Pointless Drivel

She's A Nut

The Mother -- my mother, that is -- is a nut. There is just no two ways around it. She's a big, nutty nut.

Granted, we like her that way.  Were it not for her incomprehensible sense of humor, I would never have received my own incomprehensible sense of humor, and literally tens of people would miss out on the vagaritites of my inane observations.

The Mother had an Aunt named Elizabeth. She was always meaning to write to Elizabeth, but never got around to it, despite the urgings of her older sister. Every time she saw her sister, she was asked, "Have you written to Aunt Elizabeth yet?" and the response was always along the lines of, "Oh, no, I need to do that." Until one time when, following the same exchange, her sister responded, "Well, don't bother, she's dead."

That happened, oh, I don't know, maybe twenty years ago, and she's been waiting to use it ever since. (No, I'm not going to make a joke about her dying to use the phrase. Obvious jokes are not in keeping with The Mother's sense of humor.) Today, she got her chance.  A friend of theirs died, and I got an email that said, very simply, "Do not write to Phil B-----."

Yup, The Mother is a nut.

Maybe It Wasn't Such A Good Idea (OR, Tahiti Village is Taking Over)

Alright, I admit it, I made a mistake.  I didn't intend to.  It just sort of happened that way, but a mistake was made.

First a little history:  When I started my first blog, called Shmunkin, the purpose was to track our adventures in adopting our daughter from China.  And as much as I enjoyed it, not long after returning to the US, the reasons for keeping it up decreased.  I still wanted to do something, because I enjoy it so much (despite the lack of hours of free time during which I can), but there were only so many things I could say about The Shmunkin, once we settled down into being a family.  Well, short of the things that happen to virtually every family, that is.  So I started this blog.

My original purpose was simply to have a creative outlet for my inane rants about anything and everything.  That, of course, quickly devolved into a blog about two things:  Telling cute stories about The Shmunkin, and making fun of things.  Or both, if the opportunity presented itself.  I didn't even care if anyone actually read what I was writing.  Truth be told, I'm not all that concerned about whether or not someone thinks my blog postings are humorous, or poignant, or even interesting.  Like my jokes, they amuse me, and that's what counts.

Then I ran into a force bigger than me, maybe bigger than nature itself:  Tahiti Village.

If you've been living under a rock the last couple of years, Tahiti Village is a time-share development in Las Vegas.  As I said at the time, I do not know what you think of time shares in general, or Tahiti Village in particular.  Nor do I care.  They are a good idea for some, and not such a good idea for others.  But back in the Fall of 2006, I wrote a post making fun of their commercials.  Now, Pointless Drivel is one of the most popular Tahiti Village sites on the Internet.  Seriously, do a Google search for Tahiti Village, you'll find my site -- in fact, the original post -- one of the top sites listed.  Number four, as a matter of fact, right behind sites that appear to actually be owned by Tahiti Village or its parent company, Consolidated Resorts.

(I'll pause while you check it out.)

Honestly, I never expected it to happen.  What started as an inane, even --  dare I say? -- pointless effort to make fun of Tahiti Village's commercials, as well as their designated spokes-floozy Tonya Roberts, became one of the top Tahiti Village sites on the Internet.  Now, I average between 500 and 1000 hits a week from people seeking information on Tahiti Village.  Some even leave comments telling about their Tahiti Village experiences -- good and bad.  There have been comments left by people who actually work for Tahiti Village.  There's a guy who once sold timeshares, and is now putting together a book exposing the industry, who apparently thinks I can help him find a publisher.  My site has been linked from other Blogs which talk about Tahiti Village and other timeshares.  There was even one woman who felt the need to insult me because, apparently, she neglected to note the name of the blog.

Of course, writing this may be the absolute wrong thing to do, since it may open up a whole new order of magnitude in terms of hits my blog gets from people searching for Tahiti Village.  Then again, maybe they will like what I say about The Shmunkin.

Perhaps I Don't Want To Know

So I picked up The Shmunkin from day care this afternoon and noticed her pants were a bit loose.  Very loose, actually, since she had to hold them up one-handed, hip-hop style, while trotting down the hall.  But her ability to hold them up stopped once her mittens were on, so I offered to roll them up so they would stay up better.  As I adjusted her pants, I couldn't help but notice there was nothing underneath them.

Hmm.  I know she had them on this morning.  I got her dressed, and underpants were part of the package.  But now they were missing.

"Where are your underpants?"

"I don't know."

"Did you take them off?"

"No."

"Did they come off while you were doing potty and you forgot to put them, back on?"

"No."

"Did you have them on this morning when you left home?"

"Yes."

"So what happened to them?"

"I don't know."

So their actual whereabouts may forever be a mystery.  Maybe she took them off and forgot.  Maybe someone gave her an Atomic Wedgie and kept them as a prize.  Maybe the Underpants Gnomes took them while shge napped.

But as I thought about it, I realized this is something of a reversal.  Now at age three, there are a number of things that worry us, but that I know will not be a concern later in life.  This, on the other had, is something we can laugh about now, but would find very disconcerting if it happened when she was, say, sixteen.

Of course, I not sure, at that point, how I would know whether or not she's wearing underpants.

Now What?

Okay, so we got the traps and set them.  Then set them again.  Then again.

In fact, I think I checked and re-set the things every day for a week or so.  Each time time, the bait had been removed, and most of the time the traps themselves had been moved, even turned upside down, with nothing attached to them that wasn't when they were placed there.

(Oh, yeah, I'm talking about the mouse again.)

So I got some glue traps instead.  As mentioned, I'm not a big fan of them, because they leave the mice alive and I just can't bring myself to whack them with something to kill them before dropping them in the trash.  But at least the darn things can't get to the bait without walking on the sticky part, so they'll definitely get caught, right?

Or maybe not.

Tuesday, I bought the glue traps, plus a bottle of bait the label promised was "better than peanut butter."  I took out two traps, put the bait in the middle, then slid them under the stove.  I also added two new traditional traps, just for good measure.  Wednesday morning, all four traps had moved -- one of the glue traps was upside down on top of the other -- and the bait was missing from all four.  There was a whole lot of mouse poop on one of the glue traps, too.  But, alas, no mouse.

So I set them again.  Wednesday evening, nothing has changed.  Thursday morning, nothing has changed.  Thursday evening, nothing has changed.  Friday morning, nothing has changed.

Now what?  It appears Mr. Mouse (the Ways and Means Department has taken to calling it Marvin, but I have trouble putting myself on a first-name basis with something I am trying to kill) has ceased visiting the underside of out stove, but why?  Did he move out?  Is he on a nice winter vacation?  Did he somehow die from eating the bait?  The manufacturer's web site says it "...is non-toxic and hypoallergenic..." but maybe he ate too much in one feeding.

I just don't know.