Yeah, me neither. I was just asking on behalf of a friend. And
Friday, November 11, 2011
The longest sentence in history
Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up feeling great because you'd had a lot of fun with a friend the day before and then you open up your inbox and find a bitchy email from that friend because she's pissed off about something you said clear at the very beginning of the day yesterday and in the email she bitches at you because when there is a misunderstanding you should pick up the phone and discuss it instead of just emailing/texting (seriously, that just happened) but then you just ignore it because you were kinda sick of her anyway except about a half hour later you're all "MOTHERFUCKER I did that exact same shit to my then-boyfriend and I am a terrible girlfriend" and you spend the rest of the day watching Spongebob Squarepants and drinking vodka straight out of the bottle and wondering why your now-husband ever proposed in the first place cuz seriously, you suck.
Yeah, me neither. I was just asking on behalf of a friend. AndI am she is drunk.
Yeah, me neither. I was just asking on behalf of a friend. And
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
It's like giant metal chickens, only cheaper
Last Thursday, I went out with a friend and her daughter... we went to a movie, lunch, and then a rather ill-advised trip to Target. I went in intending to buy dog treats and toilet paper. I came out $147 poorer. Long story. Also, Target employees look at you strangely if you start sword fighting with water noodles in the aisles.
Anyway, one of the impulse purchases was a new shower curtain and rod. Wait, can it be called an impulse purchase if you've been planning to do it for over 3 years? Hmm. See in my bathroom, there is this huge handy shelf area behind the door:
(apparently red-eye reducer doesn't work on dogs. he's not really satan, he just likes to pretend)
Well I love my handy dandy shelf area for collecting all my girly stuff. But I hate that it's just shelves and not a closet. But I don't want a door there... for many reasons. 1. I don't want to have to build up the wall and install a door, 2. I don't really want it COMPLETELY closed in cuz we've had mold problems in the basement and air circulation is a good thing, and 3. the two doors banging into each other would suck. So I got the brilliant idea to just get another shower curtain and hang it up to kinda block off the view to all my girly stuff.
Aaaaaaaand we're back to the beginning of the story. Semi-impulse-shopping at Target. However, in my state of delirium, I forgot shower curtain hooks. Rod? Check. Curtain? Check. Method to connect the two? Fail.
The hubby was out of town at the time, didn't come home until Sunday. Actually didn't come home until really late, I was already sound asleep by the time he got here. Monday morning I get up and head to the basement for a shower and look what was sitting on my bathroom counter!
I fired off an email to the Designated Hitter "Guess what? Some asshole broke into our house and left trash on my bathroom counter! What the hell?!" He's so damned sweet, he offered to put up the hooks for me. *sigh* When I told him they were going in the trash, he pointed out that it would be way funnier to regift them this Christmas... he and my grandma have had quite the tradition of giving each other rival team gifts over the last few years. So now I need to stow them somewhere for the next 6 months and hope I don't forget come December! *double sigh*
Anyway, one of the impulse purchases was a new shower curtain and rod. Wait, can it be called an impulse purchase if you've been planning to do it for over 3 years? Hmm. See in my bathroom, there is this huge handy shelf area behind the door:
Well I love my handy dandy shelf area for collecting all my girly stuff. But I hate that it's just shelves and not a closet. But I don't want a door there... for many reasons. 1. I don't want to have to build up the wall and install a door, 2. I don't really want it COMPLETELY closed in cuz we've had mold problems in the basement and air circulation is a good thing, and 3. the two doors banging into each other would suck. So I got the brilliant idea to just get another shower curtain and hang it up to kinda block off the view to all my girly stuff.
Aaaaaaaand we're back to the beginning of the story. Semi-impulse-shopping at Target. However, in my state of delirium, I forgot shower curtain hooks. Rod? Check. Curtain? Check. Method to connect the two? Fail.
The hubby was out of town at the time, didn't come home until Sunday. Actually didn't come home until really late, I was already sound asleep by the time he got here. Monday morning I get up and head to the basement for a shower and look what was sitting on my bathroom counter!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Self-Imposed Hiatus
Actually there's no big righteous sacrificial moment of morality causing me to step away from the blog. It's just that, well, I started another one. COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. I have a project I'm working on and I started a family-friendly blog to document the work I'm doing. And I'm not ambitious or organized enough to juggle two blogs. So you probably won't see me around here much for a while. As if you had seen me much this month.
But before I go, I'd like to apologize for the giant pity party I threw in my last post. I hate it when I do that. And then I get mad at myself. And then I go into an even bigger funk. And then I yell at myself for wallowing in my misery instead of doing something about it. And then I cry. And it gets ugly. I don't know if it's over, but I've been trying to at least distract myself from it for a bit. Doesn't fix the problem, but at least I get a break.
Anyway, if you're reading this and want to know where the new blog is, email me. If you don't know how to email me, then you don't get to read the new blog! I'm sure I'll be back here one of these days. Probably when my family does something insanely stupid. But just wanted to give a heads up as to why I'm going to be missing for a while.
But before I go, I'd like to apologize for the giant pity party I threw in my last post. I hate it when I do that. And then I get mad at myself. And then I go into an even bigger funk. And then I yell at myself for wallowing in my misery instead of doing something about it. And then I cry. And it gets ugly. I don't know if it's over, but I've been trying to at least distract myself from it for a bit. Doesn't fix the problem, but at least I get a break.
Anyway, if you're reading this and want to know where the new blog is, email me. If you don't know how to email me, then you don't get to read the new blog! I'm sure I'll be back here one of these days. Probably when my family does something insanely stupid. But just wanted to give a heads up as to why I'm going to be missing for a while.
Friday, March 11, 2011
If it sucks, you can eat a sandwich
(First - a question: Am I supposed to capitalize every word of my blog post titles? Not capitalizing makes it look weird. Capitalizing makes it look too formal. This is why I hated English classes!)
(Second - a confession. I have two or three started-but-not-finished saved drafts of posts. I'm going to try to rectify that situation)
My parental unit came to visit last weekend. We hit a local Mardi Gras party, and went to a music show. And played a lot of cards. And ate a lot. The title of this post came from the weekend. First, I cooked something in the crock pot for dinner Friday night. I wasn't sure when everyone was going to get here, mom and dad were driving in, Hitter was coming from a business trip, crock pot food can kind of hang out and wait until everyone's ready. Perfect.
And that explains the title of the post.
New topic: I've been having more fun with cameras. I've officially become a photography nut. Not a photographer, not even someone whose hobby is photography. I'm just nuts. On a high note, I finally learned how to use the dSLR on manual setting. On a low note, I've become a little disillusioned with that camera and want a shiny new big fancy one. Except I don't have a spare $1500 laying around. And I want a macro lens, but I don't have a spare $500 laying around either. *sigh*
Which brings me to my next point. Money doesn't buy happiness. Yeah yeah I know, you hear that all the time. And if you don't have money, you think this is a whole load of crap. Hear me out. Actually, don't. I think everyone should quit reading. Because I'm about to have the world's biggest pity party.
I really know how to have a good time, huh? Okay let me start by saying I know I have it pretty good. And I hate it when I go into a pity party because I know that there are gobs of people that would love to switch places with me. And I WOULDN'T want to switch places with most of them. So life is peachy, right?
Wrong.
There's still something missing. And it's a biggie. And it's not something I can buy. Nor is it something Hitter can buy for me. Sometimes I tell Hitter that my life was easier when I was poor. Crazy, right? But it's true.
I miss independence. I miss freedom. I miss privacy. I miss respect.
I keep having recurring dreams where I'm back in college. I dream about the town, I dream about classes and homework and professors, and I dream about the dorms. (Irony, huh? Privacy... dorms... yeah right!) Everyone keeps reminding me "you can't go back, it wouldn't be the same" and 1. yeah I know that 2. I'm not going to go back, am I? 3. even if I did go back I wouldn't want it to be just the same... but mostly I can't go back. However, it's not that I want to go relive my college days, it's that I miss what college represented. Friends. Independence. Fun. Making my own decisions. Making do with what I had. Doing crazy things because they were fun. Making new friends everywhere I went. Teetering on that line between fun and stupid. Did I mention friends? And fun? Yeah. Not just fun and friends though, I worked. I went to class and had a job. I had a job I loved, and I gave up the traditional spring break so I could go get another job. I spent my summers on internships. But they were what I wanted to do. My decisions. My independence. MY LIFE.
I have NONE of that now. I am stuck in this Hillbilly Hell/Snooty City with no friends. I can't do anything with my life cuz I'm stuck here where there is nothing for me. I can't do anything without clearing it with mywarden husband first. And he's a fun-hater. So I buy myself things to try to get happy... but it doesn't work.
It sucks, and I eat a sandwich. I hate pity parties. They make me feel ashamed of myself. And all they serve are sandwiches. Bleh. Mostly I'm ashamed though, sandwiches are okay. I kinda hate myself a little bit. And I don't know what to do about it all.
(Second - a confession. I have two or three started-but-not-finished saved drafts of posts. I'm going to try to rectify that situation)
My parental unit came to visit last weekend. We hit a local Mardi Gras party, and went to a music show. And played a lot of cards. And ate a lot. The title of this post came from the weekend. First, I cooked something in the crock pot for dinner Friday night. I wasn't sure when everyone was going to get here, mom and dad were driving in, Hitter was coming from a business trip, crock pot food can kind of hang out and wait until everyone's ready. Perfect.
I titled this picture "Surly Crock Pot"
Problem. I felt compelled to make a recipe I'd never tried before. So... I told everyone "if it sucks, you can eat a sandwich!" which then kind of became catch phrase of the weekend. Saturday night, dad wanted wings from a restaurant where I had no idea how the wings were... so I told him to go ahead and order them, and if they suck he can go home and eat a sandwich. Sunday we had no idea what we were getting into with the music show, it was something none of us had heard of before. So... you guessed it! "Well I guess if the show sucks we can always leave... and come home and eat sandwiches" And that explains the title of the post.
New topic: I've been having more fun with cameras. I've officially become a photography nut. Not a photographer, not even someone whose hobby is photography. I'm just nuts. On a high note, I finally learned how to use the dSLR on manual setting. On a low note, I've become a little disillusioned with that camera and want a shiny new big fancy one. Except I don't have a spare $1500 laying around. And I want a macro lens, but I don't have a spare $500 laying around either. *sigh*
Which brings me to my next point. Money doesn't buy happiness. Yeah yeah I know, you hear that all the time. And if you don't have money, you think this is a whole load of crap. Hear me out. Actually, don't. I think everyone should quit reading. Because I'm about to have the world's biggest pity party.
Wrong.
There's still something missing. And it's a biggie. And it's not something I can buy. Nor is it something Hitter can buy for me. Sometimes I tell Hitter that my life was easier when I was poor. Crazy, right? But it's true.
I miss independence. I miss freedom. I miss privacy. I miss respect.
I keep having recurring dreams where I'm back in college. I dream about the town, I dream about classes and homework and professors, and I dream about the dorms. (Irony, huh? Privacy... dorms... yeah right!) Everyone keeps reminding me "you can't go back, it wouldn't be the same" and 1. yeah I know that 2. I'm not going to go back, am I? 3. even if I did go back I wouldn't want it to be just the same... but mostly I can't go back. However, it's not that I want to go relive my college days, it's that I miss what college represented. Friends. Independence. Fun. Making my own decisions. Making do with what I had. Doing crazy things because they were fun. Making new friends everywhere I went. Teetering on that line between fun and stupid. Did I mention friends? And fun? Yeah. Not just fun and friends though, I worked. I went to class and had a job. I had a job I loved, and I gave up the traditional spring break so I could go get another job. I spent my summers on internships. But they were what I wanted to do. My decisions. My independence. MY LIFE.
I have NONE of that now. I am stuck in this Hillbilly Hell/Snooty City with no friends. I can't do anything with my life cuz I'm stuck here where there is nothing for me. I can't do anything without clearing it with my
It sucks, and I eat a sandwich. I hate pity parties. They make me feel ashamed of myself. And all they serve are sandwiches. Bleh. Mostly I'm ashamed though, sandwiches are okay. I kinda hate myself a little bit. And I don't know what to do about it all.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Potpourri Pot (heh heh I said "pot")
This is going to be a little bit of everything. Total mish-mash. Lots of things to talk about, none of them worthy of their own entire post.
Remember that midlife crisis I had last fall? Yeah it's still going on. Yesterday morning I was on the phone with Hitter (he was out of town over the weekend) and he tells me that his HR guy had sent him an email about a new job opportunity (just a new role within the same company) This is not surprising, this company plays apple-cart-upset about every 18 months or so, and Hitter's been in this same role for 3 years now, so he's WAY overdue for a shakeup. Of course I never really look forward to these games of corporate musical chairs, because this happens:
Yeah. That's a lot of fun to deal with. Side effects include irritability, short temper, complete lack of understanding, and general assholedness. Except he's already been like that lately with the current position, so how much worse can the transition to something new be?
Famous last words.
So anyway, I just kinda went "yeah whatever okay" when Hitter mentioned possible new position. Right up until he said that it would involve a move. And then my emotions got on the biggest baddest roller coaster ever.
Remember that midlife crisis I had last fall? Yeah it's still going on. Yesterday morning I was on the phone with Hitter (he was out of town over the weekend) and he tells me that his HR guy had sent him an email about a new job opportunity (just a new role within the same company) This is not surprising, this company plays apple-cart-upset about every 18 months or so, and Hitter's been in this same role for 3 years now, so he's WAY overdue for a shakeup. Of course I never really look forward to these games of corporate musical chairs, because this happens:
Yeah. That's a lot of fun to deal with. Side effects include irritability, short temper, complete lack of understanding, and general assholedness. Except he's already been like that lately with the current position, so how much worse can the transition to something new be?
Famous last words.
So anyway, I just kinda went "yeah whatever okay" when Hitter mentioned possible new position. Right up until he said that it would involve a move. And then my emotions got on the biggest baddest roller coaster ever.
Just a few colors short of a Jackson Pollock painting
"OMG I might actually get out of Hillbilly Hell?!"
"Wait, when I imagined moving away, it wasn't to go to the east coast. Ugh"
"Well, we wouldn't stay there for more than 2 or 3 years, I can do that. And I'd get to move!"
"Hitter would never go for that, he couldn't be that far from his family"
"God what an ass, he is the reason I am so miserable! Why won't he move away from here? I hate Hillbilly Hell!"
"Wait, I'm a shitty wife. Could I really move that far away? I'd have to fly EVERYWHERE and I hate to fly. So really I'm just blaming him and using him as the scapegoat but I wouldn't like it either"
"But there might be work and/or school opportunities out there that don't exist here"
"But there might be work and/or school opportunities out there that don't exist here"
"But the east coast is one giant city running into the next giant city, and my biggest problem here is that it's a freaking city"
"Seriously though, I want to get the hell away from this damned place! I don't even care where I'm going next"
"Although... I'd have to leave my house and my pool and I kinda like them. And I probably wouldn't get anything I'd like out there"
"But it would be an opportunity to get away from everything around here that's making me miserable, including my family."
"Except I probably won't be happy out there either. I'm not sure if I've ever been happy. And I don't think I ever will be happy. Ugh. Just... ugh."
It's like the lamest roller coaster ever. Anyway the good news is I don't need to worry about it anymore because Hitter said he isn't taking it. He wouldn't like the work, it's way out of his comfort zone and possibly not even something he really agrees with. Althoug who knows with him, because he pretty much agrees with anything the Beloved Corporation does.
So I think I'll quit thinking about that. Or maybe I'll just quit thinking.
Random Internet Stupidity:
I got this in an email. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Mike Rowe... *drool*... but seriously? He's doing videos telling idiots they need to get their oil changed? Wow. I can't decide whether to be more annoyed by Ford thinking they need to make videos telling people that if the check engine light comes on you'd better... well... check the engine, or by the fact that I think Mikey boy has finally hit the "overexposure" status. Perhaps a while ago.
His voice is still dreamalicious though.
New subject: my year-in-pictures is still going, although sometimes it's not very interesting. I made it all the way to oooooooh about January 11 before I realized that some days I just don't have anything photo-worthy in my life. So I've been randomly filling the boring days in with extra pictures from interesting days. In some ways, that's probably a good thing though. Then I can remember that good things do happen sometimes, and occasional boring days aren't the end of the world. [/philosophical comments] And then there were a couple days when I had specific pictures in mind that I wanted to use on those specific days... didn't get the pictures... and then didn't update the album.
Today I had to catch up on two weeks worth of pictures. There was much procrastination of anything that others would consider "productive". Kitchen's still a mess, house didn't get cleaned, dog needs more exercise (although thank goodness the co-dependent beast actually spent an entire half hour in the back yard today without me) laundry didn't get done, trim didn't get painted, closets didn't get decluttered, office stuff didn't get organized, and most importantly, Hitter's model train didn't get landscaped. Most importantly to him anyway. I really don't care much, and I didn't feel that his hobby needed to be prioritized above mine, but I'm probably still going to catch hell for it tomorrow when he gets home. *sigh*
I think that's enough for now. Way past my bedtime.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Two Days: Gone
I officially need something to do with my life. I have spent most of the last two days doing the following:
1. Watching old Doctor Who reruns. And new Doctor Who reruns. And realizing that Doctor Who is totally Barty Crouch Jr. That last one kinda sucks, really. Cuz Doctor Who is awesome, and Barty Crouch Jr. was a complete asshole.
2. Watching Eagle Cam. Up in Decorah Iowa there is a fish hatchery. Right near the fish hatchery, there is a bald eagle nest. Some people who might be bigger nerds than I am (I say that with the utmost of love and respect... I adore nerds) have put two webcams up watching this eagle nest. It streams, live, 24 hours a day (one of the cameras is infrared equipped for when the sun goes down) at http://www.raptorresource.org/ and there are a whole bunch of us dorks with nothing better to do than watch these eagles try to make a comfy nest in the middle of the ice and snow.
Apparently it's still freaking cold in Decorah Iowa.
When the nest is covered in snow, it kind of looks like a powdered sugar topped funnel cake. NOW I WANT A FUNNEL CAKE, DAMMIT! It looked like that this morning, but mama and daddy eagle have been working on the nest and now it mostly looks like a nest again. This is halfway through the re-nesting. It's even more cozy now.
Speaking of nest, that thing weighs 1.5 tons. TONS! It's 6 feet in diameter. And it's actually kind of a smallish, newer nest. They just started this nest in 2007... the previous nest fell out of the tree when a branch broke in a windstorm. Don't stand under it in a wind storm.
Speaking of things to not stand under... today daddy eagle brought mama eagle a dove for lunch. After mama had her fill, well, don't stand under the eagle!
At the peak of nest-building and camera-operating, the viewer count climbed over 1200.
Meanwhile, I sit here watching it and the size of my ass also goes over 1200... or something like that. I should get up and do something productive with my day, especially now that the eagles are off doing something with their day.
1. Watching old Doctor Who reruns. And new Doctor Who reruns. And realizing that Doctor Who is totally Barty Crouch Jr. That last one kinda sucks, really. Cuz Doctor Who is awesome, and Barty Crouch Jr. was a complete asshole.
2. Watching Eagle Cam. Up in Decorah Iowa there is a fish hatchery. Right near the fish hatchery, there is a bald eagle nest. Some people who might be bigger nerds than I am (I say that with the utmost of love and respect... I adore nerds) have put two webcams up watching this eagle nest. It streams, live, 24 hours a day (one of the cameras is infrared equipped for when the sun goes down) at http://www.raptorresource.org/ and there are a whole bunch of us dorks with nothing better to do than watch these eagles try to make a comfy nest in the middle of the ice and snow.
Apparently it's still freaking cold in Decorah Iowa.
When the nest is covered in snow, it kind of looks like a powdered sugar topped funnel cake. NOW I WANT A FUNNEL CAKE, DAMMIT! It looked like that this morning, but mama and daddy eagle have been working on the nest and now it mostly looks like a nest again. This is halfway through the re-nesting. It's even more cozy now.
Speaking of nest, that thing weighs 1.5 tons. TONS! It's 6 feet in diameter. And it's actually kind of a smallish, newer nest. They just started this nest in 2007... the previous nest fell out of the tree when a branch broke in a windstorm. Don't stand under it in a wind storm.
Speaking of things to not stand under... today daddy eagle brought mama eagle a dove for lunch. After mama had her fill, well, don't stand under the eagle!
not shown: eagle poop
One of the cameras is fixed, the other can be manually operated. The operator can pan around (i.e. the poop image above) and he can zoom in. At one point I'm pretty sure daddy eagle looked me square in the eyes and saw all the way through to my heathen unpatriotic soul.
At the peak of nest-building and camera-operating, the viewer count climbed over 1200.
Meanwhile, I sit here watching it and the size of my ass also goes over 1200... or something like that. I should get up and do something productive with my day, especially now that the eagles are off doing something with their day.
*All images are screengrabs I took while watching the video. Credit goes to http://www.raptorresource.org/ go and give them advertising dollars or something.
P.S. I didn't turn the computer off in time. They both just showed up for some more nest building. They're getting close to egg-laying time! Oooh and daddy brought lunch! Which led to a fight. C'mon daddy, let mama eat... she's gotta make eggs.
P.S.again if you do go watch eagle cam, be prepared for bloody lunch. The circle of life is shown. And eagle poop.
I need a hobby. Or a job. Or a life.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
No, You Choose. Really.
An email conversation, for your enjoyment. My friend... we'll call her Patty... and her husband were going to meet Hitter and me for dinner after she got off work last night. And the following insanity ensued:
Patty (5:07 pm) Hey... are we still meeting tomorrow?
Me (6:12 pm) Yep we're planning on it. You have to work, right? Wanna meet somewhere halfway-ish?
P (7:31 pm) You pick. We'll meet you there
P (8:24 pm) PS Hubby says no mexican, he's still allergic to seafood. How about that fancy BBQ place halfway between us?
(me, inside my head: he's STILL allergic to seafood? did he think that would go away? and you ate at a mexican restaurant that serves FABULOUS shrimp enchiladas twice in the last month, so WTF?)
Me (8:34 pm) Perfect, I've been wanting to go there.
P (8:48) Reservations are required. How about 7:00? Do you want to call or should I?
(and before I even had a chance to respond to this email or call)
P (8:52) Earliest reservation is 9:00, I said no.
(the next two emails were sent simultaneously)
Me (8:55) Yeah that's a bit late. What about 1st Ave? No reservations required, and Hitter and I can get there a little early to get our name on the list.
P (8:55) I know Hubby said no mex, but what about Vista Grande? I know we can sit around and drink and not get run out. Let me know your thoughts. No strip clubs.
Me (8:56) I wasn't aware there were any strip clubs around here! Can your hubby stay sufficiently seafood-free there? I mean I want to see you guys but it isn't worth anaphylactic shock!
P (10:32, replying to my 1st Ave suggestion) K, where is that? I mean I know it's on 1st Ave, but which town?
Me (5:55 the next morning, 10:30 is WAY too late for me) Whoops! I meant 1st Ave Grill! It's across the street from the mall, just down the street from the fancy BBQ place you'd suggested. (sidebar: I don't even know where there is a "first avenue" around here... they don't name streets that way in this little section of Hillbilly Hell)
P (7:58) Bandana's BBQ. 7:15.
(me: reading entire email thread to Hitter, laughing at how "you pick" turned into "here's what you're doing, and you're going to like it")
Me (12:05) OK see you then.
P (12:50) Is that ok?
Me (1:14) Yep
(me, inside my head: do I even have a choice?!)
This totally brought back the memory of the night, in the first year of our marriage, that Hitter offered to take me out to eat, and said "anywhere you want to go... your choice"
Me: Italian
Him: No, I just had that yesterday at work
Me: Chinese
Him: No, I'm not really in the mood. How about Mexican?
Me: what happened to "anywhere you want to go"?????
and for those keeping score, we still went for Mexican food.
Hi, I'm a doormat. How are you?
Patty (5:07 pm) Hey... are we still meeting tomorrow?
Me (6:12 pm) Yep we're planning on it. You have to work, right? Wanna meet somewhere halfway-ish?
P (7:31 pm) You pick. We'll meet you there
P (8:24 pm) PS Hubby says no mexican, he's still allergic to seafood. How about that fancy BBQ place halfway between us?
(me, inside my head: he's STILL allergic to seafood? did he think that would go away? and you ate at a mexican restaurant that serves FABULOUS shrimp enchiladas twice in the last month, so WTF?)
Me (8:34 pm) Perfect, I've been wanting to go there.
P (8:48) Reservations are required. How about 7:00? Do you want to call or should I?
(and before I even had a chance to respond to this email or call)
P (8:52) Earliest reservation is 9:00, I said no.
(the next two emails were sent simultaneously)
Me (8:55) Yeah that's a bit late. What about 1st Ave? No reservations required, and Hitter and I can get there a little early to get our name on the list.
P (8:55) I know Hubby said no mex, but what about Vista Grande? I know we can sit around and drink and not get run out. Let me know your thoughts. No strip clubs.
Me (8:56) I wasn't aware there were any strip clubs around here! Can your hubby stay sufficiently seafood-free there? I mean I want to see you guys but it isn't worth anaphylactic shock!
P (10:32, replying to my 1st Ave suggestion) K, where is that? I mean I know it's on 1st Ave, but which town?
Me (5:55 the next morning, 10:30 is WAY too late for me) Whoops! I meant 1st Ave Grill! It's across the street from the mall, just down the street from the fancy BBQ place you'd suggested. (sidebar: I don't even know where there is a "first avenue" around here... they don't name streets that way in this little section of Hillbilly Hell)
P (7:58) Bandana's BBQ. 7:15.
(me: reading entire email thread to Hitter, laughing at how "you pick" turned into "here's what you're doing, and you're going to like it")
Me (12:05) OK see you then.
P (12:50) Is that ok?
Me (1:14) Yep
(me, inside my head: do I even have a choice?!)
This totally brought back the memory of the night, in the first year of our marriage, that Hitter offered to take me out to eat, and said "anywhere you want to go... your choice"
Me: Italian
Him: No, I just had that yesterday at work
Me: Chinese
Him: No, I'm not really in the mood. How about Mexican?
Me: what happened to "anywhere you want to go"?????
and for those keeping score, we still went for Mexican food.
Hi, I'm a doormat. How are you?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Of Dreams and Realities
Mother Nature is pretending it's spring!
The fact that I was excited by that statement is a real testament to how icy and bitter-cold the past couple weeks have been. I'm a winter person. Always have been. My favorite vacations from my childhood were snow skiing trips. I tend to hibernate in the summer. But it's been witch's-titty cold lately and instead of snow we've had ice and I'm sick of it! It got up to 60 yesterday, my garage is finally ice-free, and I've never been happier to see mud.
No, wait, not that one. I hate mud. That is the biggest reason I hate spring. I grew up on a farm, we raised cattle, mud is bad. There are few things on earth that are more unpleasant than stepping right out of your rubber boot and sticking your sock-clad foot into sloppy wet cow-crap-and-mud. It doesn't happen on purpose, but the mud suctions to the boot and the boot slides off your foot. You can't help it. It's awful. And calves don't like to be born into mud. You know those nice sterile hospitals where human babies are born? Yeah, imagine instead having the baby come out of it's nice comfortable womb and being dropped into a swamp of slimy stinky sludge. And then their navels get infected.
I hate mud. That was also possibly the most disgusting digression I've ever made. I sure hope the sleep number bed guy is still reading my blog.
Here's the thing though: spring makes me think I'm someone I'm not. Spring makes me fantasize about gardening. I dream about tomatoes and peppers and peas and beans and cucumbers and a million herbs and strawberries and carrots (I don't even like carrots much) and radishes (I hate radishes but Hitter loves them and I love to do things for Hitter... when it's spring and I'm dreaming) and blueberries and rhubarb (oh I love rhubarb, I've tried like 5 times to grow it here and I've failed just as many times) and flowers of every shape, size and color.
And I dream... and I dream... and I see me in a floppy straw hat and flowerdy gloves out in my garden, lovingly tending to it, watering, fertilizing, weeding. And I see me in the kitchen in my yellow apron (I already have the apron, I don't have the hat and gloves) putting up all my glorious produce. I see jars of green beans and salsa and jams and jellies and pickles and pie fillings, I see dried fruits and vegetables, I see frozen bags of easy recipe fixins (hee hee I just said fixins) and I see myself with a giant smile on my face, loving it all. And when it's winter I wish I had those jars and bags of foods.
But when reality hits, I'm lazy and I don't care.
There are lots of things I could blame. For starters, it's hard to garden in this little corner of Hillbilly Hell. Our soil is nasty damned clay, solid packed crap that a little baby plant has no chance of pushing root fibers through, and even if it does make roots they either rot because the clay holds so much moisture or they shrivel up because the clay won't absorb moisture. Trust me, this would make sense if you lived with clay. Actually, no. I live with it and it makes no sense. But you would understand that what I said is true, somehow, oddly enough. Also, summers are so miserable here with the heat and excessive humidity that when it comes time to go out and lovingly tend to the garden, I just want to hibernate in the basement. I'd never see the summer sun if Hitter hadn't let me get a pool.
Also, bending over a garden makes my back hurt so bad. It takes me forever to get anything done because I'll do something for approximately 27 seconds and then I have to stand up and stretch for 4 minutes. My garden space is a little claustrophobic too because we have so many deer around here that we had to put up an 8' high fence around it and we didn't want to fence in too much real estate so it's just a little box.
So my spring dreams of gardening bliss end up being a weedy mess of untended wild plants so out of control that I can't even get in to reach the tomatoes that have miraculously turned red.
Of course I also have dreams of having a clean house, and being a dancer, and doing all sorts of crafts. Mostly I'm really good at playing computer games. I think I should shut this damned thing off. Except I've done that before too and I just find other stupid things to occupy my time and the productive things still get ignored. I wish I could get a job being lazy, I'd be the best damned employee ever.
The fact that I was excited by that statement is a real testament to how icy and bitter-cold the past couple weeks have been. I'm a winter person. Always have been. My favorite vacations from my childhood were snow skiing trips. I tend to hibernate in the summer. But it's been witch's-titty cold lately and instead of snow we've had ice and I'm sick of it! It got up to 60 yesterday, my garage is finally ice-free, and I've never been happier to see mud.
No, wait, not that one. I hate mud. That is the biggest reason I hate spring. I grew up on a farm, we raised cattle, mud is bad. There are few things on earth that are more unpleasant than stepping right out of your rubber boot and sticking your sock-clad foot into sloppy wet cow-crap-and-mud. It doesn't happen on purpose, but the mud suctions to the boot and the boot slides off your foot. You can't help it. It's awful. And calves don't like to be born into mud. You know those nice sterile hospitals where human babies are born? Yeah, imagine instead having the baby come out of it's nice comfortable womb and being dropped into a swamp of slimy stinky sludge. And then their navels get infected.
I hate mud. That was also possibly the most disgusting digression I've ever made. I sure hope the sleep number bed guy is still reading my blog.
Here's the thing though: spring makes me think I'm someone I'm not. Spring makes me fantasize about gardening. I dream about tomatoes and peppers and peas and beans and cucumbers and a million herbs and strawberries and carrots (I don't even like carrots much) and radishes (I hate radishes but Hitter loves them and I love to do things for Hitter... when it's spring and I'm dreaming) and blueberries and rhubarb (oh I love rhubarb, I've tried like 5 times to grow it here and I've failed just as many times) and flowers of every shape, size and color.
And I dream... and I dream... and I see me in a floppy straw hat and flowerdy gloves out in my garden, lovingly tending to it, watering, fertilizing, weeding. And I see me in the kitchen in my yellow apron (I already have the apron, I don't have the hat and gloves) putting up all my glorious produce. I see jars of green beans and salsa and jams and jellies and pickles and pie fillings, I see dried fruits and vegetables, I see frozen bags of easy recipe fixins (hee hee I just said fixins) and I see myself with a giant smile on my face, loving it all. And when it's winter I wish I had those jars and bags of foods.
But when reality hits, I'm lazy and I don't care.
There are lots of things I could blame. For starters, it's hard to garden in this little corner of Hillbilly Hell. Our soil is nasty damned clay, solid packed crap that a little baby plant has no chance of pushing root fibers through, and even if it does make roots they either rot because the clay holds so much moisture or they shrivel up because the clay won't absorb moisture. Trust me, this would make sense if you lived with clay. Actually, no. I live with it and it makes no sense. But you would understand that what I said is true, somehow, oddly enough. Also, summers are so miserable here with the heat and excessive humidity that when it comes time to go out and lovingly tend to the garden, I just want to hibernate in the basement. I'd never see the summer sun if Hitter hadn't let me get a pool.
Also, bending over a garden makes my back hurt so bad. It takes me forever to get anything done because I'll do something for approximately 27 seconds and then I have to stand up and stretch for 4 minutes. My garden space is a little claustrophobic too because we have so many deer around here that we had to put up an 8' high fence around it and we didn't want to fence in too much real estate so it's just a little box.
So my spring dreams of gardening bliss end up being a weedy mess of untended wild plants so out of control that I can't even get in to reach the tomatoes that have miraculously turned red.
Of course I also have dreams of having a clean house, and being a dancer, and doing all sorts of crafts. Mostly I'm really good at playing computer games. I think I should shut this damned thing off. Except I've done that before too and I just find other stupid things to occupy my time and the productive things still get ignored. I wish I could get a job being lazy, I'd be the best damned employee ever.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Oh great, I have a creepy stalker
As usual, I feel compelled to refer my readers back to a previous post, this time the sleepless adventure. It's an obsession, don't mind me. And it turns out I apparently have at least three readers! There's Best Friend in the Eastern time zone, Best Friend in the Mountain time zone, and a new reader who works for a company that manufactures a product I previously referenced. I'm not going to say which one, but the item in question is a piece of furniture upon which people sleep... using their number... and I hate said product.
I mean it's one thing to want people to read your blog. But I'm not sure a customer service rep was exactly what I had in mind. Especially one who is trying to convince me to love Hitter's bed. First of all, how cushy of a job is that where he just reads blogs all day searching for product complaints? Secondly, it was NOT a robot-reply, a human being had actually read what I wrote and looked at my pictures. He referenced things that were very specific to me.
Also, I'm definitely not posting about this on Facebook... one of my nerdy high school friends will correct my damned grammar! Asshole. I didn't really mind the first comment too much, but the second friend thanking the first one kinda pissed me off.
I seem to be on a tangent.
Moral of story here is new readers are good, creepy customer service stalkers are creepy. (Clarification: new readers who are NOT members of my family, or friends of members of my family, or who would in any way shape or form let this crap get back to my family. I think I need to delete all the family stuff and then not worry about whether or not the blog goes public)
I mean it's one thing to want people to read your blog. But I'm not sure a customer service rep was exactly what I had in mind. Especially one who is trying to convince me to love Hitter's bed. First of all, how cushy of a job is that where he just reads blogs all day searching for product complaints? Secondly, it was NOT a robot-reply, a human being had actually read what I wrote and looked at my pictures. He referenced things that were very specific to me.
Also, I'm definitely not posting about this on Facebook... one of my nerdy high school friends will correct my damned grammar! Asshole. I didn't really mind the first comment too much, but the second friend thanking the first one kinda pissed me off.
I seem to be on a tangent.
Moral of story here is new readers are good, creepy customer service stalkers are creepy. (Clarification: new readers who are NOT members of my family, or friends of members of my family, or who would in any way shape or form let this crap get back to my family. I think I need to delete all the family stuff and then not worry about whether or not the blog goes public)
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
God wants me to be rich, Part 2
Remember when the fates were giving me money? It's happening again. Well, the fates are trying, but MasterCard might be resisting.
MasterCard is an asshole.
Clear back in December, I had just received the next two DVDs in my Netflix queue and I went to pop them into the DVD player in the living room and watch......
Wait, I need to give some background. I'm a tightwad. Sometimes. I mean I had to get a camper and a brand new car and a smart phone and a laptop and a swimming pool and an acreage and new office furniture and my shiny new KitchenAid and... and... and... other stuff. But by gosh and by golly I do NOT need to be spending $35 on a cheap little DVD player for the living room, because we have a portable take-along-in-the-car DVD player that has cables to use with a regular TV too if you want to. And that's good enough for me!
I may be a hypocrite.
So this portable DVD player doesn't just have a tray you drop the DVD onto, it has that little spindle thing that the DVD snaps onto.
And nothing happened. The DVD wouldn't play. Wouldn't even get to the menu, much less actually play the movie. So I opened it up to take the DVD out and check for scratches or dirt or whatever, which is a pretty common issue with Netflix.....
Discs snapped in half are not so common. *sigh* So I get out the other movie, checked it to make sure it wasn't broken before putting it in, stuck it into the DVD player, pushed play... and.....
*sigh*
Cracked that DVD too.
At this point I was left with a moral dilemma. Do I just stuff the DVDs back into the envelopes and ship 'em, hoping Netflix thinks they broke in the mail? Or do I not be a big fat jerk, and actually 'fess up to the fact that I broke them?
I tried to be an asshole. I really did. I had gone so far as to put them back into their envelopes and seal it all up, and had them sitting on the TV cabinet waiting to go out in the mail. But then the goody-two-shoes inside me took over and was all "that's just not right" so I got on the Netflix website and clicked on the "I lost or broke a DVD" button... twice... and they charged me like $30 for the two movies. But at least I still had my soul...
Fast forward to last week. We're having the Winter Storm of the Century (aka Snowpocalypse, aka Blizzargeddon) and we get a phone call from MasterCard asking if I was off making hundred dollar purchases at 4 different pharmacies that day. Kudos to our credit card company for calling immediately (unlike fucking Citi Card and their shitty fraud detection unit... but that's a post for another day) so we got my card canceled and they're issuing me a new one.
Fast forward to yesterday. I've had two other movies out for like two weeks now... which is a stupid giant waste of money... and I need to go run some errands anyway, so I plan to take the two movies along and stuff them in the nearest blue box. I grab two red Netflix envelopes from the top of the TV and head out the door. Then last night I'm sorting through my mail... and find a Netflix envelope. Hmm... Did I mail back the Wii disc?
Then this morning I open my email.
I had mailed back the broken DVDs... that I had already admitted to breaking...
AND NETFLIX REFUNDED MY MONEY!
To the credit card that was emergency-closed last week.
I'm not entirely sure I'll ever see this money, but God wants me to be rich. And that makes me happy.
P.S. Now I need to find where that other movie is... and I'm clueless.
MasterCard is an asshole.
Clear back in December, I had just received the next two DVDs in my Netflix queue and I went to pop them into the DVD player in the living room and watch......
Wait, I need to give some background. I'm a tightwad. Sometimes. I mean I had to get a camper and a brand new car and a smart phone and a laptop and a swimming pool and an acreage and new office furniture and my shiny new KitchenAid and... and... and... other stuff. But by gosh and by golly I do NOT need to be spending $35 on a cheap little DVD player for the living room, because we have a portable take-along-in-the-car DVD player that has cables to use with a regular TV too if you want to. And that's good enough for me!
I may be a hypocrite.
So this portable DVD player doesn't just have a tray you drop the DVD onto, it has that little spindle thing that the DVD snaps onto.
And nothing happened. The DVD wouldn't play. Wouldn't even get to the menu, much less actually play the movie. So I opened it up to take the DVD out and check for scratches or dirt or whatever, which is a pretty common issue with Netflix.....
Discs snapped in half are not so common. *sigh* So I get out the other movie, checked it to make sure it wasn't broken before putting it in, stuck it into the DVD player, pushed play... and.....
*sigh*
Cracked that DVD too.
At this point I was left with a moral dilemma. Do I just stuff the DVDs back into the envelopes and ship 'em, hoping Netflix thinks they broke in the mail? Or do I not be a big fat jerk, and actually 'fess up to the fact that I broke them?
I tried to be an asshole. I really did. I had gone so far as to put them back into their envelopes and seal it all up, and had them sitting on the TV cabinet waiting to go out in the mail. But then the goody-two-shoes inside me took over and was all "that's just not right" so I got on the Netflix website and clicked on the "I lost or broke a DVD" button... twice... and they charged me like $30 for the two movies. But at least I still had my soul...
Fast forward to last week. We're having the Winter Storm of the Century (aka Snowpocalypse, aka Blizzargeddon) and we get a phone call from MasterCard asking if I was off making hundred dollar purchases at 4 different pharmacies that day. Kudos to our credit card company for calling immediately (unlike fucking Citi Card and their shitty fraud detection unit... but that's a post for another day) so we got my card canceled and they're issuing me a new one.
Fast forward to yesterday. I've had two other movies out for like two weeks now... which is a stupid giant waste of money... and I need to go run some errands anyway, so I plan to take the two movies along and stuff them in the nearest blue box. I grab two red Netflix envelopes from the top of the TV and head out the door. Then last night I'm sorting through my mail... and find a Netflix envelope. Hmm... Did I mail back the Wii disc?
Then this morning I open my email.
I had mailed back the broken DVDs... that I had already admitted to breaking...
AND NETFLIX REFUNDED MY MONEY!
To the credit card that was emergency-closed last week.
I'm not entirely sure I'll ever see this money, but God wants me to be rich. And that makes me happy.
P.S. Now I need to find where that other movie is... and I'm clueless.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Sleep is my favorite hobby. Wait, is sleep a hobby? Sleep is my favorite pasttime? Activity? (wait, activity?!? really? I don't think so) Whatever, this girl likes to sleep.
Anyway, I've developed a bit of a problem since getting married. Here is my favorite sleeping position:
it sucked when it was a double bed, because that really is pretty much the proper scale on size of Muppy and how much bed he takes up. I apologize for the crappy drawing, I haven't mastered the fine art of Muppy drawings yet. He kinda looks like a weird cow/horse hybrid. In real life, he's a weird dog/cat hybrid, but that's a story for another day.
Now for my least favorite sleeping position:
Now part of me wants to blame Hitter's stupid sleep number bed. I have hated that thing since the day he bought it (also a very long story for another day... the short version is "whatever Hitter wants, Hitter gets, whether I agree with it or not) And another part of me wants to blame the fact that he refuses to let me have a TV in the bedroom... he claims he can't get to sleep if there's a TV on, even though when we're in a hotel he turns the TV on and sets the sleep timer and falls right to sleep, and almost every time we sit on the couch and watch TV together he falls asleep, but NOOOOOOOOO he can't sleep with a TV in the bedroom *eye roll* (the reason I want a TV is because I have trouble turning my brain off at night, if I just lay in the dark and quiet I start thinking... and thinking... and everything bad or scary or evil or whatever starts spinning around in my head and then I really can't sleep, so I turn on something mind-numbing... TV when I'm sleeping alone, or I stuff the ear buds of my ipod in when I have to sleep with Hitter) (longest string of words in parentheses in history)
Anyway, part of me also suspects that it's just the presence of him in bed with me. Sometimes I'll wake up with his elbow in my back, a lot of times I wake up with no covers, he snores and Muppy doesn't...
I can't sprawl...
Oh, and back to the stupid sleep number bed, unless we have the stupid thing at pretty similar numbers, it's like we're playing a sleepy game of king of the mountain. One of us is way up high, and the other is down in a valley. Sleep number is especially stupid in queen size because if you like the bed firm, then you're essentially sleeping on top of one of those stability balls, and if you like the bed soft then you're in a hammock. Because your air pocket for your side of the bed is literally smaller than a twin bed.
The biggest problem is I can't just go sleep in the guest room, because oh heaven forbid! If we don't sleep in the same bed every night, then we're going to get divorced! Oh my!
*eye roll*
Never mind the fact that a sleep-deprived-me is a lot more likely to want to leave him than a got-a-good-night-sleep-in-the-other-room-me.
Men are stupid. So are queen sized sleep number beds.
Anyway, I've developed a bit of a problem since getting married. Here is my favorite sleeping position:
Yes I do sleep under bedding, but that makes it kinda hard to see what's going on in the picture. Don't argue with my art. As for what's going on in that picture, I'm taking up an entire queen size bed because I sprawl when I'm sleeping. It's all arms and legs everywhere! And my grandpa (not The Corporal, the other grandpa) used to call me a windmill in a tornado. Apparently I didn't just sprawl and stay there, I liked to flail those arms and legs around a lot.
Now that we have a queen size in the guest room (used to be a double bed until it broke... don't ask) my second favorite sleeping position is:
Now for my least favorite sleeping position:
Anyway, part of me also suspects that it's just the presence of him in bed with me. Sometimes I'll wake up with his elbow in my back, a lot of times I wake up with no covers, he snores and Muppy doesn't...
I can't sprawl...
Oh, and back to the stupid sleep number bed, unless we have the stupid thing at pretty similar numbers, it's like we're playing a sleepy game of king of the mountain. One of us is way up high, and the other is down in a valley. Sleep number is especially stupid in queen size because if you like the bed firm, then you're essentially sleeping on top of one of those stability balls, and if you like the bed soft then you're in a hammock. Because your air pocket for your side of the bed is literally smaller than a twin bed.
The biggest problem is I can't just go sleep in the guest room, because oh heaven forbid! If we don't sleep in the same bed every night, then we're going to get divorced! Oh my!
*eye roll*
Never mind the fact that a sleep-deprived-me is a lot more likely to want to leave him than a got-a-good-night-sleep-in-the-other-room-me.
Men are stupid. So are queen sized sleep number beds.
Monday, January 24, 2011
A Photographer's Guide to Photography
Pileated Woodpecker:
I had out both cameras, both lenses for the interchangeable-lens camera, the tripod, and my insanity. I am on a mission to get a lot of really good pictures of these birds.
Here's the fun I put myself through a few days ago trying to get a good picture of him. (No, I'm not being random calling him a "him", it really is the male this time. I can tell them apart. And I know what their call sounds like. I need help. Hitter turned me into a birdwatcher *twitch*) The background information you need to know is I'm pretty much a lazy-butt and I love to be on my couch.
Problem #1: I can't just take a picture from the couch because our windows have screens on the bottom half so I'd end up with stupid pictures.
Problem #2: I can't take pictures through the top of the living room window (screen-less) because the outside light shines through the glass inset in our front door and reflects off the windows. Then I end up with these weird ghosty things.
Failed solution to problem #2:
I put a blanket over the door. Still didn't work so much. Moving on!
Problem #3: The birds can see through the living room window so if I try to get up to go to a different window, they fly away. Pileated woodpeckers are very skittish.
Successful remedy to problem #3: Me falling off the couch EVER-SO-GRACEFULLY (yeah right) so the birds can't see me, then I crawl across the floor until I am out of their line of sight.
Problem #4: The only other windows with a view of the bird feeder are the French doors. These doors have after-market enclosed blinds on them. I love them, love love love, except in the winter they fog up something terrible.
Solution to Problem #4, Part 1: I took off the enclosed-blind thing (thank goodness they're removable)
Then I set up the tripod pointing out the window, had the zoom lens on the camera and the other one nearby, looked out the window and.....
Problem #5:
(he's the one on top)
Some of you may recognize that tree and birdfeeder from the raccoon incident. Slight change of season. Anyway, pileated woodpeckers are becoming a bit of an obsession of mine. We have a mated pair that lives in our area and come to Hitter's suet feeder pretty regularly. I think they're living in the dead tree that will be featured on the 2011-Year-In-Pictures once everything is green again. I mean seriously, all trees look dead in the winter. I had out both cameras, both lenses for the interchangeable-lens camera, the tripod, and my insanity. I am on a mission to get a lot of really good pictures of these birds.
Here's the fun I put myself through a few days ago trying to get a good picture of him. (No, I'm not being random calling him a "him", it really is the male this time. I can tell them apart. And I know what their call sounds like. I need help. Hitter turned me into a birdwatcher *twitch*) The background information you need to know is I'm pretty much a lazy-butt and I love to be on my couch.
Problem #1: I can't just take a picture from the couch because our windows have screens on the bottom half so I'd end up with stupid pictures.
Problem #2: I can't take pictures through the top of the living room window (screen-less) because the outside light shines through the glass inset in our front door and reflects off the windows. Then I end up with these weird ghosty things.
Failed solution to problem #2:
Problem #3: The birds can see through the living room window so if I try to get up to go to a different window, they fly away. Pileated woodpeckers are very skittish.
Successful remedy to problem #3: Me falling off the couch EVER-SO-GRACEFULLY (yeah right) so the birds can't see me, then I crawl across the floor until I am out of their line of sight.
Problem #4: The only other windows with a view of the bird feeder are the French doors. These doors have after-market enclosed blinds on them. I love them, love love love, except in the winter they fog up something terrible.
Solution to Problem #4, Part 1: I took off the enclosed-blind thing (thank goodness they're removable)
Then I set up the tripod pointing out the window, had the zoom lens on the camera and the other one nearby, looked out the window and.....
Problem #5:
NO BIRDS!
They'd all flown away. It was just as well, the window wasn't de-fogged yet anyway.
Solution to Problem #4, Part 2: Did I mention the window still wasn't de-fogged?
I got Hitter's hair dryer (yes he has a hair dryer, no I do not. that's probably also a post for another day) and blow-dried the window.
And FINALLY, I got pictures. Oh glory did I get pictures! Two hours later, I had a full memory card. Oh happy day. (have I mentioned I love digital? seriously, I took almost 400 pictures over two days. who the hell would do that if it was film?) Sat down to my trusty rusty laptop to upload the pictures and pick out the good ones...... and...........
I have NO IDEA how in the hell I accidentally caused that! I almost broke my computer smashing the cancel button as hard as I could. I lost about half of them. And then I almost threw my computer and the camera across the room. I refrained, but it was a strong urge.
Hitter gets home from work that night and is all "so what did you do today?" which is a loaded question because I'm a childless housewife. But what could I say? I mean I was busy all day! It just ended up being for nothing. How do you say "well I spent all day trying to create the ideal bird photography studio in my house because I was obsessed with getting pictures TODAY of some birds that live here and I'll see them again someday, and then I managed to accidentally delete most of the pictures. So, yeah, umm, I didn't do anything today. How do you feel about leftovers for supper? Cuz I'm worn out!"
Sunday, January 23, 2011
So Much For Saving The Planet
Did you know Compact Flourescent Lightbulbs (you know, those little swirly "environmentally-friendly" lightbulbs) are full of mercury? Yep, I did. Which is all fine well and dandy as long as you take your burned out bulbs for recycling and you don't break one.
Wait, what?
Crap.
Last night I was really tired but I was really grumpy and sick of sleeping in the same bed with Hitter (long story...) and I was full of beer and margaritas (who thought mixing the two would be a good idea?!?) so I sent Hitter to his bed and I headed to the guest room to read for a while (aka, stay awake until he falls asleep, and then I sleep in the guest room and am happy)
And then I tipped over my reading lamp.
And then my CFL broke.
Have I ever mentioned that any small tiny little bit of logic I have during daytime hours turns into a mass of paranoia in the middle of the night? It's really not pretty. That's why I always go to bed with my ipod ear buds in, but that isn't the point of this story.
Well considering this was midnight, so my freak-out-brain was in full freak-out mode, I decided this one broken bulb meant that I was going to die of mercury poisoning. I searched the internet, which is also a bad thing for a paranoid hypochondriac at midnight. Remember the triple-cancer-plus-AIDS episode? Right. I really shouldn't be allowed to be on the computer between sundown and sunrise. There are conflicting reports left and right on the interwebs... and not even tree-hugging-hippie pages vs I-just-can't-be-bothered-to-care websites. I mean one state's EPA vs another state's EPA. Some were all "well, yes mercury is bad but as long as you ventilate the room for 15 minutes and wear gloves while you remove all the broken glass, using sticky tape to pick up any remaining shards, you'll be okay" but others were "OMG WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! You need to remove the carpet, you need to get a HEPA mask, you need to not use that room for like months, maybe even call in an environmental disaster clean up crew to your house" *eye roll*
Did I mention I get paranoid in the middle of the night? Well I didn't tear out carpet or call the EPA disaster response crew. But I did open the window in the bedroom all night... and it was 14 degrees out. Somehow I think the furnace having to run extra canceled out any possible environmental benefits of using the CFL. (I would like to point out though that I was smart enough to close the door to that room... I didn't just have random open window straight to the thermostat. I'm only half stupid. In fact I even closed the floor vent and taped over the cold-air-return and stuffed a blanket under the door. I'm thorough like that)
And then I remembered that when I was a little kid, I bit the end off an old-fashioned mercury thermometer. Yeah, in my mouth. And then when I was a slightly older kid, I broke another thermometer in my mashed potatoes. (I didn't want to go to school the next morning so I thought "hey I'll stick this thermometer into my steaming hot food so it'll look like I have a fever! too bad the taters were about 3000 degrees and I exploded the thermometer)
So I think I'm either already a mad hatter, or I'm immune.
(Did you know that the phrase "mad as a hatter" came from mercury poisoning? no joke. I'm a veritable fountain of useless knowledge) (also, my great-grandma was a milliner. that might explain a lot)
Oh, and another symptom of mercury poisoning is mood swings. I told Hitter today on the way home from church that I've been pretty steadily pissed off for the last 3 days, so a mood swing would be a welcome change. There's nowhere to go but up.
I don't think I'm poisoned. I'll let you know if I start trembling violently. My drawings will get worse. Or better, I'm not sure.
And I'm going to stockpile old-fashioned lightbulbs.
Wait, what?
Crap.
Last night I was really tired but I was really grumpy and sick of sleeping in the same bed with Hitter (long story...) and I was full of beer and margaritas (who thought mixing the two would be a good idea?!?) so I sent Hitter to his bed and I headed to the guest room to read for a while (aka, stay awake until he falls asleep, and then I sleep in the guest room and am happy)
And then I tipped over my reading lamp.
And then my CFL broke.
Have I ever mentioned that any small tiny little bit of logic I have during daytime hours turns into a mass of paranoia in the middle of the night? It's really not pretty. That's why I always go to bed with my ipod ear buds in, but that isn't the point of this story.
Well considering this was midnight, so my freak-out-brain was in full freak-out mode, I decided this one broken bulb meant that I was going to die of mercury poisoning. I searched the internet, which is also a bad thing for a paranoid hypochondriac at midnight. Remember the triple-cancer-plus-AIDS episode? Right. I really shouldn't be allowed to be on the computer between sundown and sunrise. There are conflicting reports left and right on the interwebs... and not even tree-hugging-hippie pages vs I-just-can't-be-bothered-to-care websites. I mean one state's EPA vs another state's EPA. Some were all "well, yes mercury is bad but as long as you ventilate the room for 15 minutes and wear gloves while you remove all the broken glass, using sticky tape to pick up any remaining shards, you'll be okay" but others were "OMG WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! You need to remove the carpet, you need to get a HEPA mask, you need to not use that room for like months, maybe even call in an environmental disaster clean up crew to your house" *eye roll*
Did I mention I get paranoid in the middle of the night? Well I didn't tear out carpet or call the EPA disaster response crew. But I did open the window in the bedroom all night... and it was 14 degrees out. Somehow I think the furnace having to run extra canceled out any possible environmental benefits of using the CFL. (I would like to point out though that I was smart enough to close the door to that room... I didn't just have random open window straight to the thermostat. I'm only half stupid. In fact I even closed the floor vent and taped over the cold-air-return and stuffed a blanket under the door. I'm thorough like that)
And then I remembered that when I was a little kid, I bit the end off an old-fashioned mercury thermometer. Yeah, in my mouth. And then when I was a slightly older kid, I broke another thermometer in my mashed potatoes. (I didn't want to go to school the next morning so I thought "hey I'll stick this thermometer into my steaming hot food so it'll look like I have a fever! too bad the taters were about 3000 degrees and I exploded the thermometer)
So I think I'm either already a mad hatter, or I'm immune.
(Did you know that the phrase "mad as a hatter" came from mercury poisoning? no joke. I'm a veritable fountain of useless knowledge) (also, my great-grandma was a milliner. that might explain a lot)
Oh, and another symptom of mercury poisoning is mood swings. I told Hitter today on the way home from church that I've been pretty steadily pissed off for the last 3 days, so a mood swing would be a welcome change. There's nowhere to go but up.
I don't think I'm poisoned. I'll let you know if I start trembling violently. My drawings will get worse. Or better, I'm not sure.
And I'm going to stockpile old-fashioned lightbulbs.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Meppy Birthmas To Me!
Meppy Birthmas is way better than Harry Christday, no?
Last year I told all of my family and all of Hitter's family that all I wanted for my birthday and for Christmas was Kohl's gift cards (no this is not a paid advertisement) Hitter had an old cheap stand mixer from long before we got married, and I've been getting progressively more annoyed with it as it proves time and again it just isn't up to the kind of abuse I like to throw at it.
It's ordered. It should be here next week. I am planning all sorts of things to make once it gets here. Mmmmmmmm homemade bread!
Oh, but I had 5 gift cards and you can only use 4 at a time on Kohl's website. So I saved one back (the smallest one) (smallest dollar amount. they're all the same size cards) (you probably could have figured that out on your own) and since that was my first online purchase from Kohl's they emailed me a 10% off coupon on my next online order. I will use that and the last gift card for some accessories soon.
Then I went to the grocery store, and the little coupon machine at the register spit out a "$5 off your next visit" coupon. I'm being rewarded for spending money. Life is good! Hitter should probably be afraid. I might spend all his money if I'm going to keep being rewarded for it. Did I mention I got a free camera too? A free camera that's worth $500. I am awesome.
Last year I told all of my family and all of Hitter's family that all I wanted for my birthday and for Christmas was Kohl's gift cards (no this is not a paid advertisement) Hitter had an old cheap stand mixer from long before we got married, and I've been getting progressively more annoyed with it as it proves time and again it just isn't up to the kind of abuse I like to throw at it.
I apparently make frosting out of concrete
I NEED a KitchenAid (also not a paid advertisement) and come hell or high water, I will get one! I knew I couldn't just ask for one for Christmas, they're a bit much for my family's gift-giving budget. And they're way too freaking much for Hitter's family's gift-giving budget. But I still needed to give everyone a wish list, and I only wanted a KitchenAid. That's when I had the brainstorm.
Today was the day. I stacked up my cute little gift cards, I had Hitter's Kohl's charge card in hand (I don't have one), Kohl's is offering free shipping, and KitchenAids were on sale. So much on sale that I splurged on the big honkin Professional one. Okay time to do some math:
Regular price Professional KitchenAid: $500
Regular price Artisan KitchenAid: $360
(yes that's a pretty big difference, and until I saw the sale I was all prepared to just get the Artisan)
Sale price Professional KitchenAid: $399
Use of Hitter's Kohl's card = 15% off
Sale price Professional KitchenAid and 15% off: $339
(before you question my statistics, yes the Artisan was also on sale but dammit if there's anything I've learned from being a scientist it's that you can make the data prove any point you want it to!)
(before you question my statistics, yes the Artisan was also on sale but dammit if there's anything I've learned from being a scientist it's that you can make the data prove any point you want it to!)
Professional it is! And even though I was a bit afraid of looking like it's Christmas every day in my green kitchen with a red mixer, I had to get the red one. I wasn't crazy about the shade of blue, don't want black, and really didn't like either of the gray-ish ones. Plus I love red.
It's ordered. It should be here next week. I am planning all sorts of things to make once it gets here. Mmmmmmmm homemade bread!
Oh, but I had 5 gift cards and you can only use 4 at a time on Kohl's website. So I saved one back (the smallest one) (smallest dollar amount. they're all the same size cards) (you probably could have figured that out on your own) and since that was my first online purchase from Kohl's they emailed me a 10% off coupon on my next online order. I will use that and the last gift card for some accessories soon.
Then I went to the grocery store, and the little coupon machine at the register spit out a "$5 off your next visit" coupon. I'm being rewarded for spending money. Life is good! Hitter should probably be afraid. I might spend all his money if I'm going to keep being rewarded for it. Did I mention I got a free camera too? A free camera that's worth $500. I am awesome.
I think I'll go to the casino.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Then I vacuumed the dining room table
*Disclaimer: This post is probably going to be a hot mess. I've already forgotten some of the stories I wanted to write about, and it just happened two days ago. And I am writing this at 4 a.m. after waking up an hour ago and not being able to get back to sleep, so I can't deal with all those nicknames. Characters today: Mom, Dad, Bro, SIL (and possibly also niece and nephew. haven't gotten that far yet) And Hitter. That one I'm pretty comfortable with.
Yesterday morning I get a text message from the Boyfriend (okay he's a character in today's tale too)
Him: what are you up to?
Me: I'm at the farm cleaning my mother's house
*long silent pause*
Me: I should explain, she's not dead or anything. They're just on vacation and we, umm, kinda had a party at their house while they were gone. And now I'm cleaning. Long story.
This past weekend Hitter and I headed to my family's farm. He had come up with a brilliant birthday present for my dad. See, Dad has these model trains. He has some that were his toys when he was a kid, bought another train when Bro and I were kids, and he's picked up quite a few in the last 5 years or so on ebay. (I refuse to capitalize the b, deal with it. even though spell check won't deal with it. ebay has red squiggly line, eBay doesn't. dammit! now I capitalized the b *sigh*) Anyway he used to get the trains out once in a while when Bro and I were kids and just run them around the floor at the bottom of the pool table, and then packed them away for a long time... until the grandkids came along. Then he got serious, bought some plywood, made a table, bought a whole bunch more track, made a real layout with a rail yard and a mountain and some buildings and a cattle yard and a whole crapload of lights and signals and stuff (as opposed to just running one loop on the floor)
Spell check doesn't like "crapload" either. Spell check is an asshole.
So the top of the table looks really nice with all the fancy stuff he's bought and wired up and tra la la. However, underneath it was pretty redneck. He had the plywood sitting on top of an old 1960s dining room table, with one piece of 2x4 at either end to make legs.
And his electricity! Oh my stars! When he was wiring all the lights and signals and stuff, he just ran all the wires to one place, wrapped the wires around each other, and stuffed them into the holes of a power strip! Holy crap. I'm pretty sure that's not up to code. But it's also not the point of this post.
So Hitter's brilliant idea was to build real legs and supports for the table... so the grandkids won't accidentally knock it over (I'm honestly surprised the air conditioner vent over the table hadn't blown it over. or that dad's never bumped into it in a drunken stupor and ruined it all) and the plywood will quit sagging and warping. Hitter knows how to build train tables, we have a layout too. He gets a bunch of lumber and mostly created the legs at home, he had to wait and do the framework after we got there, and then we loaded them up and headed to the farm this past weekend. The biggest reason we chose this weekend even though Dad's birthday isn't for a while yet is cuz of the parental unit being on vacation. We wanted this to be a surprise. And now my dad has nice legs!
I should have mentioned earlier, my mother is an immaculate housekeeper. At least the parts that show. I honestly think she vacuumed the living room carpet the very last thing before leaving home, because there were perfect sweeper lines in the carpet with nary a footprint to be found.
("nary"?)
So Bro and SIL and I were joking about how Mom is totally going to know someone was in her house. I mean before we left, I vacuumed the carpet, mopped the linoleum, washed our sheets and towels, re-cleaned the fridge, and she's still going to be able to sense our presence. We even brought home the trash we accumulated this weekend! She's still gonna know. So rather than try to hide the fact that we were there (plus, seriously, they're gonna notice the new train table legs) I left a note that was all
Dear Mom and Dad,
We were in your house. Please don't be mad! We tried to leave the house as we found it. I cleaned as well as I am capable, I hope it's enough. I'm a pretty terrible housekeeper. We just came here to give dad a birthday present.
Love,
Hitter, Me, and Muppy!
(Muppy is also a terrible housekeeper. He didn't help clean at all. In fact, he barfed on the carpet)
(do you like how I guilted them into not being mad because we had such good intentions... I mean who doesn't like a birthday present?! I stopped short of mentioning the fact that it's my mom's fault I'm a terrible housekeeper)
How is it I've typed a small novel and still haven't gotten to the point of the title? And I thought this was going to be a short story. Well as I said, the framework for the tables had to be built at Mom and Dad's. Which led to a whole lot of sawdust going into their basement carpet and all over everywhere. Of course I had to clean that up, it'd be pretty shitty to show up and make a whole birthday present but then leave the mess for the birthday boy to clean up. Right? Anyway, the afore-mentioned dining room table that had been the main support of the train table suddenly found itself free from its train prison, but covered in sawdust. I searched my mom's house high and low for cleaning supplies, and failed miserably. More text messages, this time between me and SIL:
Me: do you have a dustpan and broom I could borrow? Mom's house is so clean I can't find any cleaning supplies
SIL: yeah I do, do you need it now? I think she just vacuums everything
Me: nah, I can wait till we see each other at lunch. and she vacuums the linoleum too?
SIL: seriously, you know her. she's nuts.
Which led me me vacuuming the top of a dining room table. I also vacuumed my socks, while I was wearing them. It was a weird weekend.
And why in the hell does vacuum have two u's? What a stupid word.
To top off the really weird weekend, Hitter is home today. Guh. I wonder if I could just sleep all day. Maybe drink heavily.
Oh and speaking of Hey Fuck Off, there were more revelations of how incredibly stupid and hypocritical my parents are. For instance: they have a toilet that sometimes sticks in continuous flow mode... I mean wide freaking open, sounds like there's a broken water main. And it's been like this for YEARS. I know this because one time three years ago I went up to house-sit for them when they were on vacation and when I showed up after they'd already left, the toilet was running. It doesn't happen all the time, but some. Dad is too lazy to bother putting a new flapper on the toilet, but he yells at Mom for using too much water when she's washing dishes. And he lectures Bro and me about not taking good enough care of our houses and stuff. This is the same guy who had so much siding missing from the outside of his house that you could see the framing and some of the insulation was missing. Plus there's that whole electricity thing I mentioned above. And their garage door is screwed up. There's no tension spring. I've asked him two or three times if maybe the thing would work better if he got it fixed. He tells me it's not broken. I quit arguing. Not worth it. Have I ever told the story about the carbon monoxide leak?!?!? Fucktards. I told Hitter on the way home that sometimes I kinda wish I was an orphan. Dad isn't the only idiot either, as I mentioned above, my mom is an immaculate housekeeper... in the parts that show! Don't open a closet though...
Yesterday morning I get a text message from the Boyfriend (okay he's a character in today's tale too)
Him: what are you up to?
Me: I'm at the farm cleaning my mother's house
*long silent pause*
Me: I should explain, she's not dead or anything. They're just on vacation and we, umm, kinda had a party at their house while they were gone. And now I'm cleaning. Long story.
This past weekend Hitter and I headed to my family's farm. He had come up with a brilliant birthday present for my dad. See, Dad has these model trains. He has some that were his toys when he was a kid, bought another train when Bro and I were kids, and he's picked up quite a few in the last 5 years or so on ebay. (I refuse to capitalize the b, deal with it. even though spell check won't deal with it. ebay has red squiggly line, eBay doesn't. dammit! now I capitalized the b *sigh*) Anyway he used to get the trains out once in a while when Bro and I were kids and just run them around the floor at the bottom of the pool table, and then packed them away for a long time... until the grandkids came along. Then he got serious, bought some plywood, made a table, bought a whole bunch more track, made a real layout with a rail yard and a mountain and some buildings and a cattle yard and a whole crapload of lights and signals and stuff (as opposed to just running one loop on the floor)
Spell check doesn't like "crapload" either. Spell check is an asshole.
So the top of the table looks really nice with all the fancy stuff he's bought and wired up and tra la la. However, underneath it was pretty redneck. He had the plywood sitting on top of an old 1960s dining room table, with one piece of 2x4 at either end to make legs.
Yeah that's stable. I forgot to draw the plywood sagging on either end and warping in the middle. I'm all about encouraging my readers to use their imaginations. You're welcome!
And his electricity! Oh my stars! When he was wiring all the lights and signals and stuff, he just ran all the wires to one place, wrapped the wires around each other, and stuffed them into the holes of a power strip! Holy crap. I'm pretty sure that's not up to code. But it's also not the point of this post.
So Hitter's brilliant idea was to build real legs and supports for the table... so the grandkids won't accidentally knock it over (I'm honestly surprised the air conditioner vent over the table hadn't blown it over. or that dad's never bumped into it in a drunken stupor and ruined it all) and the plywood will quit sagging and warping. Hitter knows how to build train tables, we have a layout too. He gets a bunch of lumber and mostly created the legs at home, he had to wait and do the framework after we got there, and then we loaded them up and headed to the farm this past weekend. The biggest reason we chose this weekend even though Dad's birthday isn't for a while yet is cuz of the parental unit being on vacation. We wanted this to be a surprise. And now my dad has nice legs!
they're even better in real life
I should have mentioned earlier, my mother is an immaculate housekeeper. At least the parts that show. I honestly think she vacuumed the living room carpet the very last thing before leaving home, because there were perfect sweeper lines in the carpet with nary a footprint to be found.
("nary"?)
So Bro and SIL and I were joking about how Mom is totally going to know someone was in her house. I mean before we left, I vacuumed the carpet, mopped the linoleum, washed our sheets and towels, re-cleaned the fridge, and she's still going to be able to sense our presence. We even brought home the trash we accumulated this weekend! She's still gonna know. So rather than try to hide the fact that we were there (plus, seriously, they're gonna notice the new train table legs) I left a note that was all
Dear Mom and Dad,
We were in your house. Please don't be mad! We tried to leave the house as we found it. I cleaned as well as I am capable, I hope it's enough. I'm a pretty terrible housekeeper. We just came here to give dad a birthday present.
Love,
Hitter, Me, and Muppy!
(Muppy is also a terrible housekeeper. He didn't help clean at all. In fact, he barfed on the carpet)
(do you like how I guilted them into not being mad because we had such good intentions... I mean who doesn't like a birthday present?! I stopped short of mentioning the fact that it's my mom's fault I'm a terrible housekeeper)
How is it I've typed a small novel and still haven't gotten to the point of the title? And I thought this was going to be a short story. Well as I said, the framework for the tables had to be built at Mom and Dad's. Which led to a whole lot of sawdust going into their basement carpet and all over everywhere. Of course I had to clean that up, it'd be pretty shitty to show up and make a whole birthday present but then leave the mess for the birthday boy to clean up. Right? Anyway, the afore-mentioned dining room table that had been the main support of the train table suddenly found itself free from its train prison, but covered in sawdust. I searched my mom's house high and low for cleaning supplies, and failed miserably. More text messages, this time between me and SIL:
Me: do you have a dustpan and broom I could borrow? Mom's house is so clean I can't find any cleaning supplies
SIL: yeah I do, do you need it now? I think she just vacuums everything
Me: nah, I can wait till we see each other at lunch. and she vacuums the linoleum too?
SIL: seriously, you know her. she's nuts.
Which led me me vacuuming the top of a dining room table. I also vacuumed my socks, while I was wearing them. It was a weird weekend.
And why in the hell does vacuum have two u's? What a stupid word.
To top off the really weird weekend, Hitter is home today. Guh. I wonder if I could just sleep all day. Maybe drink heavily.
Oh and speaking of Hey Fuck Off, there were more revelations of how incredibly stupid and hypocritical my parents are. For instance: they have a toilet that sometimes sticks in continuous flow mode... I mean wide freaking open, sounds like there's a broken water main. And it's been like this for YEARS. I know this because one time three years ago I went up to house-sit for them when they were on vacation and when I showed up after they'd already left, the toilet was running. It doesn't happen all the time, but some. Dad is too lazy to bother putting a new flapper on the toilet, but he yells at Mom for using too much water when she's washing dishes. And he lectures Bro and me about not taking good enough care of our houses and stuff. This is the same guy who had so much siding missing from the outside of his house that you could see the framing and some of the insulation was missing. Plus there's that whole electricity thing I mentioned above. And their garage door is screwed up. There's no tension spring. I've asked him two or three times if maybe the thing would work better if he got it fixed. He tells me it's not broken. I quit arguing. Not worth it. Have I ever told the story about the carbon monoxide leak?!?!? Fucktards. I told Hitter on the way home that sometimes I kinda wish I was an orphan. Dad isn't the only idiot either, as I mentioned above, my mom is an immaculate housekeeper... in the parts that show! Don't open a closet though...
this was supposed to be an overloaded closet exploding... but I got tired of drawing crap. See? I don't even like clutter in my artwork!
And even funnier was when Hitter was in the kitchen and busted out laughing... see, my mom is pretty short. I mean I'm kind of on the short side of normal, and she's shorter than I am. Dad's no amazon either. I think he's under 6 feet. Neither of them can see over the top of the fridge. So neither of them think twice about how it looks to someone who is 6'4" and can see the top of the fridge and the half dozen mousetraps all in a row up there. No, they aren't being stored. They're baited and set. Because there are mice. All over the damned house. But instead of plugging up the holes in the siding and walls and floors and roof and trying to keep the mice out, let's just leave around a couple hundred mousetraps.
I told Hitter if we ever inherit that house and actually want to move back to the farm, we're leveling the damned thing and starting over. It'll be cheaper than trying to fix everything that's wrong with it.
You know what? Now that I think about it, I'm a better housekeeper than she is. I mean my house may not be quite up to the same immaculate standards in the parts-that-show, but first of all we do a much better job of maintaining stuff, and secondly my storage room is WAY cleaner than hers is. I think housekeeping skills should be judged by the parts that don't show, not the parts that do.
I hate people who only care about appearances. Hey Fuck Off.
This post is out of control. I should stop now. I should have stopped about an hour ago.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Cake Battery
Remember this?
Apparently the gender roles have continued to the next generation. Buffalo and the Prom Queen have two kids, a 5 year old girl and a 3 year old boy. A few stories:
There are more stories. It goes on and on. She gets to travel with my folks, they never take him along and even said once that they're afraid they'd hurt her feelings if they took him... but they never think about if they're hurting his feelings by leaving him home!
Anyway, my cake turned out well and I really wish I could have gotten a picture of the way my sweet little nephew's face lit up when he saw what I'd made. That was pure joy. But I had both hands holding the cake so no pictures. Oh well, I remember what it was like and that made it all worthwhile to me!
Apparently the gender roles have continued to the next generation. Buffalo and the Prom Queen have two kids, a 5 year old girl and a 3 year old boy. A few stories:
- for the niece's third birthday, I made her a Dora the Explorer cake. It was a 3D cake of my own carving. Bran Flake asked me "will it be good enough that she will know what you're trying to make?" Seriously. WTF?
- this past year for her fifth birthday, she wanted Hannah
MontannaMontanahMontannahseriously, my fingers will not type that. Anyway, long story but the moral is at one point Flake goes "well if you can't make a good cake for everybody, I suppose I can stop at the store and get something better" and then when we got to the party, she kept rearranging the presents and freaking out on people because everything had to be PERFECT - I'm wasting a bullet point to say that the last one was a REALLY FUCKING LONG PARAGRAPH TO PUT IN BULLET POINT
- and now, just had the nephew's birthday. No awkward questions about whether or not the train cake I was making would be recognizable as a train, no accusations that I wasn't putting enough effort into it, no rude yelling at other family members because the party wasn't perfect enough.
There are more stories. It goes on and on. She gets to travel with my folks, they never take him along and even said once that they're afraid they'd hurt her feelings if they took him... but they never think about if they're hurting his feelings by leaving him home!
Anyway, my cake turned out well and I really wish I could have gotten a picture of the way my sweet little nephew's face lit up when he saw what I'd made. That was pure joy. But I had both hands holding the cake so no pictures. Oh well, I remember what it was like and that made it all worthwhile to me!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
And in the morning, I'm makin' waffles!
It's a good thing I have no desire to go into politics, because I'd get so much shit for being a waffler of epic proportions. However I firmly believe that I am not really flipping sides so much as I am just one of those that is capable of seeing both sides of any argument. I told the Designated Hitter tonight that I kinda think that there is a little lie in every truth and a little truth in every lie. And then I proceeded to completely convince him that the sky is not blue. And he believed me.
This was not the basis of my argument
You may be asking just exactly what my point is. And if you know me, you know that's a stupid question because I have no idea what my point is. No, wait, I do this time.
I make fun of Hitter all the time for being a corporate stooge. He loves the giant mega international corporation he works for, worships at the giant corporate altar, sometimes I think he likes the company more than he likes me. He's a power-hungry, money-grubbing, corporate-ladder-climbing asshole. And I've told him so, in those very words. And whenever he gets all gooey lovey dovey about precious company, I always take the devil's advocate approach and point out the other side of the argument. And then today, I actually defended the evil giant because someone I know went way out in left field and was making completely unfounded accusations against said company. Hitter got home from work tonight and the first words I said to him were "I feel like such a whore"
So, yeah. I seem to waffle. Or maybe I'm a hypocrite. Wonderful, now I can't even make up my mind as to what exactly is wrong with me. WTF? One minute I hate belovedest corporation, the next I'm defending it. But it just all depends on the argument being presented to me. Because I see both sides of every argument, and I seem to be surrounded by people who are black-and-white thinkers. (I think I mixed metaphors there. I see colors? I'm surrounded by one-side-viewing people? You know what I mean!)
And I may be a whore.
But at least I never got paid for all my random sex!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Twuhnnyleven: The Year of the Redneck
Actually, it's supposed to be 2011: A Year in Pictures. But I keep pronouncing 2011 "twuhnnyleven" which strikes me as a bit redneck.
I have a project for myself this year. No resolutions, I hate resolutions. A guy I know posted on his Facebook page today "Every new year people make resolutions to change aspects of themselves they believe are negative. This year just be yourself" and I love that. Of course I really don't like him that much cuz he's a Longhorns fan, but what can ya do...
Maybe I should make a resolution to stay on-topic.
Project. Photos. Twuhnnyleven. Right..... This idea has been pinging around inside my brain for a while now but I'm sometimes a little slow on the uptake. Plus we currently only have a giant honking dSLR camera with a couple lenses and a big-ass bag to carry it around in, which is incredibly inconvenient for random pictures. Now I've gotten ahead of myself.
The project is to take at least one picture every day. Some pictures may be important and meaningful, some will be random and weird. There will be beautiful pieces of art, and there will be odd snapshots. Some will preserve memories, some I'll look back on and be all "what the fuck, me?"
Like I said two paragraphs ago, and way ahead of its time, I've been ignoring this idea because of the annoyance of always hauling around Designated Hitter's stupid purchase. Don't get me wrong, as I'm learning how to REALLY use the camera I am falling in love with it. But he uses it like a point-and-shoot so it's a giant waste of $1000. Actually probably $1500 after he bought the second lens and other accessories. And I want to buy more... another lens or two, a new tripod, sheesh I'm high maintenance! I'm finally studying up on all the fancy things that bad boy can do. Tee hee! (if anyone's curious, it's a Nikon D50. It has a few years on it now, and it's nowhere near high-end dSLR, but it's way more than Hitter needs and is becoming just about exactly something I love) But anyway, we have a crapload of rewards points from a credit card so I'm going to use them to get a shiny new point-and-shoot that I can just shove in my purse and have it with me all the time. I'll still use both cameras throughout the year, but the new one will allow me to take pictures more frequently and in places other than home.
I'm not going to post them all on here. Especially anything that's very identifying... still trying to maintain a touch of anonymity. I haven't decided exactly where to stick them yet, I have an old picturetrail account where I'll probably at least start, but there's a limit on how much you can put on there without paying for the account (and I am kind of a tightwad, at least about some things) so I'm sure at some point I'll end up on flickr or something like that. Not that big a fan of the flickr design though. Hmm...
Anyway, here's my January 1 picture! This was taken this morning, a normal sunrise was going on behind some very interesting clouds.
This size doesn't really do the picture justice. But you still get the effect the clouds were giving.
I'll get back to you on how I make this a redneck year...
I have a project for myself this year. No resolutions, I hate resolutions. A guy I know posted on his Facebook page today "Every new year people make resolutions to change aspects of themselves they believe are negative. This year just be yourself" and I love that. Of course I really don't like him that much cuz he's a Longhorns fan, but what can ya do...
Maybe I should make a resolution to stay on-topic.
Project. Photos. Twuhnnyleven. Right..... This idea has been pinging around inside my brain for a while now but I'm sometimes a little slow on the uptake. Plus we currently only have a giant honking dSLR camera with a couple lenses and a big-ass bag to carry it around in, which is incredibly inconvenient for random pictures. Now I've gotten ahead of myself.
The project is to take at least one picture every day. Some pictures may be important and meaningful, some will be random and weird. There will be beautiful pieces of art, and there will be odd snapshots. Some will preserve memories, some I'll look back on and be all "what the fuck, me?"
Like I said two paragraphs ago, and way ahead of its time, I've been ignoring this idea because of the annoyance of always hauling around Designated Hitter's stupid purchase. Don't get me wrong, as I'm learning how to REALLY use the camera I am falling in love with it. But he uses it like a point-and-shoot so it's a giant waste of $1000. Actually probably $1500 after he bought the second lens and other accessories. And I want to buy more... another lens or two, a new tripod, sheesh I'm high maintenance! I'm finally studying up on all the fancy things that bad boy can do. Tee hee! (if anyone's curious, it's a Nikon D50. It has a few years on it now, and it's nowhere near high-end dSLR, but it's way more than Hitter needs and is becoming just about exactly something I love) But anyway, we have a crapload of rewards points from a credit card so I'm going to use them to get a shiny new point-and-shoot that I can just shove in my purse and have it with me all the time. I'll still use both cameras throughout the year, but the new one will allow me to take pictures more frequently and in places other than home.
I'm not going to post them all on here. Especially anything that's very identifying... still trying to maintain a touch of anonymity. I haven't decided exactly where to stick them yet, I have an old picturetrail account where I'll probably at least start, but there's a limit on how much you can put on there without paying for the account (and I am kind of a tightwad, at least about some things) so I'm sure at some point I'll end up on flickr or something like that. Not that big a fan of the flickr design though. Hmm...
Anyway, here's my January 1 picture! This was taken this morning, a normal sunrise was going on behind some very interesting clouds.
This size doesn't really do the picture justice. But you still get the effect the clouds were giving.
I'll get back to you on how I make this a redneck year...
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