STRANGER THAN FICTION: NOTHING TO WRITE, GRANNY, I'M IN A RUT

My Grandmother Nieland writes from a Delaware retirement community about once a month to tell me about the Philadelphia Flyers -- yes, she's a hockey fan -- the made-to-order meals at Foulk Manor and her senile neighbors.

I write back to tell her about The Other Half and work.

We're getting into a rut, but what's a girl to do? When you buy a new car, you're too broke to have a life. My husband, work and "Seinfeld" are about all I have left.

Of course, there are some things you just don't write to distant grandmothers. Thank the Lord she doesn't subscribe to the newspaper. She'd find out I wasn't actually a professor of biology at Southeast Missouri State, and she might be upset to discover I didn't marry a male model like I said.

Maybe I'll send her these odds and ends just to be a little creative.

-- The week of warm weather in February may have been welcome by some, but not me! I'm not ready to put away the bulky winter fat clothes and get out cellulite-revealing shorts and sleeveless shirts. At least not until I rid myself of "ham hock arms," a longtime affliction of mine.

We had a burst of 60-degree weather in June one year and a woman told me it meant Armageddon was coming. "That's what the Bible says," she said. "It's says it'll be winter in summer and summer in winter."

I've never found that particular passage, but if weird weather meant Armageddon was coming, Southeast Missouri would be a little dot of charcoal on the world map by now.

-- I heard my husband's boss reprimand him this week for not doing something he was supposed to. His reply was, "I usually do it."

When women get reprimanded, we usually apologize and say we'll get things straightened out. Apparently, being male means never having to say you're sorry.

The other day, I mentioned to The Other Half that the trash was piling up and he didn't take it out. "But I unloaded the dishwasher," he said.

Somehow, I didn't think unloading the dishwasher was the equivalent of taking out the trash, but what do I know?

-- I'm on this new diet, and I'm really sticking to it. I guess growing out of my "fat pants" was just the shot in the arm I needed.

Anyway, I have to drink eight glasses of water a day, so you can imagine the results.

Thanks to this new diet, I've completely changed my interviewing technique. Now my first question every time is, "May I use your restroom?"

-- Does anyone like "Rocky" movies? I wouldn't pay a plugged nickel to see one at the theater, but get me alone with TBS at 1 a.m. and I'm the world's biggest "Rocky" fan. Yo, Adrienne!

The thrill of those movies is that you cringe every time Rocky's eyelids swell to baseball size, but you know how the movie will end so you don't get too upset.

-- My days of being a hero worshiper are over.

Because of this murder-for-hire trial in town, two people from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch were at the newspaper office to write their stories. Common courtesy, you know.

One of them was Bill McClellan, a columnist famous for writing about crime issues. I could have died when he came over and asked where to plug in his portable computer.

"I'm Heidi Nieland," I said. "And I've been a big fan of yours for a long time."

"Great," he said. "Now where can I plug this in?"

I silently showed him to the outlet.

If I had it all to do over again, I'd tell him his column picture was flattering. VERY flattering.

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.