September doesn't officially start until after Labor Day anyway, right?

Just maybe not a full week after Labor Day. Whoopsie. Anyway, hello there. Fancy meeting you here. Wait. Is anyone here? It's entirely possible that after such a long hiatus I am now typing into the text-based equivalent of an empty and echo-y cave. The bad news is, perhaps no one is left to hear me. On the plus side, the acoustics are great!

So then. August happened, and with it came... Man. What the hell did I do for all of August? I know that time speeds up as we get older, but still I would like a recount on this summer's length. Wasn't it June just two days ago? And now it's all leaves changing and spiced pumpkin lattes and skirt and boot season on its way. Madness.

Obviously I could rattle off for you everything I have done in the past month, in inevitably lazy bullet-point format. Frankly, however, August is a blur. I did some stuff. I hung out with some people. I probably had some wine. Most important, I took a vacation! A real one, where I left my house (and hell, the state) for a full week and everything! And it was excellent. I don't know why I don't do that more often. I'm allotted a reasonably adequate number of vacation days, and yet, it had been over three years since I took a solid week of those days at once. That's just wrong, people. WRONG. Must remedy that in all years to come.

You may recall that my plan was an old school family vacation, minus the family. Or rather, with urban family, which if you ask me is a much better way to travel. My pal Carrie and I road tripped it to South Dakota, where they have mountains and rock formations and rattlesnakes, making it feel like an entirely different world that's only one state away.

South Dakota was gorgeous, actually, and if you haven't been there yet, I highly recommend you go. Coming from the east, we made the requisite stops along I-90 at the Corn Palace (the world's largest bird feeder) and Wall Drug on the way out, but I suppose you could skip those trivialities (if you must) and proceed directly to the Badlands. You know, the Badlands! Home to an unspecified number of rattlesnakes that I was convinced would be our undoing. I mean, I suppose I didn't really think a rattlesnake would bite me and I would DIE, but I do admit I was convinced there would at least be a harrowing but ultimately harmless run-in of some sort, not unlike the late night tarantula scare in the motel room when the Brady Bunch went to Hawaii.

Seriously, people, after talking to a NOT HELPFUL friend of Carrie's who had me convinced we would camp in the Badlands only if we had a death wish (his exact words: "They don't call it the GOODlands, you know!"), I was so convinced there would be rattlesnakes at our campsite that I did what any normal person (read: Internet addict who believes Google is the new Magic 8 Ball) would do. I Googled "Badlands camping death." And you know what? No matching suggestions appeared in that little drop-down list as I typed! No valid results returned! Clearly that meant all would be fine, and luckily, Google was right! As far as I'm concerned, the Badlands are full of grasshoppers, prairie dogs, and more than the occasional buffalo, but rattlesnakes? The Badlands are fresh out! Whew.

I was going to do a little photo essay of various highlights of my trip, but you know what? That shit takes time, yo, and if I sidetrack myself with a project like that, I may not hit that "Publish Post" button this week either. So how about you just pop on over to this Flickr set if you feel so inclined, and just imagine my witty commentary interspersed between ten or fifteen hand-picked shots? I mean really; do I have to do everything? Oh. Right. This is my blog. So yes, I suppose I do.

Moving on. Vacation was definitely the highlight of my August, but there were other victories as well. Like my winning a new pair of jeans in Abbersnail's Gap-tastic Pants Party! Whee! If I didn't know any better, I'd think my friends got together and somehow rigged that contest to declare me a winner, just so they could finally see me in something other than the four identical pairs of Mossimo jeans from Target I've been wearing for three years now. I do need a jeans upgrade, I'm well aware, so I entered Abbersnail's contest with the plea, "Help me, Abby-wan. You're my only hope!" And help me she did. Hurrah.

So I have new pants. Or, I will have, once I get myself to a Gap to pick them out. On an entirely different note, what I do NOT have is home-grown tomatoes. Friends, if this one first attempt can be considered a fair measure for future success, I'm going to have to say that gardening is not for me. I am pretty sure tomato season is officially over, and from my stubborn and temperamental stoop-side tomato plants, I got a mere handful of not particularly delicious cherry tomatoes and exactly ZERO beefsteaks. I should have had at least a few, but the damn squirrels got to every one of them just before they were ripe enough to pick. Bastards. When they're not dying in my yard, they're stealing the literal fruits of my labors. (That is, if watering a plant every day can be considered "labor.") So I guess I'll have to continue buying tomatoes like a common 21st-century capitalist. I should have learned years ago that a successful pioneer woman I am not. I've never been a quick study, obviously.

I'm sure other things happened in August, too, but as I said, it's a blur. So that brings us to September, in which, thus far, I have survived a visit from my family, had an uneventful trip to the dentist, went to the quirkiest show I've seen in a long time, and made my first quiche. (Note: I still don't love eggs, but it was delicious.) Oh, and today I took an invigorating late summer bike ride that was altogether lovely and perfect aside from the droves of gnats on a mile or so patch of the river-side trail. I have already showered off the ones that awesomely plastered themselves inside my sports bra, but if I find any in my teeth when I floss tonight, I may be too horrified to bike near a river ever again.

And on that note, I shall leave you, because there's no better way to say "Thanks for reading after I abandoned you for a month" than to end with an image like that. You're welcome.

And what have all of you been up to not-so-recently?

NPW is a mind reader

That's the only explanation, folks. Seriously, the woman keeps winning stuff! It's almost as though the universe was misinformed or lost the memo and thinks it is NPW's year, instead of mine! NPW, if you've ever thought of buying a stack of lottery tickets or betting on some horses, now might be a good time. Quite clearly you're on a roll. (The snowy TMBG ticket denial was obviously just a fluke.)

I wrote down three numbers before I clicked "Publish Post" last night. Those numbers were 1, 11, and 17. Let's take a look at those corresponding comments, shall we?

Comment #1: NPW
You know how I have to win. But I am afraid to keep winning these pay it forward prizes because then I have to actually pay it forward. Yay E for Excellent!

Indeed, now you have to pay it forward. Heads up, everyone--NPW is running another contest! (It's an unending cycle, my friend. Have fun with that.)

Before I copy and paste comment #11, I have to share with you comment #10. Comment #10 came from Lara, who said...

"I can feel it -- number 9 is the winner."

While Lara was typing that, however, Erikka sneaked in with comment #9, making Lara's comment #10. Seeing her numbering flaw, Lara posted a second comment:

Comment #11: Lara
Crap. When I started typing that, I would have been comment number 9. I must amend my previous statement. TEN is the winner! TEN TEN TEN!

In fact, ten was not the winner. But eleven was, so you win anyway. Whoo.

I actually thought about the fact that I just sent Lara a prize not too long ago (well, a Christmas present, but close enough, I think), not to mention the fact that my friendship is surely prize enough... But if I skipped over her and went to the next commenter, that next commenter would be NPW again--with her third comment, asking, "Did I win yet?" (You did, in fact. Eleven comments ago.) And if I skipped to the comment after that, the winner would be me. This is all getting far too complicated. My point is, Lara, you win.

Which brings us to our third winner, comment #17:

Comment #17: -R-
Was I one of the winners? Why do you tease me so?

You were, in fact, one of the winners, -R-. Now I just have to figure out what your prize should be (which is tough, when all that's coming to mind immediately is "Ann Taylor Loft gift card").

So. Congrats to NPW, Lara, and -R-. Prizes are forthcoming (though I know not yet what or when).

In related news, I am a winner, too! Today in the mail I received two very exciting items. The first was a package from Noelle containing a collection of surprises from her December NaChriCoMo contest that I already forgot I won. (Note: I may not be remembering that acronym right, but since Aaron's on a blog break, no one's here to correct me.) Noelle sent me two holidays worth of candy (Christmas M&Ms and Valentine hearts... what, no Cadbury Creme Eggs?), an all-Lola mix on CD, and a Steve Martin book that, coincidentally, I actually just read about today. All in all, it was a fine prize package, and Noelle, I thank you kindly.

And nestled up right alongside Noelle's prize pack in my mailbox was a prize almost equally exciting: a $10 coupon from my favorite liquor store, finally making good on the rewards they promised me as part of the "Heart Healthy Wine Club" I joined months ago. I thought drinking wine was its own reward, but no! More wine (for free!) is an even better prize.



Maybe the universe got the memo after all. Say it with me: Year of Stef! Thank you.

I'm a winner (and you can be, too)

People, I have news. The unthinkable has happened. I had two dates and a phone screening this weekend (yes, phone screening--haven't I told you that dating is a lot like work?), and believe it or not... none of them sucked!

I'll just pause for a second while you absorb that. Frankly I'm as shocked as you. I am reminded suddenly of one of Lara's very earliest haikus, written during her Match.com days...

Polygamist?

Have received emails
From various match.com
Boyfriends today. These

Guys are great! Honest!
What if I fall in love with ALL
Of them? Might happen.

Because I am nowhere near the shining ray of unbridled optimism that Lara is, I do not honestly anticipate falling in love with all three of these men and having to either move to Utah or hold some sort of awkward rose ceremony as an elimination round. But still. Two dates and a phone screening and I'm not writing any of them off yet? I'm pretty certain this is a first for me.

Bachelor #1 is six-foot-seven (six-foot-SEVEN!) and lives a mile and a half away from me. He is tall and geographically desirable! And he cooks, too! Also, he is an editor by day, which means that even though he inexplicably eschews capitalization in emails, he most likely knows the difference between its and it's. Obviously a second date is in order to find out more. On the negative side, if it doesn't work out, since he lives so close, we all know I am bound to run into him at Target. At least at 6'7" I'll see him coming. Advance warning always makes for an easier escape.

Bachelor #2 is a bit soft-spoken and hard to read, but aligns with me on several important life views (political, cinematic, etc.). He'd also very effectively round out my life menu with all sorts of useful skills I lack. He's worked as a chef, so he's likely even a better cook than the neighborhood giant, and he used to refurbish houses, so he could probably tell me exactly what I'm doing wrong with the half-assed basement beautification project I'm in the midst of currently. Incidentally, I might not actually have a second date with either of these men, as I may have picked up some sort of potentially fatal respiratory ailment by not wearing the proper safety equipment as I scraped the loose [undoubtedly lead-based] paint off said basement walls today and swept years of dust and debris into the trash. [Cough.]

I don't have much of a report on Bachelor #3 at the moment, as we haven't actually met in person yet. But we know that he digs bookish girls in sensible shoes, so clearly why wouldn't he like me, right?

Know who else likes me? My pal NPW, who was kind enough to bestow on me that "E for Excellent" award that's been making the rounds. You know the one...

Thanks, NPW. I'm sending an "E for Excellent" nod right back at you, my friend. Actually, I was planning to repay that kindness by passing the award on to other excellent bloggers, but I have such a damn hard time narrowing those things down, and attempting to do so was creating entirely more stress than seemed reasonable or necessary. You're all excellent, really. Well, maybe not you. Kidding. You too. Give yourself a little pat on the back today.

I do have to pass out some other prizes, however, so let's get to that, shall we? I've been terribly remiss in not acknowledging Poppy's recent Pay it Forward contest, wherein NPW and I both won fabulous prizes from the Popster. NPW got a quiz bowl t-shirt in honor of her brilliant little nerdlets, and I got this:



You remember Jim Halpert, don't you? He was on this television show that we all liked to watch before that never-ending writer's strike took it away from us. I'll wear this shirt and think of you, Jim. Please come back to us soon, OK?

Anyway, to keep the good vibes and prize-winning going, I need to pass along some prizes here as well. I'm going to keep this simple and borrow Poppy's rules. I'm thinking of three numbers (I'll even write them down, to be all official, though of course I won't tell you what I wrote just yet). If your comment number is one of the numbers I choose, you win! I have no idea what your prize will be, but I promise it very likely will not suck. It also will (hopefully) arrive more expeditiously than the fabled Funky Carter prize packages. We shall see. So. In summary: leave me a comment (a nice one, please), and you might win a prize. Comments for me, prizes for you. It's a win-win, I say.

I promise I'll stop talking about spelling after this. (Well, for a while, anyway.)

All right then. At the risk of being anticlimactic, I am finally ready to share all the spelling bee details. Or, some of the details, anyway. The number of local search engine hits I've gotten in the past two days traced to the name of that event has made me leery of typing "unken-dray elling-spay ee-bay" any more times than necessary. I had fully intended to be pretty generous with the editorializing, but since I don't know which other participants or spectators might Google their way in, I'm hesitant to do so now. I mean, I could go on and on about the prick from Indiana who thought he'd been sprinkled by the spelling gods with immunity dust, but "prick" is really a relative term; it's all subjective, isn't it? And besides that, his half-naked girlfriend couldn't correctly spell "butterflies," so clearly he has his own cross to bear, doesn't he?

First off, I would just like to say a hearty "thank you kindly" to all of you who said you were entirely unsurprised by my victory. When I asked my friend Michael (who forced me into participating in the first place) why it was so important to him that I get up there, he said, "Because I want to see you WIN." I promise you, I had no intention of winning. Spelling bees are a crapshoot; we all know that. My goal was only not to humiliate myself--more specifically, not to be eliminated in the first round.

As it turns out, I needn't have worried. Speller #1 was eliminated immediately... on the word accessory. The crowd was surprised but pretty forgiving. Plying people with alcohol always helps; does it not? And following that, at least half the first round contenders were ousted. (It's sad; spelling really is a lost art.) My first round word was nugatory--a word I couldn't define but have actually seen before, and therefore I spelled with no problem at all. I eased up and had the requisite inter-round drink. If I went out on "millennium" (which I surely would have spelled either "millenium" or "milennium"), so be it. We were all just there to have fun.

In the second round, I lucked out and got a word from the "Hipster" category. When I heard the word in a sentence, I wasn't at all worried I'd spell celibating wrong. But the third round, I actually worked for it. That round went something like this...

Judge: Speller number [I forget her number], your word is "Butt fuck."
Nice girl whose number I forget: Butt fuck? Oh, OK. B-U-T-T space F-U-C-K.
Crowd: [Various cheers, hoots, and hollers. Obvious general appreciation for the Hipster and Pop Culture categories]
Judge: Speller number 28 [that's me], your word is "Ooh-blee-ett."
Crowd: [General menacing and foreboding groan]
Me: Ooh-blee-ett? Um, can I spell "Butt fuck" instead?
Judge: Nope. Sorry. Your word is "Ooh-blee-ett."
Me: Can I have the definition and origin, please?
Judge: An Ooh-blee-ett is a dungeon with an opening only at the top. Origin: French
Me: [seemingly long pause] Ooh-blee-ett... O-U-...
Crowd: Oooh! [General groans and whistles signaling "clearly you are WRONG!"]
Judge: Quiet, please. I need to hear the speller. Keep going, please, 28.
Me: Wait. O-U was right?
Judge: [Nods]
Me: O-U is RIGHT??
Judge: [Still nodding]
Crowd: [Suddenly silent]
Me: O-U-B-L-I-E-T-T-E.
Judge: [pause] That's correct.
Crowd: [Mad cheering all around, signifying clearly I AM a spelling goddess.]

Following that round was a sexy hula hoop routine, which some of you likely saw on Flickr. (Note: I left out the last photo in that series. Somehow I suspect posting a woman wearing only pasties above the waist might violate Flickr's terms of use.) And following that was the nearly naked round, where contestants who'd already been eliminated were allowed to come back on stage and compete in their underwear. I didn't post those photos either, for reasons that are probably equally obvious. Suffice it to say I have a bra-and-jeans-only photo of Jackass from Indiana's seemingly nice but bad-spelling girlfriend, but I'll do the right thing and not post it for the Interwebs to see. (This might also be a good time to mention that I didn't take any of those pictures. Michael was in charge of my camera the entire night.)

The winner of the nearly-naked round was a fun little man named Jaime, who was so unshy about photodocumenting the performance that he urgently thrust his own camera in my hands before he went on stage. Again, I don't feel right about posting him in his tighty-whiteys, but here's a shot of him (with me) fully clothed after the whole event.



In round four, my word was conflagration, which I know only because I am a huge enough nerd that I took notes as we went along. Apparently the "drunken" part of this bee was getting to me by then, because I don't remember spelling that word at all. That round wasn't actually a total blur, though. I do remember counting the five remaining contestants around me and thinking surely I was doomed to fail at that point. "Maybe coming in sixth at spelling bees is what I do," I thought, remembering my sixth grade defeat in the regional bee. Maybe it's an unavoidable jinx in some way. If my word in that round had been pejorative, I've have thought the universe was speaking to me. Instead, I correctly spelled conflagration, proving again that the universe really pays no attention to me.

By round five, there were only four of us still in the running, and the three women in that group had formed an alliance, all saying (while glaring at Indiana Boy), "I don't care which one of us wins. But ONE of us has to TAKE. HIM. DOWN." I should note that he may not have actually been so awful. Alcohol does have a tendency to heighten emotions. But he rubbed most of us the wrong way in the first round (when the judges asked him to repeat the last part of his spelling and he pranced off the stage scoffing, "No. I spelled it right"), and his attitude only escalated from there. Also, he may not have actually been from Indiana, but I don't remember precisely which "I" state he claimed to be a former champ of, so for the sake of my story, he's Indiana's black sheep to bear.

In round five, I actually went down, by mysteriously trying to put a "th" in proselytize. (Was I thinking of "prosthetic"? I have no idea. Apparently I just never learned how to spell that word.) Luckily, all four of us tanked in that round, so they brought us all back up on stage. (Mind you, brought us back only after Indiana Boy tried to claim victory as last-man-standing by virtue only of his later-number place in line. Luckily, the judges said, "No, you have to spell first" and when he blew his word, we all got another try.)

At that point, they mixed up our order and made Indiana spell his word first. They also made him spell sans his pants, which tells me the judges didn't like him any more than we did. He flubbed his word, as did the two nice women who followed him, and then it was my turn again. (Note: What was that I said about not editorializing? Sorry, Indiana; you just rubbed me the wrong way, I guess.)

Judge: Speller number 28, your word is "guy-no-bib-la-phobia."
Me: Can I have the definition, please?
Judge: "Guy-no-bib-la-phobia." A fear or dislike of women authors.
Me: [Silently breaking down the root words, using that awesome liberal arts education of mine...] Guy-no-bib-LEE-OH-phobia?
Judge: [Squinting at the paper the word was printed on, obviously feeling the effects of the free PBR herself] Oh. Yes. Guy-no-bib-lee-OH-phobia.
Me: G-Y-N-O-B-I-B-L-I-O-P-H-O-B-I-A

My friend Michael says as soon as he heard me question the pronunciation, he knew I had the bee wrapped up. The host descended on me with that yellow and black striped hat and matching scarf and she declared me the winner of the whole bee. The scarf and hat wasn't the only prize, though. The grand prize was a free tattoo, courtesy of a local tattoo spot. It wasn't just any tattoo, however. Apparently I got very little say in it. "It's a tattoo of a drunken bee," she said. "And if you take it, you HAVE to get it, and you HAVE to decide RIGHT NOW. Otherwise we'll give it to someone else."

The crowd was cheering, saying, "Yeah! Get it!" But I'm far, far too practical for that. Suddenly I saw myself at 96, wondering why on earth I had a shriveled, dizzy bee on my ass. I mean, a bee tattoo, for the rest of my life? All because I won a spelling bee in a bar? But then again, a BEE TATTOO! For the rest of my life! All because I won a spelling bee in a bar!! Frankly, I'm having a smidge of winner's remorse about passing on the prize. They couldn't really force me to get a drunken bee, could they? Maybe at least a sober bee? Wouldn't that have been fun? Alas, I turned it down, and it's too late to change my mind now.

And with that, I think I've answered all of your questions. Oh. Except for -R-'s, regarding the 3D glasses. Those were for the burlesque show that followed the bee. One girl performed her act behind a curtain lit with a red and blue light. Hence, 3D glasses for the full effect.

I actually got to talking with one of the performers later, and she handed me her card and asked if I'd be interested in a burlesque class. Tempting, I suppose. A useful skill, maybe. But I think I'll stick to spelling for now.

More proof that I don't have a lot going on

Last week, my favorite co-worker won a Chipotle office party, meaning she gets to treat herself and four co-workers (yours truly included, of course) to a free burrito lunch on the day of her choice.

The day she chose is today, and this morning, when I awoke all groggy and reluctant to pry myself out from my warm covers and into the cold, dark morning, the thing that made my eyes pop open and helped me drag myself out of bed was this single thought: "It's free Chipotle Day!!"

That's totally normal, right? OK; just checking.

You're all winners in my book. You're just not all winners in my blue velvet bag.

Here it is, folks. The moment at least a handful of you have been anxiously awaiting. Or, more likely, the moment most of you have nearly forgotten about by now, but which I'm going to make happen anyway. That's right: it's time to announce my very first contest winner!

Before we get to the winner, let's review the True/False statements...

1. I have both milked a cow and worked in a cheese factory.
   
   True. I couldn't decide if this was too obviously true... if everyone not born in Wisconsin just assumes that every little girl in the state has a pet cow in her backyard and all summer jobs are dairy-related. This is not the case, of course, but my family did live in the country and at least half of our neighbors were dairy farmers, so I did get to experience tugging on an udder at least once. Does that count as full-fledged milking? I'm going to say it does. As for the cheese factory, yes, that's true, too. I spent a whole summer there between my freshman and sophomore year of college. I would like to say it was a cheese-filled wonderland that I remember fondly to this day, but the truth is if I hadn't been sure I wanted to stay in school at that point, one summer in that place would have convinced me that higher education was a good plan for me.
   
   
2. I have changed the oil on my own car.
   
   True(ish). To be completely honest, my friend Jessi changed the oil in my car, but I was her assistant, and she showed me what she was doing each step of the way, and had I wanted to attempt it again on my own while I still had that same car (a gold '84 Charger, if you're curious), I am very confident I would have been able to do so successfully. You know what, though? Liz has a point: there's a reason God created Jiffy Lube. Changing your oil ranks right up there with churning your own butter in terms of things really just not worth the effort, particularly when qualified professionals can do it for you for just pennies more. Come to think of it, though, Jessi probably churned her own butter, too. She was a sturdy girl with farm-kid roots, and her talents ranged the spectrum from handyman to domestic goddess. I often said she'd make both a great wife and husband someday... if that "someday" was the 1950s, of course. Whatever she's doing now, I hope her many skills are appreciated.
   
   
3. I have eaten haggis... more than once.
   
   True. I spent a semester in Scotland, remember? And honestly, it's really not that bad. One girl in my study abroad group compared it to the ground meat in a Minnesota hotdish, and I'd say it's a reasonably accurate comparison.
   
   
4. I have never had a cavity.
   
   FALSE. I know there are people out there who can claim this (One Smart Cookie, for instance, who assures us she is not a dental braggart, and since she seems pleasant and agreeable, I'll just believe her on that). I am, however, not entirely sure I trust anyone who even in childhood had such a fastidious oral hygiene routine... or whose teeth mysteriously have the titanium strength to endure wayward wedged pieces of a Butterfinger bar or Laffy Taffy bits. Really I almost feel sorry for people who haven't experienced a filling. Aside from it being a rite of passage, it probably builds some kind of strength... or at least, keeps the dentist-related anxiety in check. Getting a filling is sort of like chicken pox or learning to ski: it's best to get it over with when you're young. Exposure in adulthood is just bound to bring more terror and misery.
   
   
5. I have incurred a balloon-related injury that required a cast on my foot and lower leg.
   
   True. I actually wrote about this a couple of times, but I sort of expected everyone to know this was likely even without reading those posts. Lara, thank you for being the only person who failed to believe I could be so uncoordinated as to hurt myself on a balloon, but I assure you, I really am. My athletic shortcomings know no bounds, and as a child, I clearly wasn't any better. When I was eight years old, I failed to successfully navigate the simple journey from our dining room to our living room (a mere 14 inches down). I jumped off the step, apparently failing to realize a rubber balloon was aligned between my foot and the floor. I slipped on the balloon, twisted my ankle, and tore a ligament, requiring a cast for a month. No, the balloon did not break. No, I was not smart enough to lie when people asked me what happened. Yes, I was laughed at. A lot. Let's just forget this ugly incident and get to the prize drawing, OK?
   

First, I tallied up everyone's responses to see how convincing my lies were. Apparently more of you think (rightfully, I might add) that I'm less likely to have any auto maintenance skills than that I've got mad dental hygiene skills. Nevertheless, it was a close race between #2 and #4.



Next, I used the very scientific method of writing the names of those who answered correctly on a slip of paper and hiding them in this pretty blue velvet bag. I keep this bag around specifically for times like this, of course. (And I wonder why my house is a cluttered mess.)



Then I reached in and drew a winner at random. And the winner is... [drumroll and all that]...



Congratulations, Nabbalicious! I'll be happy to send a prize your way. I may or may not have your current address, so if you don't want some jerk in a previous apartment to get your hard-earned winnings, perhaps you should send me an email to confirm.

Thanks for playing, everyone!



(Oh, and thank YOU, Jess, for reminding me that my camera has a macro setting and that I might actually have a use for it at times! Look! Clear* pictures! Of small things close up! Who'd have thought? Yay!)

* (If you click to zoom)

Liar, liar

So here's a good plan for a blog post. Wait until the 48 hours when your traffic is at its lowest for the week, and THEN post a crowd participation sort of game. Great idea, Stef! Yeah, I thought so.

Anyway...

This "Two truths and a lie" game has been making the rounds lately. And if you know me at all by now, you know that any meme I can turn into a five-point list is bound to become a Friday Five, so I'm going to double the truths and do exactly that.

The other fun thing about this game is that almost everyone has decided that prizes should be involved, and since I hate to be the one girl who says, "You get NOTHING, sucka," let's call this my very first blog contest (blontest?) as well. I'll draw a name from all those with a correct guess, and if that name is yours (and you're willing to send me your address), a prize yet to be determined will be on its way. Are you excited?? WOULD IT HELP IF I USED ALL CAPS?? Good. Then we're ready. Let's go.

Four truths and a lie. Can you tell which is which?

1. I have both milked a cow and worked in a cheese factory.
   
2. I have changed the oil on my own car.
3. I have eaten haggis... more than once.
4. I have never had a cavity.
5. I have incurred a balloon-related injury that required a cast on my foot and lower leg.
   

All right. Since it's Friday, and many of you have better things to do on weekends than see what I'm rambling about over here, I'll give this until Monday night before gathering right answers and declaring a winner. Have at it!