Hubster is the one true love of my life. Truly, I don't think I would have ever found anyone better for me than he is.
There is just this one little quirk about him that tends to get to me just a teensy, weensy, itty bitty bit.
Hubster hates change.
Any kind of change will do. New shoes? "Why? The last ones are extremely comfortable, and have become air-conditioned due to the new vents in the sides and soles. Plus, they can double as puppets since the bottom is separated from the top of each shoe, especially since I took the duct tape off to replace it. New shoes hurt my feet until I get them broken in."
On new t-shirts: "The ones I have are perfectly good! There are only a few small holes here and there, and if I hadn't worn them to work they wouldn't be stained so badly, but they're perfectly good shirts...really!"
Uh huh. Right up until Sister Scissors and I get done with them.
He's been drinking the primo coffee from the Keurig machine (another battle) for a few months now. I made the mistake of buying some flavored creamer for him which he ended up loving. As a matter of fact, The Boy is in big trouble now because he used the last of Dad's creamer and didn't tell anyone.
So today I made the supreme sacrifice and went to Sam's Club to get the super-duper sized. Only guess what?
He didn't like it because it isn't supposed to be refrigerated. He also didn't like the pump instead of pouring it. He worried it wouldn't all be used by the expiration date. It was too expensive.
By the end of all this worriment I was ready to take the dang stuff back, but he acquiesced and said he'd try it for a while. We were all grateful.
When it comes to edibles, there are to be no changes in anything. There should always be mashed potatoes with the pepper steak. If I serve pasta instead, I hear about it. If, God Forbid, the pasta is a different SHAPE than the last one I bought, he notices it. It "tastes different" or isn't as good.
He's a hoot, my man. But he's mine, and I think I'll keep him.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Price Is Right
Yesterday I went in for some retail therapy. Sometimes it's just what a person needs to get out of the glums.
The Boy didn't feel well and asked me to go to the grocery store to pick up some Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Because if it isn't Campbell's, he won't eat it. (For this, I blame his father.) I had to do a couple of things for my part-time job, so I left to do that before coming to The Boy's aid.
Because I think he was faking it in order to get out of mowing the yard, but that's another story.
I finished my jobs, then happened upon a nearby store where I wouldn't spend too much money. It's basically an overstock resale place called Big Lots. They have junk in there that's so cheap it's hard to overspend.
I grabbed a cart and started down the aisles. I'm an aisle-by-aisle shopper because I don't want to miss anything with a great price that I might not know I desperately need.
Trust me, it makes sense in MY mind.
So I'm tooling along Aisle 3 with my cart when I smell heavy-duty perfume on the breeze. Only there wasn't a breeze. It was more like a perfume bomb had exploded in the store and was leaving no survivors. At the opposite end of Aisle 3 two little old ladies are coming at me, and it is obvious by the increasing strength of the scent it is coming from them.
As they get beside me, one says, "Olivia, I think we should shop aisle by aisle. That way we won't miss anything." Of course, being the shy, demure person I am, I piped up and said, "That's the only way to do it!" The ladies smiled at me and nodded in agreement.
As they went down the aisle in the opposite direction, Olivia's friend Georgina COULD NOT BELIEVE the PRICES!!! "Oh look, Olivia!! Spoons for ONLY A DOLLAR!!! Have you ever SEEN prices like these???" And Olivia agreed. "Oh Georgina! These towels are ONLY four DOLLARS!!! Isn't that WONDERFUL???"
They made my whole therapy session. How great is it when people get such OBVIOUS enjoyment out of something? It just put a smile on my face when I listened to them. And I listened to them almost the entire time I was there, because we met in almost every aisle.
Once during All The Shopping, Olivia decided to wander off to the back of the store to see the bargains there. Georgina was just lost without her, and she let the whole store know.
"Olivia? Where are you? OLIVIA?? O-LIV-I-A??? I CAN'T FIND YOU!! OOOOLIIIIVIIIIIAAAAAHHHH!!! COME AND LOOK AT THIS!!!"
I felt so sorry for her, but at the same time I was laughing too hard to help. So I broke ranks and headed over to the food section.
They had HUGE cans Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup for ONLY A DOLLAR!!! I bought four.
OLIVIA!!! COME AND LOOK AT THIS!!!!
The Boy didn't feel well and asked me to go to the grocery store to pick up some Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Because if it isn't Campbell's, he won't eat it. (For this, I blame his father.) I had to do a couple of things for my part-time job, so I left to do that before coming to The Boy's aid.
Because I think he was faking it in order to get out of mowing the yard, but that's another story.
I finished my jobs, then happened upon a nearby store where I wouldn't spend too much money. It's basically an overstock resale place called Big Lots. They have junk in there that's so cheap it's hard to overspend.
I grabbed a cart and started down the aisles. I'm an aisle-by-aisle shopper because I don't want to miss anything with a great price that I might not know I desperately need.
Trust me, it makes sense in MY mind.
So I'm tooling along Aisle 3 with my cart when I smell heavy-duty perfume on the breeze. Only there wasn't a breeze. It was more like a perfume bomb had exploded in the store and was leaving no survivors. At the opposite end of Aisle 3 two little old ladies are coming at me, and it is obvious by the increasing strength of the scent it is coming from them.
As they get beside me, one says, "Olivia, I think we should shop aisle by aisle. That way we won't miss anything." Of course, being the shy, demure person I am, I piped up and said, "That's the only way to do it!" The ladies smiled at me and nodded in agreement.
As they went down the aisle in the opposite direction, Olivia's friend Georgina COULD NOT BELIEVE the PRICES!!! "Oh look, Olivia!! Spoons for ONLY A DOLLAR!!! Have you ever SEEN prices like these???" And Olivia agreed. "Oh Georgina! These towels are ONLY four DOLLARS!!! Isn't that WONDERFUL???"
They made my whole therapy session. How great is it when people get such OBVIOUS enjoyment out of something? It just put a smile on my face when I listened to them. And I listened to them almost the entire time I was there, because we met in almost every aisle.
Once during All The Shopping, Olivia decided to wander off to the back of the store to see the bargains there. Georgina was just lost without her, and she let the whole store know.
"Olivia? Where are you? OLIVIA?? O-LIV-I-A??? I CAN'T FIND YOU!! OOOOLIIIIVIIIIIAAAAAHHHH!!! COME AND LOOK AT THIS!!!"
I felt so sorry for her, but at the same time I was laughing too hard to help. So I broke ranks and headed over to the food section.
They had HUGE cans Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup for ONLY A DOLLAR!!! I bought four.
OLIVIA!!! COME AND LOOK AT THIS!!!!
Friday, August 28, 2009
This Little Piggy Had Prime Rib
I work in the Midtown area of town. As it is in most large cities, the Midtown area is a collection of differing ethnicity. If I were to guess, I'd say the ratios run around 75% black, 15% white, and 10% other.
Gee, I hope that adds up to 100%. I never was good at higher mathematics.
As you can imagine, when all the cultures meet in a central area there can be a plethora of different types of food. In our little part of the city we have Chinese, Italian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Japanese, Vietnamese, Mexican, down-home, up-town and all-around restaurants.
And we have Barbeque. With a CAPITAL B.
A few months ago a little bitty Barbeque opened up just down the street. They gave out free samples of their chicken wings and cornbread the first few days they were open, and I was one of the blessed recipients of such.
Ladies and Gentlemen! The meat on the chicken wing fairly FLEW off of the bone and into my mouth. It was tender. It was juicy. It was mouthwatering.
It was amazing. It was Barbeque at its finest.
Not only that, but this place has FLAVORED cornbread. Cherry (my favorite), grape, cheesecake, orange, and other flavors make this stuff a little bit of heaven right here on earth.
And whoever heard of FLAVORED cornbread?
Every Friday this restaurant has a Special of the Day. I had forgotten about it since they stopped bringing fliers here to advertise every week. I was on my way out to lunch and had almost decided to get a package of cellophane noodle wraps at the grocery store. But once I walked out the door of the office and got a whiff of the scent that wafted toward me, all thoughts turned to Bar-Be-Que and nothing else.
When I got there, even after 2 p.m., it was crowded. The whole place seats maybe thirty people. I was seated and placed my order. I will admit to ordering this only because you are my dear, close personal friends and because it was the Special of the Day and because confession is good for the soul.
Prime rib, greens and yams. For $9.00. And the portions were HUGE.
And yes, I might as well be called "Bacon" instead of my real name, because Interpeeps? I PIGGED OUT.
As I was porking down my food, I also noticed something else. I was the only white person in the restaurant. Remember what I said about Midtown being an eclectic menage (I can't put the little mark over the "e" but you get what I mean) of ethnicity?
I'm here to tell you that I felt like one single, very noticeable, white polka dot on the hind-end section of a purple dress. It's part of the dress as a whole, but it's not necessarily in the right place.
At least it gave me a whole new understanding of what it's like to stick out like a sore thumb.
On the other hand, if the other sore thumbs I know found out about this place it would be even more crowded than it is now.
Instead, I think this little piggy will keep it all to herself.
Gee, I hope that adds up to 100%. I never was good at higher mathematics.
As you can imagine, when all the cultures meet in a central area there can be a plethora of different types of food. In our little part of the city we have Chinese, Italian, Indian, Middle Eastern, Japanese, Vietnamese, Mexican, down-home, up-town and all-around restaurants.
And we have Barbeque. With a CAPITAL B.
A few months ago a little bitty Barbeque opened up just down the street. They gave out free samples of their chicken wings and cornbread the first few days they were open, and I was one of the blessed recipients of such.
Ladies and Gentlemen! The meat on the chicken wing fairly FLEW off of the bone and into my mouth. It was tender. It was juicy. It was mouthwatering.
It was amazing. It was Barbeque at its finest.
Not only that, but this place has FLAVORED cornbread. Cherry (my favorite), grape, cheesecake, orange, and other flavors make this stuff a little bit of heaven right here on earth.
And whoever heard of FLAVORED cornbread?
Every Friday this restaurant has a Special of the Day. I had forgotten about it since they stopped bringing fliers here to advertise every week. I was on my way out to lunch and had almost decided to get a package of cellophane noodle wraps at the grocery store. But once I walked out the door of the office and got a whiff of the scent that wafted toward me, all thoughts turned to Bar-Be-Que and nothing else.
When I got there, even after 2 p.m., it was crowded. The whole place seats maybe thirty people. I was seated and placed my order. I will admit to ordering this only because you are my dear, close personal friends and because it was the Special of the Day and because confession is good for the soul.
Prime rib, greens and yams. For $9.00. And the portions were HUGE.
And yes, I might as well be called "Bacon" instead of my real name, because Interpeeps? I PIGGED OUT.As I was porking down my food, I also noticed something else. I was the only white person in the restaurant. Remember what I said about Midtown being an eclectic menage (I can't put the little mark over the "e" but you get what I mean) of ethnicity?
I'm here to tell you that I felt like one single, very noticeable, white polka dot on the hind-end section of a purple dress. It's part of the dress as a whole, but it's not necessarily in the right place.
At least it gave me a whole new understanding of what it's like to stick out like a sore thumb.
On the other hand, if the other sore thumbs I know found out about this place it would be even more crowded than it is now.
Instead, I think this little piggy will keep it all to herself.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I Am Not An Addict And If I Say It Enough It Will Be True
I ran out of coffee today at the office.
That's not such a big deal for most people because they can just run down to the grocery store and buy some Folger's or Maxwell House and be done.
But I ran out of K-Cups for the Keurig machine.
Here at work we have a "supplier" who sells us "the stuff" separate from the coffee that goes into the regular machine. Every employee buys their own K-Cups and the "supplier" provides the machine for free.
And I'm here to tell you they are evil. Evil incarnate.
They hook you with a taste test - just a small amount. Then, before you know it, you're trying to score K-Cups from everyone you know. Bed, Bath and Beyond. The 100 K-Cups for an ungodly low price at Amazon. You buy in bulk. You even find yourself starting to promote it to unwary "regular" coffee drinkers. And then they get hooked. And then you buy a home machine to feed your habit even further.
It's an ugly, ugly business.
You vow to take some of your bulk K-Cups to work because you know you're running short. And as you arrive at work you realize you've gone off and left them at home. Then you find you are COMPLETELY OUT and panic sets in.
But you have to have your fix for the day or you won't be able to function. So you go to the HR Department and ask the guy there if he has any to spare. He takes all of his order home every time, so you go upstairs to the Accounting Department. Because you know those accountants use. And they use the HARD STUFF.
For a small price you score two K-Cups. Enough to get you through the day. Enough to open your eyes and put a spring in your step. And you find God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world once again.
And then you vow to kick this monkey you have on your back for good.
But not until you finish another cup.
That's not such a big deal for most people because they can just run down to the grocery store and buy some Folger's or Maxwell House and be done.
But I ran out of K-Cups for the Keurig machine.
Here at work we have a "supplier" who sells us "the stuff" separate from the coffee that goes into the regular machine. Every employee buys their own K-Cups and the "supplier" provides the machine for free.
And I'm here to tell you they are evil. Evil incarnate.
They hook you with a taste test - just a small amount. Then, before you know it, you're trying to score K-Cups from everyone you know. Bed, Bath and Beyond. The 100 K-Cups for an ungodly low price at Amazon. You buy in bulk. You even find yourself starting to promote it to unwary "regular" coffee drinkers. And then they get hooked. And then you buy a home machine to feed your habit even further.
It's an ugly, ugly business.
You vow to take some of your bulk K-Cups to work because you know you're running short. And as you arrive at work you realize you've gone off and left them at home. Then you find you are COMPLETELY OUT and panic sets in.
But you have to have your fix for the day or you won't be able to function. So you go to the HR Department and ask the guy there if he has any to spare. He takes all of his order home every time, so you go upstairs to the Accounting Department. Because you know those accountants use. And they use the HARD STUFF.
For a small price you score two K-Cups. Enough to get you through the day. Enough to open your eyes and put a spring in your step. And you find God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world once again.
And then you vow to kick this monkey you have on your back for good.
But not until you finish another cup.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Sittin' At The Computer All Day, Watchin' The Time Roll Away
The IT Guy here at work decided to install an upgraded version of the email software we use on my computer.
I have been sitting here for the past 45 minutes, unable to do anything productive except look at a screen that says, "Please wait while the Install Wizard installs Bogus Notes 8.5. This may take several minutes."
And not that I'm that productive anyway, but honestly? It might as well have said, "Please sit back, relax, enjoy a cuppa coffee, read a magazine, file your nails, call a coupla friends, write a blog post or seven, and eat lunch because THIS COMPUTER AIN'T GOIN' NOWHERE FOR A SWEET FOREVER."
Not that it's been 45 minutes so far or anything. Not that I'm not a patient person. Not that I have anything to DO today that would require a computer.
Or anything.
So to aid said Install Wizard (who must be an apprentice or a Wizard In Training) as much as possible, I will now exit this program and the Wild World interWeb. Because it is obvious this kid needs as much help as he can get.
If you need me I'll just be sitting here resting my bones, 'cause this program needs to be left alone....
I have been sitting here for the past 45 minutes, unable to do anything productive except look at a screen that says, "Please wait while the Install Wizard installs Bogus Notes 8.5. This may take several minutes."
And not that I'm that productive anyway, but honestly? It might as well have said, "Please sit back, relax, enjoy a cuppa coffee, read a magazine, file your nails, call a coupla friends, write a blog post or seven, and eat lunch because THIS COMPUTER AIN'T GOIN' NOWHERE FOR A SWEET FOREVER."
Not that it's been 45 minutes so far or anything. Not that I'm not a patient person. Not that I have anything to DO today that would require a computer.
Or anything.
So to aid said Install Wizard (who must be an apprentice or a Wizard In Training) as much as possible, I will now exit this program and the Wild World interWeb. Because it is obvious this kid needs as much help as he can get.
If you need me I'll just be sitting here resting my bones, 'cause this program needs to be left alone....
Monday, August 24, 2009
A Thrill A Minute, And LOOK!!! No Extra Charge!!!
It was a productive weekend.
Friday night I worked the part-time job until after nine, then decided I owed myself some sushi. Unfortunately, I did not pay myself back with the primo stuff. I cheated on my usual sushi place and went to one that was closer. Being as cheaters never win, I was stuck with sushi rice that would have been better suited to Uncle Ben than under a slice of raw fish.
Live and learn.
By the way, my new sushi love is super-white tuna. Sprinkle it with a few scallions and Heaven makes its appearance on earth.
Saturday morning Sis and I met at Mom's. Sis brought breakfast this time, and danged if she didn't get all HEALTHY on me. Oatmeal mixed with craisins, walnuts, flax seed and Splenda. It was a taste treat, truly. I would make it again, but I think I'd substitute almonds or pecans for the walnuts. Because walnuts usually make my tongue burst out in lovely little ulcerated sores.
And that's a mental picture I'm sure you appreciate. You're welcome.
While we were there we dragged the stuff we hadn't picked up yet to the living room for easier transport later. Saturday afternoon the family and I went back over to Mom's to pick up most of my share. We still have one more trip to go since we couldn't fit it all in one.
The Girl had a hard time going to Mom's house. There are so many memories there for all of the grandchildren, not just her. This was a time of remembering for them, and a time to say goodbye to the house. We went through the rooms one by one and remembered things that had happened there. Precious memories the kids will take with them forever. Then we sat in the kitchen around the bar and remembered even more. It was a sweet time.
Sunday The Girl and I went out to breakfast together at a new place. I loved the Breakfast Banana Split. It had strawberry yogurt, granola, fresh sliced strawberries, blueberries, and of course, a banana. The Girl had biscuits and gravy. She wanted hashbrowns, eggs, toast and bacon, but settled when she found the restaurant only had "Breakfast Potatoes" - chunks of potato. She was not impressed.
Afterwards I came home and pulled weeds and planted more flower seeds and watered and supported tomato plants. Believe me when I say you almost couldn't see the tomato plants for the weeds. It is not my proudest moment.
I made Sunday dinner - barbequed boneless ribs - and then it was nap time. Only you know how it is when you're sleepy and tired and just can't get to sleep? That was me for two straight hours. I had too much to think about, too many unworkable things to work out, imagined conversations that needed to be had, lists of things that need doing going through my poor, tangled mind.
I wonder if there's such a thing as a potion to make you sleep for only a short while? They could call it Nap-Aid.
Should I patent the name?
We went to the Wal-Marts Sunday evening. (enthralling stuff, this) I made dinner, and we ate as we watched Big Brother.
Oh, and I did a load of laundry.
And although I know you are clamoring for more, more, MORE! I'm going to leave you with that. Because you've always gotta leave 'em wanting more, eh?
As if this wasn't exciting enough.
Really.
Friday night I worked the part-time job until after nine, then decided I owed myself some sushi. Unfortunately, I did not pay myself back with the primo stuff. I cheated on my usual sushi place and went to one that was closer. Being as cheaters never win, I was stuck with sushi rice that would have been better suited to Uncle Ben than under a slice of raw fish.
Live and learn.
By the way, my new sushi love is super-white tuna. Sprinkle it with a few scallions and Heaven makes its appearance on earth.
Saturday morning Sis and I met at Mom's. Sis brought breakfast this time, and danged if she didn't get all HEALTHY on me. Oatmeal mixed with craisins, walnuts, flax seed and Splenda. It was a taste treat, truly. I would make it again, but I think I'd substitute almonds or pecans for the walnuts. Because walnuts usually make my tongue burst out in lovely little ulcerated sores.
And that's a mental picture I'm sure you appreciate. You're welcome.
While we were there we dragged the stuff we hadn't picked up yet to the living room for easier transport later. Saturday afternoon the family and I went back over to Mom's to pick up most of my share. We still have one more trip to go since we couldn't fit it all in one.
The Girl had a hard time going to Mom's house. There are so many memories there for all of the grandchildren, not just her. This was a time of remembering for them, and a time to say goodbye to the house. We went through the rooms one by one and remembered things that had happened there. Precious memories the kids will take with them forever. Then we sat in the kitchen around the bar and remembered even more. It was a sweet time.
Sunday The Girl and I went out to breakfast together at a new place. I loved the Breakfast Banana Split. It had strawberry yogurt, granola, fresh sliced strawberries, blueberries, and of course, a banana. The Girl had biscuits and gravy. She wanted hashbrowns, eggs, toast and bacon, but settled when she found the restaurant only had "Breakfast Potatoes" - chunks of potato. She was not impressed.
Afterwards I came home and pulled weeds and planted more flower seeds and watered and supported tomato plants. Believe me when I say you almost couldn't see the tomato plants for the weeds. It is not my proudest moment.
I made Sunday dinner - barbequed boneless ribs - and then it was nap time. Only you know how it is when you're sleepy and tired and just can't get to sleep? That was me for two straight hours. I had too much to think about, too many unworkable things to work out, imagined conversations that needed to be had, lists of things that need doing going through my poor, tangled mind.
I wonder if there's such a thing as a potion to make you sleep for only a short while? They could call it Nap-Aid.
Should I patent the name?
We went to the Wal-Marts Sunday evening. (enthralling stuff, this) I made dinner, and we ate as we watched Big Brother.
Oh, and I did a load of laundry.
And although I know you are clamoring for more, more, MORE! I'm going to leave you with that. Because you've always gotta leave 'em wanting more, eh?
As if this wasn't exciting enough.
Really.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
The Great Randomi Strikes Again
You'll be happy to know I didn't kill anyone yesterday.
The mood has lightened somewhat around here, thank goodness. There was just too much peril for adults, children and small animals yesterday. It is good when drama of that sort is limited to one day.
One of the factors contributing the better humor at this juncture is a good night's sleep. I went to bed last night at 8:30 p.m., much to the surprise of Hubster. And I slept like the proverbial log until I was rudely awakened at 7:38 a.m.
If we all ran on my own personal sleep/awake schedule the world would be utter chaos, in a can labeled "DISASTER" in big, bold letters.
This is why I respect the weekday for what it is and relish the weekend for the same reason.
In other news:
Tonight I let Hubster make dinner after I got home from the grocery store. And I use "let" in the sense that I came in, put the groceries away, and sat down in my chair. I think Hubster got the idea that if there was to be dinner, it was up to someone other than me.
He idea-ed right.
At some point this next week we need to go over to Mom's and get the remainder of the stuff out of there. Our last Saturday coffee is a week from Saturday, and I want to make sure the house is completely cleaned out before then. I also need to get the plants I want out of the yard, the tomato plant out of the garden, and the rest of the stuff out of the shed.
Maybe we should rent a truck.
Hubster is out now with The Boywasting my gas practicing the art of herding a vehicle between the lines. The Boy has a habit of listing to the right when he drives, causing no small amount of consternation. Add to that the 'tude of a teenager, and you feel my pain.
"I KNOW, Mom."
"I am NOT speeding. I'm only going five miles over the limit."
"I SAW the stop sign."
"Will you GET OFF MY CASE???"
You get the picture.
I can only fall before the feet of a merciful God and thank Him that this is the last child I will have to listen to as he learns how to drive. I only hope we both live through it.
Tomorrow is Friday, and I just realized I have nothing to wear. Of course, it's now 9:30 p.m. and I wanted to get to bed. Funny how that planning in advance to do something comes in handy at times. Go figure.
With that, I bid you good night.
The mood has lightened somewhat around here, thank goodness. There was just too much peril for adults, children and small animals yesterday. It is good when drama of that sort is limited to one day.
One of the factors contributing the better humor at this juncture is a good night's sleep. I went to bed last night at 8:30 p.m., much to the surprise of Hubster. And I slept like the proverbial log until I was rudely awakened at 7:38 a.m.
If we all ran on my own personal sleep/awake schedule the world would be utter chaos, in a can labeled "DISASTER" in big, bold letters.
This is why I respect the weekday for what it is and relish the weekend for the same reason.
In other news:
Tonight I let Hubster make dinner after I got home from the grocery store. And I use "let" in the sense that I came in, put the groceries away, and sat down in my chair. I think Hubster got the idea that if there was to be dinner, it was up to someone other than me.
He idea-ed right.
At some point this next week we need to go over to Mom's and get the remainder of the stuff out of there. Our last Saturday coffee is a week from Saturday, and I want to make sure the house is completely cleaned out before then. I also need to get the plants I want out of the yard, the tomato plant out of the garden, and the rest of the stuff out of the shed.
Maybe we should rent a truck.
Hubster is out now with The Boy
"I KNOW, Mom."
"I am NOT speeding. I'm only going five miles over the limit."
"I SAW the stop sign."
"Will you GET OFF MY CASE???"
You get the picture.
I can only fall before the feet of a merciful God and thank Him that this is the last child I will have to listen to as he learns how to drive. I only hope we both live through it.
Tomorrow is Friday, and I just realized I have nothing to wear. Of course, it's now 9:30 p.m. and I wanted to get to bed. Funny how that planning in advance to do something comes in handy at times. Go figure.
With that, I bid you good night.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Snit Hits The Fan
I am in a snit.
If I was an airplane I'd be leaving a black plume of smoke behind me.
If I was on the ground looking up at the black plume of smoke I'd call the EPA and the airline and complain to high heaven, right before I picked a fight with the first person to cross my path.
If I was the person who got an earful from me I'd smack me in the nose right before I kicked a dog.
If I was the dog who just got kicked I'd bite the kicker and then proceed to pee on her leg.
If I was the guy from the pound that picked up the dog for biting and peeing, I'd go out and have a margarita or two right after my shift ended.
If I was the wife of the guy from the pound I would give him the cold shoulder all night because he came home drunk.
And then I could go back to bed and forget the whole day ever happened.
Sounds like a plan to me.
If I was an airplane I'd be leaving a black plume of smoke behind me.
If I was on the ground looking up at the black plume of smoke I'd call the EPA and the airline and complain to high heaven, right before I picked a fight with the first person to cross my path.
If I was the person who got an earful from me I'd smack me in the nose right before I kicked a dog.
If I was the dog who just got kicked I'd bite the kicker and then proceed to pee on her leg.
If I was the guy from the pound that picked up the dog for biting and peeing, I'd go out and have a margarita or two right after my shift ended.
If I was the wife of the guy from the pound I would give him the cold shoulder all night because he came home drunk.
And then I could go back to bed and forget the whole day ever happened.
Sounds like a plan to me.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Today, Monday for those of you in Borneo, finds me at Starbucks awaiting the next doctor's appointment. I have conveniently sandwiched this little trip between two different engagements in order to somewhat enjoy this day I have taken off.
The chiropractor has become my friend for life today. Not that he wasn't before, but he has earned a new place of honor in my eyes. He does marvelous things with my muscles, and now they don't hurt anymore. I am tickled pink.
Last night and apparently the night before I slept on the couch. I don't remember moving to the couch night before last. The only reason I knew about it was because Hubster told me I'd left my glasses there. I was frantic because I couldn't find them and I couldn't see and I had to BE SOMEWHERE and ohmygoodness what was I going to do? Hubster, ever the voice of calm, told me to pipe down and look around the couch. I thought he was nuts. I never sleep on the couch. But apparently he knew of which he spoke.
Last night I couldn't sleep again so I found myself downstairs. This time I was actually cognizant of where I was and why as evidenced by the blog post I wrote. And I figured out why I slept on the couch because I did it again last night. It seems as though when my muscles cramp up the way they have been for the past five days it feels better to sleep on a firmer surface. Since Hubster and I sleep on a foam-and-water bed, I didn't have the support I needed for the muscles to relax.
Hopefully that has all been taken care of today. I'll go back on Friday just to make sure. And for those of you who doubt the healing powers of chiropractic, let me just say this: Don't knock it until you've tried it. It makes sense, this voodoo that my doctor does so well. Much more sense than muscle relaxers and pain pills, which is what my "regular" physician prescribed for the pain. Chiropractic finds the problem and fixes it rather than throwing chemicals at it. And it works for me.
Not that I am against drugs totally, you understand. Especially in cases of chronic illness. But if I don't need it, why take it?
And no, I'm not being paid for this advertisement. I'm just an extremely satisfied customer.
(dusting off soap box and putting it away)
And that's all I have to say about that.
The chiropractor has become my friend for life today. Not that he wasn't before, but he has earned a new place of honor in my eyes. He does marvelous things with my muscles, and now they don't hurt anymore. I am tickled pink.
Last night and apparently the night before I slept on the couch. I don't remember moving to the couch night before last. The only reason I knew about it was because Hubster told me I'd left my glasses there. I was frantic because I couldn't find them and I couldn't see and I had to BE SOMEWHERE and ohmygoodness what was I going to do? Hubster, ever the voice of calm, told me to pipe down and look around the couch. I thought he was nuts. I never sleep on the couch. But apparently he knew of which he spoke.
Last night I couldn't sleep again so I found myself downstairs. This time I was actually cognizant of where I was and why as evidenced by the blog post I wrote. And I figured out why I slept on the couch because I did it again last night. It seems as though when my muscles cramp up the way they have been for the past five days it feels better to sleep on a firmer surface. Since Hubster and I sleep on a foam-and-water bed, I didn't have the support I needed for the muscles to relax.
Hopefully that has all been taken care of today. I'll go back on Friday just to make sure. And for those of you who doubt the healing powers of chiropractic, let me just say this: Don't knock it until you've tried it. It makes sense, this voodoo that my doctor does so well. Much more sense than muscle relaxers and pain pills, which is what my "regular" physician prescribed for the pain. Chiropractic finds the problem and fixes it rather than throwing chemicals at it. And it works for me.
Not that I am against drugs totally, you understand. Especially in cases of chronic illness. But if I don't need it, why take it?
And no, I'm not being paid for this advertisement. I'm just an extremely satisfied customer.
(dusting off soap box and putting it away)
And that's all I have to say about that.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Waiting for the Sandman
My close personal friend Insomnia has decided to visit, so I thought it would only be right to introduce y'all to her. Or him. Or it.
Y'all, Insomnia. Insomnia, y'all.
Honest to pete, I should be out like a light by now. I should be acting similar to someone who's been hit over the head with a club, only, you know, ALIVE and all. But no, here I sit after wrestling around with the pillows, the heating pad, the sheet and the quilt for the past hour and a half. Oh, let's not forget the MP3 player with the relaxing voices of relaxation people trying to lull me to sleep with relaxing relaxation. Unfortunately, the relaxation became more boredom than anything else.
"Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Feel yourself melt into the support beneath you."
That phrase is always a little scary for me, being of the philum "rotund" and all. I always picture my many globules of yellow, ugly fat becoming liquid and leaking out all over the mattress in a huge, oily, slick, greasy mess.
This is not the thing of which dreams are made.
So while my friend Insomnia butts into my sleeping time and I wait for my other friend Ambien to take over, I thought I tell you about today.
Today we went over to mother-in-law's house for a potluck dinner to celebrate her 94th birthday. Immediately after the dinner was over I took the kids shopping again. This time we hit a big mall with all the stores they love. While we didn't come away with too awful much, we did make headway in the back-to-school shopping. We're almost to the underwear and socks stage, and that's saying a lot.
The mall was as crowded as if it was the week before Christmas. I was amazed at how many people were there, especially given the fact that the malls around here have basically gone into ruin. Two different malls in our area are all but empty now, yet twenty minutes away they seem to be thriving. Go figure.
By the time we got home everyone was exhausted. Hubster had just arisen from a nap so he was OK, but the rest of us were down for the count. The Girl plopped down on the couch and instantly fell asleep. The Boy took over our bed. I just wandered around in a daze until bedtime, when I found sleep to be ever elusive.
Eventually the kids got up and became human again. However, I'm still in the daze.
Looks like I'll be trying to sleep on the couch tonight.
Y'all, Insomnia. Insomnia, y'all.
Honest to pete, I should be out like a light by now. I should be acting similar to someone who's been hit over the head with a club, only, you know, ALIVE and all. But no, here I sit after wrestling around with the pillows, the heating pad, the sheet and the quilt for the past hour and a half. Oh, let's not forget the MP3 player with the relaxing voices of relaxation people trying to lull me to sleep with relaxing relaxation. Unfortunately, the relaxation became more boredom than anything else.
"Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Feel yourself melt into the support beneath you."
That phrase is always a little scary for me, being of the philum "rotund" and all. I always picture my many globules of yellow, ugly fat becoming liquid and leaking out all over the mattress in a huge, oily, slick, greasy mess.
This is not the thing of which dreams are made.
So while my friend Insomnia butts into my sleeping time and I wait for my other friend Ambien to take over, I thought I tell you about today.
Today we went over to mother-in-law's house for a potluck dinner to celebrate her 94th birthday. Immediately after the dinner was over I took the kids shopping again. This time we hit a big mall with all the stores they love. While we didn't come away with too awful much, we did make headway in the back-to-school shopping. We're almost to the underwear and socks stage, and that's saying a lot.
The mall was as crowded as if it was the week before Christmas. I was amazed at how many people were there, especially given the fact that the malls around here have basically gone into ruin. Two different malls in our area are all but empty now, yet twenty minutes away they seem to be thriving. Go figure.
By the time we got home everyone was exhausted. Hubster had just arisen from a nap so he was OK, but the rest of us were down for the count. The Girl plopped down on the couch and instantly fell asleep. The Boy took over our bed. I just wandered around in a daze until bedtime, when I found sleep to be ever elusive.
Eventually the kids got up and became human again. However, I'm still in the daze.
Looks like I'll be trying to sleep on the couch tonight.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Be Scotty
Today Sis and I met over at Mom's for our weekly coffee date. There aren't many of them left now before the new owners take possession of the house, so we enjoy our time there while we can.
Since I never get up early enough on Saturdays to eat breakfast beforehand, we usually have a little something to go with our coffee. Some days it's mini-cinnamon rolls, some days donut holes, some days it's something one of us has made. For the past couple of weeks I've been trying out new recipes and bringing them for Sis to test.
Last week I made the World's Worst Orange Cranberry Scones. I named the recipe myself, because they were, in a word, awful.
I like to experiment. I also have a problem with someone else telling me what to do. The combination of those two traits could very well be lethal in some cases. In this case it was merely disgusting.
The recipe called for sour cream, eggs and butter. Being the brilliant chef I am, I added more butter to the batch because I thought the scones would be too dry. Instead, they turned out more like very, VERY moist cake.
I took four of them to Mom's. We choked down two of them, and I left the other two for Sis to trash. When I got home I dumped the whole lot in the sink and ran the garbage disposal. Today I found out that Sis took the other two home and her boys devoured them. Had I known that I would have foisted all of the remaining scone-lings on her. As it was, no nephews were harmed.
This morning I was wide awake at 7:30 a.m. on the one morning I could have slept in. Isn't that always the way it is? Because I had the time I decided to try and redeem myself.
I made biscotti. Not just any biscotti, but chocolate chocolate chip biscotti. Killer biscotti - in a good way.
Now, due to last week's disaster I was understandably fearful. But when all was said and done I thought the end product turned out well. I took some over to Mom's and Sis seemed to agree, but I was concerned as to whether or not she was just being nice. Sis is like that.
While we were sitting in the kitchen talking, The Girl called. She thought I had gone to Starbucks and she wanted to take advantage of the situation. Since she was out of luck Starbucks-wise, I told her about the biscotti that was left.
Before I got home she had eaten half of what I'd left at home and sent me a text saying "These are really GOOD!" That was when I knew I'd scored. As if that wasn't enough, Hubster tried them and echoed The Girl's sentiments word for word. Since Hubster never likes anything new and discourages me from trying new recipes, this was like winning a gold medal in the Baking Olympics.
Tonight there is not one piece left.
I think it's a hit.
So being one to spread the joy, I give you the recipe below. Enjoy!
Chocolate Chocolate Chip Biscotti
1/2 C butter, room temperature
3/4 C granulated white sugar
2 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 3/4 C all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 C cocoa powder
1 C semi-sweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and place rack in center of oven. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside.
Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy (2-3 minutes). Add the eggs and egg yolk, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla extract. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cocoa powder. Add to the butter mixture and beat until incorporated. Stir in the chocolate chips.
Transfer the dough to a floured surface and divide it in half. Form each half into a log 10 inches long. Do this by rolling the dough back and forth into a cylinder shape with floured hands. Transfer the logs to the baking sheet, spacing them well apart (width-wise on the pan), and pat to even the shapes. Bake until firm to the touch, about 25 - 30 minutes (logs will spread during baking**). Remove from the oven, place on a wire rack, and let cool for about 10 minutes.
Transfer the logs to a cutting board. Using a serrated knife, cut the logs into slices about 3/4 inch thick on the diagonal. Arrange the slices on the baking sheet and bake about 8 - 10 minutes. Turn the slices over and bake until crisp and dry, about 8 - 10 minutes longer. Remove from oven and let cool on wire rack.
Makes about 24 - 30 biscotti
**Note: Logs spread very little during baking. That's why it's important to slice the logs on the diagonal. I sliced them about 1/2" rather than 3/4" and they still had to bake over 10 minutes on each side to come out crisp. Your oven may vary from mine in temperature, so use your own best judgment.
Since I never get up early enough on Saturdays to eat breakfast beforehand, we usually have a little something to go with our coffee. Some days it's mini-cinnamon rolls, some days donut holes, some days it's something one of us has made. For the past couple of weeks I've been trying out new recipes and bringing them for Sis to test.
Last week I made the World's Worst Orange Cranberry Scones. I named the recipe myself, because they were, in a word, awful.
I like to experiment. I also have a problem with someone else telling me what to do. The combination of those two traits could very well be lethal in some cases. In this case it was merely disgusting.
The recipe called for sour cream, eggs and butter. Being the brilliant chef I am, I added more butter to the batch because I thought the scones would be too dry. Instead, they turned out more like very, VERY moist cake.
I took four of them to Mom's. We choked down two of them, and I left the other two for Sis to trash. When I got home I dumped the whole lot in the sink and ran the garbage disposal. Today I found out that Sis took the other two home and her boys devoured them. Had I known that I would have foisted all of the remaining scone-lings on her. As it was, no nephews were harmed.
This morning I was wide awake at 7:30 a.m. on the one morning I could have slept in. Isn't that always the way it is? Because I had the time I decided to try and redeem myself.
I made biscotti. Not just any biscotti, but chocolate chocolate chip biscotti. Killer biscotti - in a good way.
Now, due to last week's disaster I was understandably fearful. But when all was said and done I thought the end product turned out well. I took some over to Mom's and Sis seemed to agree, but I was concerned as to whether or not she was just being nice. Sis is like that.
While we were sitting in the kitchen talking, The Girl called. She thought I had gone to Starbucks and she wanted to take advantage of the situation. Since she was out of luck Starbucks-wise, I told her about the biscotti that was left.
Before I got home she had eaten half of what I'd left at home and sent me a text saying "These are really GOOD!" That was when I knew I'd scored. As if that wasn't enough, Hubster tried them and echoed The Girl's sentiments word for word. Since Hubster never likes anything new and discourages me from trying new recipes, this was like winning a gold medal in the Baking Olympics.
Tonight there is not one piece left.
I think it's a hit.
So being one to spread the joy, I give you the recipe below. Enjoy!
1/2 C butter, room temperature
3/4 C granulated white sugar
2 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 3/4 C all purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 C cocoa powder
1 C semi-sweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and place rack in center of oven. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside.
Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy (2-3 minutes). Add the eggs and egg yolk, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Beat in the vanilla extract. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and cocoa powder. Add to the butter mixture and beat until incorporated. Stir in the chocolate chips.
Transfer the dough to a floured surface and divide it in half. Form each half into a log 10 inches long. Do this by rolling the dough back and forth into a cylinder shape with floured hands. Transfer the logs to the baking sheet, spacing them well apart (width-wise on the pan), and pat to even the shapes. Bake until firm to the touch, about 25 - 30 minutes (logs will spread during baking**). Remove from the oven, place on a wire rack, and let cool for about 10 minutes.
Transfer the logs to a cutting board. Using a serrated knife, cut the logs into slices about 3/4 inch thick on the diagonal. Arrange the slices on the baking sheet and bake about 8 - 10 minutes. Turn the slices over and bake until crisp and dry, about 8 - 10 minutes longer. Remove from oven and let cool on wire rack.
Makes about 24 - 30 biscotti
**Note: Logs spread very little during baking. That's why it's important to slice the logs on the diagonal. I sliced them about 1/2" rather than 3/4" and they still had to bake over 10 minutes on each side to come out crisp. Your oven may vary from mine in temperature, so use your own best judgment.
Of Fear And Feathers
Gird your loins, America. Build the walls high around your abodes and persons. And if all else fails, run for the hills.
The Boy has passed the written portion of the driving test and has his permit. He is out on the road as we speak with his father in the passenger seat, because his mother has a deep-seated fear of dying in a car crash while he's driving.
My reasoning is simple. He's been of age to get his permit since he turned fifteen and a half. He could have been driving with a licensed adult since last June. However, he chose to wait until this past week to even try to pass the test for the first time. Before that he never showed any interest whatsoever in getting behind the wheel. He didn't even want to put the car in the garage or warm it up or even look at it unless he was being taken somewhere.
We're considering a therapist. For us, not him.
However, now that he has the permit you can't keep him away from any vehicle with four wheels and a motor that seats more than one passenger side by side. He salivates at the thought of being the master of his fate, the captain of his ship. He thinks of the required adult as little more than a first mate. However, after today's little outing there may be a mutiny.
There was a four-way stop that snuck up on him while driving with his father today. According to First Mate Hubster, The Boy narrowly missed running straight through it. Of course, it wasn't HIS fault...he was just busy trying to keep the car from swerving. He couldn't be bothered with pesky STREET SIGNS.
This is the of stuff of which heart attacks are made. And this is why his father will be doing the majority of training this particular driver.
Because if it was me? There would be no shortage of eggs.
I'm the chicken.
The Boy has passed the written portion of the driving test and has his permit. He is out on the road as we speak with his father in the passenger seat, because his mother has a deep-seated fear of dying in a car crash while he's driving.
My reasoning is simple. He's been of age to get his permit since he turned fifteen and a half. He could have been driving with a licensed adult since last June. However, he chose to wait until this past week to even try to pass the test for the first time. Before that he never showed any interest whatsoever in getting behind the wheel. He didn't even want to put the car in the garage or warm it up or even look at it unless he was being taken somewhere.
We're considering a therapist. For us, not him.
However, now that he has the permit you can't keep him away from any vehicle with four wheels and a motor that seats more than one passenger side by side. He salivates at the thought of being the master of his fate, the captain of his ship. He thinks of the required adult as little more than a first mate. However, after today's little outing there may be a mutiny.
There was a four-way stop that snuck up on him while driving with his father today. According to First Mate Hubster, The Boy narrowly missed running straight through it. Of course, it wasn't HIS fault...he was just busy trying to keep the car from swerving. He couldn't be bothered with pesky STREET SIGNS.
This is the of stuff of which heart attacks are made. And this is why his father will be doing the majority of training this particular driver.
Because if it was me? There would be no shortage of eggs.
I'm the chicken.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Stuff Of An Unimportant Nature
Tonight was one of those nights when I was kept running around from one theater to another to another. It was a good night for the part-time job.
It was also a good night to get a couple of pairs of pants to replace the sadly worn and recently trashed pair. The slacks I like are over half off on clearance, so I got a brown AND a black pair. I wanted a navy pair as well, but they were out of that color in my size.
After scoring an additional three t-shirts for Hubster for less than $20, I called it a good night and treated myself to sushi before the last two theaters I had to check. And it was Some Kind of Heaven right there in the sushi place. I do love me some super-white tuna on rice. Add a little pickled ginger, some soy sauce and a little wasabi and the angels sing on golden beams of light.
Tomorrow is Saturday, blessed Saturday. I can sleep late, I can meet Sis for coffee, and I can either take it easy, work on the house, or a combination of both. We shall see what the morrow brings.
Maybe even a warm cinnamon roll from Panera....
It was also a good night to get a couple of pairs of pants to replace the sadly worn and recently trashed pair. The slacks I like are over half off on clearance, so I got a brown AND a black pair. I wanted a navy pair as well, but they were out of that color in my size.
After scoring an additional three t-shirts for Hubster for less than $20, I called it a good night and treated myself to sushi before the last two theaters I had to check. And it was Some Kind of Heaven right there in the sushi place. I do love me some super-white tuna on rice. Add a little pickled ginger, some soy sauce and a little wasabi and the angels sing on golden beams of light.
Tomorrow is Saturday, blessed Saturday. I can sleep late, I can meet Sis for coffee, and I can either take it easy, work on the house, or a combination of both. We shall see what the morrow brings.
Maybe even a warm cinnamon roll from Panera....
Shoe Be Due
I hate shopping with my kids.
There. I said it. It's out in the open for everyone to read and to chastise me.
But honestly? You'd hate it too.
The Girl isn't so bad. She goes off and does her own thing, and usually comes back with halfway decent clothing that we only fight about a little. And we only fight if it is expensive, or it doesn't cover certain parts of her anatomy enough, or if the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars.
Because we are not known for peace guiding our planets. More often than not, they collide.
The Boy is another story altogether. He wants so desperately to be thought of as "cool" that he can't make up his mind on anything. Something he likes will be tossed aside in favor of what he thinks someone else will like. And then he'll put it back and choose something else because he isn't sure if someone else will like the first thing enough.
And with all the confusion reigning in his mind, he then stands frozen in place - unable to move - paralyzed by indecision.
Oh, he is indeed his mother's son. And it tries the patience of the strongest saint.
Last night it took us a full hour to buy shoes for both of the kids. Of course, The Boy wanted the most expensive ones in the store, thinking this would make him more popular. When that idea was nipped in the bud he paced up and down the rows of shoes, finally settling on one row in particular. He finally narrowed it down to one shoe after 45 minutes.
They didn't have any in his size.
By this time Hubster had fallen asleep in one of the chairs provided, The Girl had thrown up her hands in frustration, and I had only three strands of hair left on my head.
Then I suggested a pair of shoes on the sale rack to him that looked amazingly similar to the ones he wanted. Knowing full well that he never wants anything on the sale rack, I was amazed when he snapped them up right away.
"If you'd shown me these in the first place, we could have been out of here half an hour ago," he said.
Now I'm the one that needs new shoes, because one of mine seems to be permanently implanted in The Boy's behind.
He can go shopping with his sister from now on. It's safer for both of us.
There. I said it. It's out in the open for everyone to read and to chastise me.
But honestly? You'd hate it too.
The Girl isn't so bad. She goes off and does her own thing, and usually comes back with halfway decent clothing that we only fight about a little. And we only fight if it is expensive, or it doesn't cover certain parts of her anatomy enough, or if the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligns with Mars.
Because we are not known for peace guiding our planets. More often than not, they collide.
The Boy is another story altogether. He wants so desperately to be thought of as "cool" that he can't make up his mind on anything. Something he likes will be tossed aside in favor of what he thinks someone else will like. And then he'll put it back and choose something else because he isn't sure if someone else will like the first thing enough.
And with all the confusion reigning in his mind, he then stands frozen in place - unable to move - paralyzed by indecision.
Oh, he is indeed his mother's son. And it tries the patience of the strongest saint.
Last night it took us a full hour to buy shoes for both of the kids. Of course, The Boy wanted the most expensive ones in the store, thinking this would make him more popular. When that idea was nipped in the bud he paced up and down the rows of shoes, finally settling on one row in particular. He finally narrowed it down to one shoe after 45 minutes.
They didn't have any in his size.
By this time Hubster had fallen asleep in one of the chairs provided, The Girl had thrown up her hands in frustration, and I had only three strands of hair left on my head.
Then I suggested a pair of shoes on the sale rack to him that looked amazingly similar to the ones he wanted. Knowing full well that he never wants anything on the sale rack, I was amazed when he snapped them up right away.
"If you'd shown me these in the first place, we could have been out of here half an hour ago," he said.
Now I'm the one that needs new shoes, because one of mine seems to be permanently implanted in The Boy's behind.
He can go shopping with his sister from now on. It's safer for both of us.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Living La Vida Loca
Having nothing else to amaze and edify you today, I'm going to write about the mundane and random.
I know it's par for the course, but it's all I have.
I know it's par for the course, but it's all I have.
- Hubster and I will visit the Social Security Administration tomorrow. He just turned 64, and he wants to find out if it will be worth it for him to get benefits early. I'm going along for the ride because, much as I love him, Hubster is not a detail-oriented kinda guy. And even if he was and he wrote down every word they said we'd still be up a creek without a paddle. No one can read Hubster's writing once it gets cold. Not even Hubster.
- Saturday is my youngest nephew's birthday. He will be 19, which is impossible since I'm only 31 and holding. Go figure. Tuesday is my mother-in-law's 94th birthday.
- Tuesday is also the first day of school in these parts. The Girl is a Senior this year and The Boy is a Sophomore, which is also impossible since they were both in diapers just last week. Age-wise, that is. Not literally.
- Three of the people in my office have had close relatives die in the past week. I know they say it comes in threes, but this is creepy. Which is why I made this #4 instead of #3.
- I am not in the least bit superstitious.
- The brown pants I wore yesterday are now in the trash bin. I don't do replacement zippers. Besides that, they were umpteen years old. I deserve new pants. I demand new pants. And by all that is, I will HAVE new pants!
- I am not in the least bit dramatic.
- Wendy's large-sized iced coffee is bigger than Starbucks and McDonald's. It is also much cheaper, and tastes just as good.
- We should be receiving two 50-K-Cup boxes of The Coffee People Donut Shop coffee sometime this week from Amazon. We were completely out of K-Cups and I had to get more at Bed, Bath and Beyond to tide us over until the shipment came in.
- I am not in the least addicted to coffee. I can quit at any time.
- Writing has been similar to tooth extraction for the past couple of weeks. At least from the dentist's end, I mean. My mind is a sieve. I guess I could say "My mind is a gently blooming flower, full of promise" because it would sound better, but that's baloney. Both literally and figuratively. I am in Writer's Hell right now. No ideas, no stories, NUTHIN'. Help me, Rhonda!
- Chocolate Coke is dead to me, at least for the time being. I'd rather have a cup of coffee. (See #10)
Now wasn't that exciting?
Stay tuned for "Friday: Today I cut my toenails...."
I lead such an adventurous life.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Manana Is Good Enough For Me
It has been an unfun day.
First of all, I'm fat. I can't seem to get the umpf to lose the weight at all. I guess it's the old fool me once, shame on you - fool me 1,348,934 times, shame on me thing. I know that I can lose most of it, but I also know it will come right back. Why set myself up for failure?
Such is my demented logic.
Add to this the face that I spilled soy sauce on my shirt today, the zipper broke on my pants, there are no leftovers for my lunch tomorrow, The Boy neglected to mow the yard AGAIN, and I have a headache.
However, tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow I will be alone at work. There are five people in my "wing" at work, one of which is a part-timer. Three of the full-time people will be on vacation. The part-timer is so quiet it's like no one is there when she IS there.
Tomorrow I can get work done. Tomorrow I will have a free Starbucks coffee because I have a coupon. Tomorrow I can go out to lunch. Tomorrow is The Girl's night to cook dinner. Tomorrow night the family will watch Big Brother together. Tomorrow is the day before payday.
And the sun will come out tomorrow. Betcher bottom dollar.
In the meantime, I'm going to bed to dream dreams of what is to be.
First of all, I'm fat. I can't seem to get the umpf to lose the weight at all. I guess it's the old fool me once, shame on you - fool me 1,348,934 times, shame on me thing. I know that I can lose most of it, but I also know it will come right back. Why set myself up for failure?
Such is my demented logic.
Add to this the face that I spilled soy sauce on my shirt today, the zipper broke on my pants, there are no leftovers for my lunch tomorrow, The Boy neglected to mow the yard AGAIN, and I have a headache.
However, tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow I will be alone at work. There are five people in my "wing" at work, one of which is a part-timer. Three of the full-time people will be on vacation. The part-timer is so quiet it's like no one is there when she IS there.
Tomorrow I can get work done. Tomorrow I will have a free Starbucks coffee because I have a coupon. Tomorrow I can go out to lunch. Tomorrow is The Girl's night to cook dinner. Tomorrow night the family will watch Big Brother together. Tomorrow is the day before payday.
And the sun will come out tomorrow. Betcher bottom dollar.
In the meantime, I'm going to bed to dream dreams of what is to be.
Monday, August 10, 2009
The One-Legged Woman In The Butt Kickin' Contest
Dear Interpeeps:
I have been here, but not HERE for the past few days. Part of that is that I really was busier than your proverbial little bee. The other part is that I have a one-track mind. I can either walk or chew gum at the same time, but not both.
The same is true with writing. I can either 1) write, or 2) go to the Wal-Marts and the grocery store and make baked beans and potato salad and deviled eggs and fruit salad and strawberry shortcake to go with the deli sandwiches we had to celebrate Hubster's birthday.
But not both. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and unfortunately it's drawn just before the blawg.
Plus, with Big Brother and America's Best Dance Group caterwauling in the background, it's hard to think. About more than one. Thing. At a. Time.
See? One track mind.
So knowing the limitations I have and your desire for quality rather than quantity, I may be a little sporadic.
But at least I'm here.
In the immortal words of David Soul, "Don't give up on us, Baby."
And as a side note, let me just say this is one of the worst lip-syncing jobs I've ever seen.
Sorry, David. You know I love you.
I have been here, but not HERE for the past few days. Part of that is that I really was busier than your proverbial little bee. The other part is that I have a one-track mind. I can either walk or chew gum at the same time, but not both.
The same is true with writing. I can either 1) write, or 2) go to the Wal-Marts and the grocery store and make baked beans and potato salad and deviled eggs and fruit salad and strawberry shortcake to go with the deli sandwiches we had to celebrate Hubster's birthday.
But not both. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and unfortunately it's drawn just before the blawg.
Plus, with Big Brother and America's Best Dance Group caterwauling in the background, it's hard to think. About more than one. Thing. At a. Time.
See? One track mind.
So knowing the limitations I have and your desire for quality rather than quantity, I may be a little sporadic.
But at least I'm here.
In the immortal words of David Soul, "Don't give up on us, Baby."
And as a side note, let me just say this is one of the worst lip-syncing jobs I've ever seen.
Sorry, David. You know I love you.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Never Too Old To Turn Heads
I just got back from taking my mother-in-law, who is 94 this year, to the library.
It is a little over 137 degrees in the shade here. Being as no one in their right mind would venture outside for any length of time, and being as she was out of books on CD, we decided to library-ize. She can't see well and depends on audiobooks to pass the time.
As we walked in my MIL changed before my eyes into a drill sergeant.
"Take me to a librarian. You lead the way because I can't see. She'll help me find the books I want." Yes MA'AM!
Once she had the librarian in tow I was free to roam about the building. But I stayed close to watch the show.
"Now Honey, find me some books by Morris. Gilbert Morris. And I'd like some by Nicholas Sparks. You'll have to read the back of the jacket to me because I can't see to tell if I've read it before. That's why I listen to the books instead of reading the large print."
Several books were presented, and all were taken. "Karen Valentine? Oh, she's new! Sherrod? No, I haven't read her before. I'll take that one, too!"
"OH! Another new author! Oh Honey, I'm so glad to get a new author! You're great at this! Thank you!"
The drill sergeant disappeared, and she gushed about the new books, five in all, that she had to read. As we approached the checkout counter an elderly gentleman who had followed us to the audiobooks came up to her. He started up a conversation, and before I knew it he was flirting - with my 94-year-old mother-in-law.
She wasn't blind to his advances. She flirted right back, letting him know she was alone in her home most of the time. But then we had to leave and get back home. The conversation was cut short before love had time to bud, much less bloom.
Once in the car I teased her about her "beau" from the library. She gave as good as she got, though.
"I don't need anyone to look after at my age. I've done that before, and I'm DONE taking care of someone else!"
But when she thought I wasn't looking, she smiled.
It is a little over 137 degrees in the shade here. Being as no one in their right mind would venture outside for any length of time, and being as she was out of books on CD, we decided to library-ize. She can't see well and depends on audiobooks to pass the time.
As we walked in my MIL changed before my eyes into a drill sergeant.
"Take me to a librarian. You lead the way because I can't see. She'll help me find the books I want." Yes MA'AM!
Once she had the librarian in tow I was free to roam about the building. But I stayed close to watch the show.
"Now Honey, find me some books by Morris. Gilbert Morris. And I'd like some by Nicholas Sparks. You'll have to read the back of the jacket to me because I can't see to tell if I've read it before. That's why I listen to the books instead of reading the large print."
Several books were presented, and all were taken. "Karen Valentine? Oh, she's new! Sherrod? No, I haven't read her before. I'll take that one, too!"
"OH! Another new author! Oh Honey, I'm so glad to get a new author! You're great at this! Thank you!"
The drill sergeant disappeared, and she gushed about the new books, five in all, that she had to read. As we approached the checkout counter an elderly gentleman who had followed us to the audiobooks came up to her. He started up a conversation, and before I knew it he was flirting - with my 94-year-old mother-in-law.
She wasn't blind to his advances. She flirted right back, letting him know she was alone in her home most of the time. But then we had to leave and get back home. The conversation was cut short before love had time to bud, much less bloom.
Once in the car I teased her about her "beau" from the library. She gave as good as she got, though.
"I don't need anyone to look after at my age. I've done that before, and I'm DONE taking care of someone else!"
But when she thought I wasn't looking, she smiled.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Happy Birthday To You
Today is the birthday of my dear, sweet Hubster.
At 64, he's the perfect age for a grandpa, and he plays the part oh, so very well. And he's no slob about being Dad, either.
When the youngest kids were little our house was the house where all the neighborhood kids came. The neighborhood kids weren't looking for our children - they were looking for "Dad" to come outside and play.
And he did not disappoint.
Hubster is a child at heart. Most parents would keep their children inside on a rainy day. Not Hubster. He was the first to tell the kids they could go outside in the rain in their swimming suits (or without them) to play. The joy they had playing in that huge "sprinkler" far outweighed the risk of them catching cold.
He was also the one who came up with The Room Inspector. The kids were told to clean their rooms because The Room Inspector was coming. If The Room Inspector didn't like what he saw when he "inspected" while they were outside playing or at a friend's house, he would tear the entire thing apart - sheets off of the bed, mattress askew, drawers emptied out - the whole nine yards. The kids never saw him - just the aftermath of his visit. And then we'd help them clean up the whole room and do it again the next week.
Because we're more than just a little weird.
April 1st used to be his holiday and his alone. Every year he'd make up elaborate tales to tell. Every year he'd wake the kids up on that day and pull the wool over their eyes. And every single year they'd fall for it. Whether it was a call from "Colonel Hawkins" to tell them their names had been selected to ride in a fighter jet to telling them one of them had been caught by a camera running a red light in a stolen car, he fooled them every time.
And they loved it.
Now that the kids are older they're on to him. We're just waiting for him to start again with the grandkids. I can imagine having all the six-year-olds in the neighborhood over every time we babysit.
"Can Mr. Hubster come out and play?"
Sure kids. Just as soon I can get his cane.
And so it shall be, forever and ever, amen.
Happy birthday, my love!
At 64, he's the perfect age for a grandpa, and he plays the part oh, so very well. And he's no slob about being Dad, either.
When the youngest kids were little our house was the house where all the neighborhood kids came. The neighborhood kids weren't looking for our children - they were looking for "Dad" to come outside and play.
And he did not disappoint.
Hubster is a child at heart. Most parents would keep their children inside on a rainy day. Not Hubster. He was the first to tell the kids they could go outside in the rain in their swimming suits (or without them) to play. The joy they had playing in that huge "sprinkler" far outweighed the risk of them catching cold.
He was also the one who came up with The Room Inspector. The kids were told to clean their rooms because The Room Inspector was coming. If The Room Inspector didn't like what he saw when he "inspected" while they were outside playing or at a friend's house, he would tear the entire thing apart - sheets off of the bed, mattress askew, drawers emptied out - the whole nine yards. The kids never saw him - just the aftermath of his visit. And then we'd help them clean up the whole room and do it again the next week.
Because we're more than just a little weird.
April 1st used to be his holiday and his alone. Every year he'd make up elaborate tales to tell. Every year he'd wake the kids up on that day and pull the wool over their eyes. And every single year they'd fall for it. Whether it was a call from "Colonel Hawkins" to tell them their names had been selected to ride in a fighter jet to telling them one of them had been caught by a camera running a red light in a stolen car, he fooled them every time.
And they loved it.
Now that the kids are older they're on to him. We're just waiting for him to start again with the grandkids. I can imagine having all the six-year-olds in the neighborhood over every time we babysit.
"Can Mr. Hubster come out and play?"
Sure kids. Just as soon I can get his cane.
And so it shall be, forever and ever, amen.
Happy birthday, my love!
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Moe Skeeto - My Sworn Enemy
Skeeter bait.
That's me.
If there's a mosquito within five miles of me, it zeroes in on my scent and makes a beeline for any part of my anatomy it can find. And with someone my size, any parts of my anatomy are an easy target.
Hubster, bless his little pointed head, can sit out on the swing for hours on end without a single nibble. But let me go out there with him, and the swarms converge on me as if I was a bloody piece of meat in shark infested waters. Those little bloodsuckers could drain me dry in a matter of an hour, leaving a bumpy, itchy mess in their wake.
Oh, and did I mention I'm allergic to mosquito bites? Yet another plus.
So imagine my joy last night when I found my feet covered with itchy, swollen, red, ugly bumps. It seems as though a mosquito had found its way from the patio into my living room. Naturally, it decided to set up habitation where the most food could be found - in my little corner of the room. And being as my feet were the only uncovered part of my body other than my face, it naturally went for the easy target.
I said EASY, not BIGGEST.
Tonight I saw the little varmint. She was poised on my left foot, getting ready to strike again. Thankfully, it flew away as soon as I moved my foot. It landed on the wall, but got away before I could swat it. As of now it's MIA.
I will find it, though. And when I do, this Great White Hunter will send it to Mosquito Glory in short fashion. I may have to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous insects until then, but make no mistake - THIS BUG WILL DIE.
Unfortunately, it may be of old age.
That's me.
If there's a mosquito within five miles of me, it zeroes in on my scent and makes a beeline for any part of my anatomy it can find. And with someone my size, any parts of my anatomy are an easy target.
Hubster, bless his little pointed head, can sit out on the swing for hours on end without a single nibble. But let me go out there with him, and the swarms converge on me as if I was a bloody piece of meat in shark infested waters. Those little bloodsuckers could drain me dry in a matter of an hour, leaving a bumpy, itchy mess in their wake.
Oh, and did I mention I'm allergic to mosquito bites? Yet another plus.
So imagine my joy last night when I found my feet covered with itchy, swollen, red, ugly bumps. It seems as though a mosquito had found its way from the patio into my living room. Naturally, it decided to set up habitation where the most food could be found - in my little corner of the room. And being as my feet were the only uncovered part of my body other than my face, it naturally went for the easy target.
I said EASY, not BIGGEST.
Tonight I saw the little varmint. She was poised on my left foot, getting ready to strike again. Thankfully, it flew away as soon as I moved my foot. It landed on the wall, but got away before I could swat it. As of now it's MIA.
I will find it, though. And when I do, this Great White Hunter will send it to Mosquito Glory in short fashion. I may have to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous insects until then, but make no mistake - THIS BUG WILL DIE.
Unfortunately, it may be of old age.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Love 'Em When They're Here, Love 'Em When They're Gone
Pardon me while I collapse into a heap.
Little Man and Sweetie Pie just left. They spent the night last night, and this old granny is feelin' her age along with the arthur-itis and the rheumatiz. At four and one-and-a-half, they are indeed a handful.
Little Man is constantly on the go, constantly talking, constantly asking questions, running and jumping and yelling and dancing and singing and never stopping for a single minute. Sweetie Pie is a snuggler - when she wants to be. And she wanted to be a lot of the time. The rest of the time she was doing the same things Little Man did, and with gusto.
I am here to say, right here in front of God and everyone else, that I love my grandchildren. I love having them spend the night, I love having them visit, I love being called "Gamma" and "Nana" and I love their parents.
I am also, much as I hate to admit it, glad when their parents come to pick them up.
And I am just as glad when the grandchildren come back.
Because I don't know if I've mentioned it lately, but I am OLD.
Little Man and Sweetie Pie just left. They spent the night last night, and this old granny is feelin' her age along with the arthur-itis and the rheumatiz. At four and one-and-a-half, they are indeed a handful.
Little Man is constantly on the go, constantly talking, constantly asking questions, running and jumping and yelling and dancing and singing and never stopping for a single minute. Sweetie Pie is a snuggler - when she wants to be. And she wanted to be a lot of the time. The rest of the time she was doing the same things Little Man did, and with gusto.
I am here to say, right here in front of God and everyone else, that I love my grandchildren. I love having them spend the night, I love having them visit, I love being called "Gamma" and "Nana" and I love their parents.
I am also, much as I hate to admit it, glad when their parents come to pick them up.
And I am just as glad when the grandchildren come back.
Because I don't know if I've mentioned it lately, but I am OLD.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
A Saturday Rant Rated Pee Gee
I tend to pee. Urinate, for those of you with more delicate psyches. #1 for you kiddos. Make water, for the Driving Miss Daisy fans in the audience.
You get the idea.
And when I drink a lot of liquids (not necessarily alcoholic), I pee more. My husband thinks I pee all the time, at the drop of a hat. He thinks I should be named I. P. Freely.
I do not find this humorous.
This morning Sis and I met at Mom's as is our habit. I consumed approximately a quart of coffee while we were there. Right before we left Sis was occupying the bathroom, and I didn't want her to wait on me to lock up the house, so we both left at the same time. She headed home and I headed to Target.
Long about the shampoo aisle in Chez Target, I felt the unmistakeable urge. (More than you want to know, I'm sure, but hang in there.) I found a restroom marked "Unisex" next to the pharmacy and hurried in to do my business. Apparently I was in too much of a hurry, because I didn't look before I sat. Nor did I cover the seat with toilet paper as I had been trained to do by Mom. And there weren't any seat protectors available.
And you can guess what I sat in.
It was wet, but it wasn't water.
I did not find this humorous, either.
And I can hear the collective "EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW!!!!!" from around the globe as you read this.
I finished up and went to the sink and SCRUBBED the areas affected, my hands, and anything else that might have come in contact with ... well, ANYTHING. I took soap and paper towels and wiped off the seat, then washed myself again, all the while thinking, "YUCKYUCKYUCK!!!!" over and over again.
So my rant is this: WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND LEAVES A PUBLIC RESTROOM IN THAT SHAPE??? Is there no common courtesy in this world? Did mothers not bring up their girl children to at least clean up after themselves if they pee on the seat? Are boy children not raised to lift the seat first before peeing all over it??? And if was a child's pee, why can't the mom or dad clean up after them?
Let's GET REAL HERE, people!!! Take responsibility!! Flush after you go, and if it doesn't go down, FLUSH AGAIN. How hard are these principles to follow???
Sheesh.
(Wiping sweat from brow, calming labored breathing, stepping down from soap box.)
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Here at HOME, where I know the origin of the germs.
Carry on.
Sincerely,
I. P. Freely
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