• I am in love with a scale. Funny that, no? Most people hate scales, and up until a month ago, I was no different. But many workouts, fruits, vegetables, grams of fiber and seven pounds (less) later, I wholeheartedly adore my new Tanita BC533 Innerscan. My body fat percentage isn’t up to snuff, but we’ll just see about that, especially since I’m not that far off. Just wait, one day I’ll be trim and toned enough to kick my younger sister’s ass. Actually, probably not, that kid is petite but strong—she’ll always be able to beat me.
• I believe my complex is under the impression that I was born on May 15, not May 25. I have come to this conclusion since they’ve left balloons tied to my doorknob on that day for two years running. Not that I’m complaining—it’s a very sweet gesture and very much appreciated. It’s funny, though, that my village’s saint day in Mexico is my now supposed birthday—and as this blog and IP will testify, I’m no saint. It’s also funny because my parents have two birthdays—their actual birthdates and their legal birthdates (the day their parents took them to be “registered”, as it were, by the municipality, usually two weeks after birth). I now have two birthdays myself and other than the balloons, I must demand: Where the hell are my presents?
• I will not say much, but: Wings, Wings, Wings! Okay, I shall shut up now.
• But not for long, don’t get too excited.
• Something I’ve wanted to complain about for nearly a week (okay, five days): the Ugly Betty episode, “A Tree Grows in Guadalajara”. To see the city where you fly into to visit your grandmother mentioned is kind of nice. To then hear Villanueva, Zacatecas, mentioned is also kind of nice. However! It is not kind of nice when Betty and Hilda decide to travel to Villanueva to meet their grandmother aboard a stereotypical mode of Latino transportation—the dilapidated bus with no windows, bouncing over a dirt road from Guadalajara to Villanueva. Umm . . . yeah. Guadalajara to Villanueva? Is about a five hour road trip. The roads are paved, by the way—there’s really only one way to get there, and that’s Highway 54—paved, fools! And have they ever heard of Omnibus? All buses in that area of Mexico are pretty posh—air conditioning, movies playing, and definitely no one sitting in the back selling quesadillas. However, had they made it to Villanueva proper, Hilda would’ve been pleased—lots to buy and good cheese to boot. Don’t even get me started on the Spanish, though—the least they could do is find someone who actually speaks the language well! Hell, I wouldn’t hire me (what with my horrible American accent) to do it, much less a French-American actress (the curandera, for all you Betty fans). Of course, this won’t deter me from seeing the season finale when it finally appears on abc.com, but c’mon, people! Do a little research. Yeesh. (And yes, I get just as irritated when Mexican television makes assumptions about the United States and casts people who can speak English as Americans.)
• Scandal and ruin return to the Dyn-o-mite! world!  Well, not really.  Long story short: this is a story of five lovely ladies who became friends while working in the trenches of one of the most disgusting, sexist, racist and shadiest companies in the United States (if you’re a NASCAR, Grand Am, IRL, Champ Car or Truck exec, call me—have I got dirt for you!).  One friend (who, like me, escaped to far away lands) is getting married this summer, and it’s been the big assumption that we’re all going.  Fast forward to a round of emails in which four of us might be reunited this summer.  One person, who is the biggest homebody of us all and tends to flake out the most, has let us know that she might not make it to the fifth friend’s wedding.  Eep!  Yes, it’s for a family wedding, but two of the friends (neither is me, by the way) are infuriated.  Since these three are still located in the area, the two friends expected that they’d all hang out together a bit more—but the slacker friend never wants to do anything, and to them, this just takes the cake.  There’s been some weirdness leading up to fifth friend’s wedding, too—how slacker might go with her husband, but her husband will not attend and instead stay at the hotel room and watch TV (IP, this is not an option for you, hon, as much as you wanted to do that at your own friend’s wedding!).  Slacker will only get together with the other two if her husband’s out of town; slacker might be having dinner with three of us in July (hence the four-person reunion), but said her plans were tentative—which caused one friend to blow up over email to me: “We’re telling her TWO MONTHS in advance!”  I found it mildly amusing because slacker friend is probably the one I like the least, and I actually think it’s because we’re too much alike and try to outsnark and outsmart one another.  I also found it amusing given that it took nearly a year for my friends to pull it together and see me when I visited even though I visited five or six times last year.  I have to give slacker her due—even when she wasn’t able to get together with the other two she’s managed to piss off and me, she gave us a call to say hi.  So I can’t get too worked up about it except to type something, anything, onto my blog.
• Saving money on daycare, IP is staying home with Scorpie tomorrow.  ;)

Isn’t life exciting in WordNerdia!?  No, didn’t think so—Scorpie told me something fun better happen soon or else he’s going to sting me.  Or at the very least pop my birthday balloons with his pincers.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

Whoever searched for “scorpie pregnant”: you’re odd. Scorpie’s a boy. Duh.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.

No to the first question. Yes to the second question. And yes, sort of, to the third question.

While on our trip, IP and I hit the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, which receives fewer visitors than its brother, the South Rim. The trip to the North Rim occurred a day after a hike in Zion Canyon National Park that left us both exhausted and exhilarated. I was, admittedly, a bit grumpy when we first set out toward the Grand Canyon. Even though IP implored me, with pumping fists and an eager grin, to get excited about the Grand Canyon, my reaction, at 6:30am, was to want to punch him, give him the stink-eye, then roll over and go to sleep once more. Don’t get me wrong, I love these hiking trips, but I think IP is much more of a morning person than I am when we’re out west. His enthusiasm, while later endearing, is positively sickening at such an early hour. And this from a woman who refuses to sleep in on long-run day even as IP begs me to sleep more.

Anyhow, as we approached the Grand Canyon through Kaibab National Forest, my spirits returned to me a bit and my senses were on high alert thanks to the numerous deer that caused us to break a few times. “A deserted road 99.9% of the time, and they choose to cross now,” IP complained after one of our last encounters. By the time we crossed into the national park (after buying a National Parks Pass—yes, we are park geeks, so bite us), I was feeling better, if not still tired. My legs ached and more sleep was needed, but there was a full day of the Grand Canyon ahead of us! My hiking spirits had returned to me.

However, as all good national park fans will do, we stopped at the Visitor Center, dropping in to see what they had to tell us about the geology and history of the place. The North Rim Visitor Center was a bit disappointing—they had a 3-D model of the canyon which was very impressive, but their displays left something to be desired. Their store was small, with books on how not to die in the Grand Canyon (or, alternatively, how some had died), the history and peoples of the park, and books on parks in the surrounding area. As always, there is a kiddies’ section, which is usually quite cute. I’d love to buy this stuff for my kids one day. I browsed about the small section, looking over to the stuffed animals that were always present. And that’s when I saw him, and fell in love.

No, not some rugged hiker ready to tackle a climb down the canyon, into the backcountry, his muscles glistening in the sunlight (there was no sunlight, it was quite cloudy). My eyes met not with a human being, but an absolutely darling, definitely impossibly charming, venomous arachnid. He looked at me, I looked at him, and it was love at first sight. I felt like a mother who had just gotten her first glimpse of her newborn babe.

So, without further ado, meet Scorpie the Stuffed Scorpion WordNerdia. Mother: WordNerd. Father: IP. We love him dearly—he has taken the place of usually first a dog, then a child, for this couple. From the moment I adopted him at the North Rim Visitor Center, IP and I took to him. He rode with us throughout the rest of the trip, enjoying a prime position on the rental car’s dashboard (I was loath to keep him in the back, though I realized, for his safety, I should’ve buckled him up—it’s the law). He saw the sights at Cedar Breaks National Monument, Kolob Canyons at Zion Canyon National Park, Bryce Canyon National Park, Goblin Valley State Park (“Oh, Scorpie,” I said to him while reading the Goblin Valley brochure, “it says we might come across one of your cousins! Of course, we also might come across a Great Basin Rattlesnake, and that’s no good . . .”), and Capitol Reef National Monument.

Scorpie, let me tell you, is one intelligent kiddo. He has desired, he told me while we first got acquainted in the car on the ride up to Point Imperial and Cape Royal, and later during the storm that hit while we were at the southern-most point of the scenic drive, that he has long wanted to start his own blog, but has been unable to due to poor internet connectivity at the North Rim. “Qwest, I tell you,” Scorpie said mournfully, “they’re just not pulling their weight out here. What’s a scorpion to do?”

“Well, Scorpie, I have a blog,” I said to him. “It’s anonymous, so no one really knows about it, and I really haven’t networked it into the blogsphere. However, I have plenty of space that’s unused. How would you like a spot on my blog?”

“Really?”

“Really. Feel free to develop it however you want—I only ask that you keep IP, my family, and me anonymous.”

“Hot damn!” he cried, clicking his pincers in absolute joy.

“Watch your language, young man,” I said sternly.

“Oh,” Scorpie replied, cringing (yes, I can tell when my boy cringes), “Sorry, Mom.”

Scorpie has informed me that he will start an advice column. If you have a question for Scorpie, please submit it to scorpie at sonnet87 dot com. He will also review restaurants, criticize tourists on the Metro (see, I told you), and try not to roll his eyes when IP tries to discipline him (Scorpie only listens to his Mom, I tell you—I fully expect Scorpie to get fed up and yell “You’re not my real dad!” at IP one of these days). I will also include a photo gallery of my beloved invertebrate, wherein you can partake in all of his adventures as he adjusts to life in the nation’s capital, far from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

So, give a hearty welcome to Scorpie, and please be on the lookout for his first post. You will find him intelligent, sensible, witty, and he’ll paralyze you into absolute fascination.

Heh, see what I did there?

Scorpie’s first post to come shortly. On what will he write, you ask? “Well, Mom,” he told me, “I think I’ll write about my first visit to New York during the marathon. Please tell Dad to not sleep too much, or I might have to sting him.”

See, he’s already rebelling. There I go, saying he’s going to write about DC, and there he goes, saying he’s going to write about New York. Kids.

©2012 Sonnet 87. All Rights Reserved. Originally published by WordNerd for Sonnet87.com. This post cannot be republished without express written permission.