I am trying like mad to photoshop my big ol' moon face in there

(NBC photo)

I wrote about the final (finally final!) end of ER for MSN TV.

In real life? Being hugged by someone wearing a dirty lab coat worn hither and yon abouts ye olde grounds of thee county hospital? Not quite this hot.

All you need is a plan

So, I am off to make a huge purchase and also find ginormous nuggets of gold in my backyard.

Like many of you, I am eyeballing flat screen TVs, wondering if I should buy one now, before I am laid off (not that I think I will be laid off, or won't be laid off or anything bad will ever happen to me again) and cannot justify the purchase. Because, see, I don't know if I am going to be laid off, so it would not be a poor choice. Only if I knew I was being laid off would blowing hundreds of dollars on a piece of flicking entertainment be unwise. Right now it's theoretical and one should never make bold life choices based on theoreticals.

Also, it seems people are once again panning for gold in California, in which case -- solved! While I do not have the classic pie tin with holes punched in the bottom, I do have quite a nice fluted tart pan gathering dust in my cabinet, and I live in California, so no commute! All I need is a pick ax (hello, kitchen shears!) and overalls (terry bathrobe!) and I'm good to go. Becoming a miner takes nothing in start-up costs.

I wish I had thought of this earlier. My high school reunion was last weekend, and I think it would have been a great ice breaker to have "Miner" in my bio. "She's a miner, two thousand and niner . . ." Right? Crazily catchy.

It's that or maybe go into professional pill bug wrangling. I just hung out with the Ozzy Osborne of sitar players, so that one was taken.

I'm still looking for my niche.

At what point did she lose credibility?

I cried at my place of work for all sorts of reasons, or rather, I went and cried outside in full view of, as is fit and proper, countless strangers toting around in a parking lot their shopping bags and leaking, wrapped sandwiches.

And then I calmed down, and worked the rest of the day with a swollen baboon's arse of a face.

On my way home, at the end of the day, I stopped at a cheesy discount store, the better to eye my back fat in fluorescent lighting whilst trying on various polyester knock off blouses.

What can I say? I hoped it would be soothing.

I wandered the housewares aisle, back fat never far behind me, feeling spent and sad and vaguely as if I were leaving a trail of sludge in my wake. And then! Oh, and then a woman, a sharp-looking, middle-aged woman stopped and asked me where I bought my top, as it highlighted my hair and made my eyes pop.

"That red!" She declaimed, "It suits you!"

And it did!

My whole day was transformed, as if she had retroactively stuck unicorn stickers and rainbow glitter on everything! What back fat? I was Stunning!

We chatted for a moment and each went on our separate ways, eyeing "Live! Laugh! Love!" plaques and duck statuettes, and I honestly felt so transformed! And then from two aisles away, I heard that same woman, my benefactor, chirrup,

"What a lovely baby!"

[muted reply]

"Is he yours?"

[muted reply]

"Is he a newborn?"

[muted reply, but I believe he was]

"Can he whistle?"

[muted reply]

"Can't he do anything?"

[silence, as the mother backs away, we assume, from the stranger]

"Would you rather have a dog?"

Now what?

(snail)

Material

So, I moved. And this new house o'mine needs plants in the worst way. Only -- dear GOD -- have you seen the price of plants? Dude. They don't grow on trees.

I tried the whole pinching-off-some from my other plants to start some new plants, but you know what that leaves you with -- a 1972 ranch house fill of nothing but Creeping Charlie in macrame hangers. With orange beads.

So now what?

My next door neighbor has plants.

When I was a scruffy wee teen, I tried shoplifting. I had two cool friends who were walking off with eyeliner from the local CVS and I was fifteen and so wanted to be part of their "Take that, Authority Johnny!" world. I was at a consignment shop with them and got the terribly clever idea of simply pulling a nice big blouse on over my current top (Smooth, right? Because everyone wears two pirate blouses at one time, with tags still on, in June). The owner sauntered over and pointed out that what I was wearing, though I insisted, when asked, that it was mine, was something she had just put on the hanger an hour earlier. And then she told me to leave. So I pulled off the garment and handed it to her and imploded into a small ball of shame and hair mousse.

And so ended my crime spree and the reign of terror was no more.

No, I have not gone next door in the dead of night in my very special thieving jammies and taken even one single leaf from her front yard, okay? I just think about it All. The. Time. But, if I did liberate plants, then I would have to liberate potting soil and pots, and if I stick with this "Shawshank Redemption" style, it would take me 45 years to get one jade plants started.

Also, I want a koi pond, and you can see where that is leading.

March 15

WANT!

And people think interior decorating is tricky.

Continuing with our spiritual discovery month

Thanks, Martha Bee!

What about frittata?

The month is looking up!

Put down the allen wrench

I can't blog today; I went to IKEA.

Or, rather,

I can't blog today: I went to IKEA.

See, that semicolon versus the colon? It explains everything. In one (semicolon), I did two things. In the other (colon), I cannot do one thing, due to the other thing. Like, a list.

I might be doing this incorrectly.

You know who would know? Martha. It's National Grammar Day on March 4, which Martha, hello, started. Also, she corrected the Queen of England in her book and, this weekend, she rode around on a plane with the Jonas brothers (and may have a baby in the not-so-distant future, a baby with serious bangs -- just saying').

Anyway, Martha would know if I am correctly linking my inability to blog with my trip to IKEA, but I cannot ask her because I am in a coma. IKEAoma.