.  Makes my task so much easier.)

In this I am well pleased.

(I'm also quite happy that this question is the 1200th question.)

Sometimes Death is the better option

There's a stigma that haunts new brides ... something about not being able to cook. I never worried about this, however, as I love to cook and have been doing it myself for years and years now. Sure, I smoke up a kitchen here and there, but I think my successes greatly outweigh my failures. Yellow told me the other day that I've yet to cook anything he didn't like.

Statements like that must be tested.

The other night I was over at The Heartless Siren's house, trading dinner for her washer and dryer (we don't have one). Especially helpful is that half of my food was still there. Shepherd's Pie was on the menu. I peeled and chopped the potatoes, then got them boiling. Meanwhile, I had the hamburger defrosting. Before long, the hamburger was crumbled and cooked. I waited for a commercial in So You Think You Can Dance that Heartless and Co. were watching, then I headed down to the cellar to raid my food storage for green beans and tomato sauce. Typically I choose stewed tomatoes for Shepherd's Pie. It's already got spices and other yummy goodness, like onions and celery (which actually is disgusting, but I don't mind it in things like this). However, knowing that Heartless considers onions and celery as Death, I made a quick decision to be nice and just grab tomato sauce and spice it myself.

I rummaged around the kitchen, trying to figure out how to open the four home-canned bottles, since I had taken my bottle opener over to my new house with me. Sighing, I gave in and grabbed a spoon. I've seen my parents and siblings open bottles with spoons hundreds of times, but I was never any good at it. To my surprise, it only took a few tries before I popped the tops off both bottles of tomato sauce. I poured the first bottle over, hesitating a moment... was there enough hamburger to justify another jar? I stirred it... just a bit... and decided that, yes, two jars would be ok.

I started stirring the tomato/hamburger mixture, considering putting my iPod back in my ears (I had been listening to Harry Potter 4 earlier), when an unexpected smell assaulted my nose. Where I had expected to smell tomatoes, I instead smelled apples. Apples? Fear crept over my thoughts. No. It couldn't. I recalled in a quick flash the bottle sitting next to the one I had grabbed being labeled as "Duchess". I knew that was applesauce. Mom had labeled it to distinguish what kind of apples she had used. I quickly grabbed a discarded lid from the opened bottles. "06" was all it said. I looked back at the skillet. No. No way. But this wasn't labeled as applesauce. Also, it was pink! Applesauce isn't pink.

And then it hit me like a load of bricks over the head. Mom's specialty applesauce, the one you had to ask nicely and bat your eyes to get a jar of, only surpassed in difficulty by fruit cocktail, was strawberry applesauce. And it was pink. I gingerly scraped the side of the opened jar with my finger, then slowly licked the offending sauce off. It was, without a doubt, strawberry applesauce.

Now what was I to do?! I just poured two bottles of precious applesauce over the only hamburger I had. One of the television watchers reassured me, saying he would often grate apples into his ground beef and it takes on the texture and flavor of hamburger, but it's healthier! That made me feel better, but this was two pints of applesauce, not a grated apple. I called Mom and she laughed and laughed, accusing me of having New Bride syndrome, and told me to rinse it off, then put tomato sauce on. "Sister-in-law Jr. always rinses off her hamburger after cooking it. Granted, I think it takes away the flavor, but that's just me." "Oh, so you think that taking away the flavor is the best option here?" "Wait, it's already cooked?"

[groan]

I chatted at Yellow and told him the horrible thing I had done. He suggested that we could just change the name and call it Orchard Tender's Pie instead. I rolled my eyes, waiting for a real response until I realized... he was serious.

I knew it was ridiculous. I couldn't leave the applesauce in with the hamburger and keep going! .... could I? Of course, now that the idea was planted in my head, I couldn't shake it. But what if it tasted amazing?! This is how new recipes are born, isn't it? And if I didn't keep going, all of that strawberry applesauce would be wasted. But then again, if I kept going and it was gross, the potatoes, hamburger, green beans and cheese would be wasted. [sigh] Dilemmas!

I couldn't bring myself to taste the hamburger/applesauce mixture. Finally I told Yellow that he would have to come from work and taste it himself. He was leaving momentarily anyway, so we decided that would be the plan. He still finds this plan faulty, since he is basically a living garbage disposal... he'd eat anything. But I figured that if it was so gross that even he didn't like it, I knew it would be a very bad idea.

He came. He tasted. He approved. I doubted. I tasted. I wavered.

I think it was the fact that I got a large bite of hamburger. It wasn't so bad at first, but when I actually started chewing a large piece of hamburger with a lingering applesauce taste in my mouth, I wasn't convinced. I hemmed. I hawed. Do I waste it? Should I be brave? What do I do?!

I've never been good with decisions.

Finally, with a promise from Yellow that if I didn't like it, he'd eat it every day for lunch so that it wouldn't be wasted, I went ahead and finished making the dish. Heartless went to bed. She was tired and doesn't like fruit anyway. This dish had been ruined for her. We finished baking and laundry and took it home. Yellow took a big piece; I took a small piece.

Honestly? It wasn't half bad. Yeah, I wouldn't make it again on purpose. But if you took a bite and imagined that you had taken a bite of Shepherd's Pie and then a bite of applesauce, it wasn't bad at all. We both ate it for lunch for the next several days until it was gone.

Conclusions:

1. Yellow truly will always think I'm a good cook and like everything I make.
2. Being brave isn't as dreadful as I imagined.
3. Heartless, you would have gotten dinner had you let me put Death in. I wouldn't have confused applesauce with large chunks of tomatoes, along with celery and onions. I blame this whole thing on you.

Amish Virus

I just got this email virus.  I thought it was quite fantastic, and The Heartless Siren thought I should blog it.  I quite agreed.  So, I am now passing this virus on to all of you via my blog.  Hmmm... a blog virus.  This is a bad idea.  Pretend I never said it.  Don't go giving anyone ideas.

And I thought I was from a small town

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (Reuters) - A volcano in Alaska's Aleutian chain erupted on Saturday, sending a cloud of ash 35,000 feet into the air and prompting the evacuation of the 10 people who live on the eastern side of the island, officials said.

No fear of implosion anytime soon

I had the following email exchange with a coworker. Heartless Siren declared yesterday that were this coworker to ever be straightforward, he would implode. I think this email conversation proves that.

• Email 1: [Not sent to me] Information about an online training session at 11:00 this morning.
  
• Email 2: [From Implode to me, forwarding Email 1] "If you have time this should be interesting. M and S will be unable to participate."
  
• Email 3: [From me to Implode] "Sorry. I just barely got this email. I had to go get a new driver’s license this morning and didn’t get into work until 11:30. Hope the meeting went well!"
  
• Email 4: [From Implode to me] "The meeting is at 1:44."
  

At this point I pull Heartless Siren over to read the emails to see if I missed something. She was as confused as I was.

• Email 5: [From me to Implode] "… ummm… 1:44?  a) Who schedules a meeting for 1:44? b) Where did it ever say that in the email?"
  
• Email 6: [From Implode to me]  "We all missed it."

Now... does 1:44 have some connotation for "we missed it"?  Are Heartless Siren and I the only clueless ones out here?

Calling all kitty lovers

Due to a ginormous miscommunication between myself and my former landlady (please don't get me started) my former roommates and I need to find new homes for our kitties. There are two adorable cats that are in desperate need of good homes. I can't bear to let them go to a shelter where chances are great that they'll just be euthanized. They started as inside cats and were quite well-behaved. (Drawly, one of the kittens that we found a new home for, is currently an inside cat.) For the last few months, all of them have lived outside and have done perfectly well out there. Thus, they can be inside or outside cats.

The momma cat is Sonja. Isn't she adorable? She makes a wonderful house cat. She's very quiet and calm. She rarely jumps on things or scratches furniture. I was quite amazed at how well she acted in the house. She's rather timid about new places, so she may hide for the first few days, but she does come out of her shell. And she loves to be pet under her chin. And now I present, Sonja (look how good of a Momma she is):



Sir Guy (named after the BBC Robin Hood character that we are all in love with) is just becoming a teenager. Since we had to take his brother and best friend, Drawly, away, he has been a lot more calm and loves attention, though he'll only let you hold him for a short time. He can be quite playful and is great fun to watch climbing trees. (He has even become adept at climbing down.) He has this very entertaining sideways jump and loves to chase after anything that moves. And now I present, Sir Guy (How can you resist those eyes?):



Please, please, I am begging anyone who can give these kitties a good home to step up. You can email me at dragonladyofjapan@gmail.com or give me a call if you know my number. We have one cat carrier if you need it to move the cat. We'd like to keep them together, but understand completely if you can only take one. We also have a kitty litter and some litter to go with it. But only one, so first come, first serve.

If it comes down to bribery, I offer one dessert of your choice (assuming I can make it) to anyone who will give them a good home.

'Nuff said