Wednesday, September 30, 2009
That is, my long day yesterday kept running through my brain all night long. Not even putting my well used copy of "Pride and Prejudice" in the DVD player at 2 a.m. curbed all this messy thinking.
Damn you Mr. Darcy. Why have you failed me this time? I needed you!
The vote is to either to push through the day, on my one cup of morning coffee, and more than likely fall asleep at a decent hour later or have a nap and risk staying up all night again.
My vote might just be written in for rum.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The one monkey hogging the rope swing that keeps puking and throwing the chunks at the tourists is not my responsibility. You have to step back before a slobbery half chewed apple hits you because it's useless to get riled about it. It's only in the monkey's nature.
Jane Goodall knows the drill.
Someday I hope to move into the giraffe pen. Their poop takes much longer to fall to the ground.
Friday, September 25, 2009
There, I said it, I love that gorgeous time suck. It makes it real easy to see how all my old high school classmates are aging. They are amusing people. They post YouTubes like this:
I'm not aging however. No need to look at my grey hairs and the crows stamping around my face when I have this photo to display. It was taken 7 years ago. I really was something before electricity.
Once upon a time I sewed this costume and auctioned it off on Ebay. It made good profit. Since then, this photo has attracted a lot of attention to my skillz.
And my legs.
Which is why a new Facebook buddy, who I haven't yakked at for fifteen years at least, was pleased to inform me that my photo has been previously featured on a pantyhose fetish website.
Well...how awesome for me!
Out of legal interests I have to disclose at this point that I did not sew the pantyhose. I bought a pair of queen sized, control top, black pantyhose at the grocery store. Then I layered fishnets over these, which I also did not sew. For me, wearing pantyhose in this photo is important, otherwise the emphasis would be off the costume and on how fluorescent white I am.
Out of non-legal interests I have to disclose that at this moment only one of my legs is shaved. I was interrupted in the tub...four days ago or so...and I haven't gotten back to the razor. One of my legs is sasquatch and the other is only a bit prickly. If you see me walking with a lean, now you know why.
What other fetish sites have I been an ignorant participant to you think? "Hairy housewife" is a given. That search term pops up on my sitemeter daily, along with "shiny panties" and "thong sniffing". Smells like chicken. The thongs do that is. Is chicken sniffing a fetish? No surprise if it is.
After I get my leg shaved, I'll get right on a chicken sniffing photo.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
To which I replied that I knew for a fact that there were no storks involved whatsoever. That would be perverted and besides, I did not get stitches down in my no-no areas because some damned bird didn't do it's job.
My four year old, who feels compelled to offer his view in any conversation, pipes up with "Yeah, dorks!" because he couldn't pronounce "storks". To emphasize that dorks do in fact exist he points to the driving range we pass every morning, populated with men wearing pastels and handling their clubs, and yells, "There's dorks over there!"
Hey, HE said it...I didn't!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Because of pigs. Dirty pigs. Flu mongers.
The public service announcements are full in force. Don't spread germs. Wash your hands. Don't share cutlery or drinking glasses or chewing gum. Buy gallons of hand sanitizer and use it. Buy some for your friends. Make your children bathe in it.
What I like best? The recommendation that you cough or sneeze into the crook of your elbow.
And now, at every public place I go, I'm inspecting the crooks of everyone's elbows for fluids and crusts. Much like you'd feign to shake hands with a person who has just wiped off their nose with the backs of their hands you don't want to hug a person who has just violently sneezed into their elbow and has a large yellow swipe drying there.
Our president is even recommending that we cough or sneeze in this fashion and now I can't keep my eyes off his sleeves. I'd hug the president if he'd let me. He looks more cuddly than either Bush and less germy than Clinton even with congestion.
I understand that you don't open doors, or use the remote, or type at your keyboard with the crook of your elbow, therefore limiting the spread of germs with the hands you used to sneeze into, but I'm unconvinced that the crook of your elbow is any better. I touch a lot of things every day with the crook of my elbow.
Namely my kids. My kids are always lounging around in the crooks of my elbows. My husband likes to get in there too. And the cat, who never wears clothes and has sneezed on me more than once, loves to snuggle in my elbows. Laundry, dishes, cooking, taxidermy, all things I do with my inner arms.
Not to mention the things I that go on with the crooks of my elbows during sex. Holy guacamole! It'll blow you away.
To answer this crook messiness, companies are now making sleeves out of tissue which you pull up over your elbow. This works much like putting that awkward piece of paper over a public toilet seat before you sit your butt down where other butts have been. The germs stay on the tissue, which you can throw away, and you don't end up with crabs up your nose.
The thing is...don't you have to remove this tissue sleeve with your hands after you blow your fluids into it to throw it away?
Sigh. Use your hand santizer then give up.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Kill kill kill...die die die.
A year of living on a cement slab later, I has the beautiful. Still dusty in this photo, but beautiful. Thanks Ma, I did it myself.
Yesterday, in a fit rage and a feeling of constipation, I began tearing up my impractical beige carpet.
Which was an experience in nasty that I hadn't expected.
You think you've got clean carpeting. You vacuum regularly. You wash it. You take your little green clean machine to it when the cat hurls on it. What you find out as you knife the hell out of it is that you've been living on an infestation of dust, must and dead ants.
My whole family rolls around on the floor on top of that. Charming.
Near the other end of the room where I haven't removed the carpet yet is a spot, that for a reason that is currently indiscernible to me, my cat loves. He rubs himself on this spot with a look on his face that must be censored in front of the children. A well placed end table has discouraged my cat's little carpet fetish and has left him frustrated. What's under that bit of carpet you think? I'll let you know.
Besides that, what's under the spot of carpet that sounds crinkly? It used to sound crunchy but we've been living in this house for near nine years and traffic has reduced the sound effects. Is it super-ant? We'll find out.
I'm sexier when I wear a dust mask.
Chocolate brown carpet, here I come.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
I'm going to squish grout between my toes later because I'll be tiling my kitchen floor this morning. Yeah, I only started this project a year ago. Cement slab living has it's perks. That's why I'll be tearing up my impractical beige carpeting soon.
Since I've moved the fridge to the living room, because you should tile under your appliances too, my children haven't been able to stay out of the thing.
I took my youngest for a check up with the new doctor in town. McDreamy has moved to McBendover. McSigh. Next week I'm going in for an ear infection that I'm not even suffering from yet.
I'm homesick for Utah. The previous mullet has nothing to do with it.
It's tiresome to be told, since my husband is a war veteran, that we should listen and support conservative media or conservatism as it is now. Inflammatory is inflammatory and military service doesn't make a person more susceptible to that asshattery. Especially since most people who tell me this never served.
Justin brewed me a lovely pot of a new brand of coffee before he left for work. I've peed at least six times since having a cup.
My oldest son wants a drum set. Cue laughing now.
More minutia, less thinking.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
When you and your spouse have shoved all the kids into their beds for the night...
Clothing is completely removed, even the socks...
A game of "warm warm cold warm warmer" is getting to the very warm point...
And you suddenly notice that the feathers inside your down comforter are escaping en-masse, like lemmings off a cliff, and sticking to any body part above the temperature of lukewarm.
That's what's awesome.
Photo requests are denied.
Monday, September 14, 2009
It was my dentist's idea. Then I wrote him a check. When your dentist makes a recommendation on anything, from gum to interior decoration, you must consider if he's the leftover dentist from the 9 out of 10 and if he's not you go for it.
He says my enamel is thinning. He told me this after I got a good gawk at the back of his head and the hair replacement scar he's got running from ear to ear. Now I know he's not the leftover dentist. He's a thinning expert.
I left the office with package of GC MI Paste Plus. I put on my hard hat, rub this cement on my teeth with my finger and let it sit on my teeth for ten minutes. Eventually I'll develop diamond hard superhero or anchorman teeth. Or, at least, those dreams I have where my teeth crumble into dust and I run around my life sucking on my gums will abate somewhat.
The package directions say the product is activated with saliva and so as you let it sit on your teeth your mouth fills up within seconds. Hello Pavlov, I'm home!
Does this look like a man who sits around with goo on his teeth, trying not to swallow his saliva, for ten to fifteen minutes?
Pavlov doesn't even look like he's got thinning hair.
I'm sure he's a hit with the ladies. Thick hair, thick beard, and an obsession with drooling dogs.
At least my dentist is clean shaven...all down his neck...but he misses the gorilla coming up out of his collar.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
That is, I sent them to school and I'm allowing them to listen to our legally elected president speak about being responsible for actually doing homework and subsequently turning that homework into a teacher type person to be graded. Attend school and learn to read/write/cipher.
If I had to rephrase President Obama's speech it would go something like this:
Hey, you, kid! Quit scratching "fuk u" on state property with the tip of your safety scissors and sniffing the white board markers. Read a book dammit. Learn how to find South America on a map. What if all the calculators stopped workin'? Huh? What would happen then! No one is going to give you a job programming "Rock Band 47 - Boy Band Edition" right out of high school.
Of course, it ain't MY kid misspelling vulgar words on the desks. Everyone else's kid is. My kid knows it's you and not u.
This weekend, I chanced upon a teen that could use thirty minutes of sitting still and contemplating her future. In the three minutes I was exposed to her eye rolling in the checkout line at the store it took most of my composure to not smack her around some.
Her much older sister was with her and I could tell she'd had enough of her too.
Our debutante was complaining to sis that "Mom and Dad had better grow a pair and let me drive the car up the canyon so I don't have to get a ride to the party!" Hair twirl, hair twirl, gnaw on the acrylic nail, pull the Nair shorts out of the butt crack, smack gum, eye roll.
Older sister didn't say anything. Debutante then took a sharpie pen out of the display near the checkstand and proceeded to try to misspell vulgarities on the store fixtures. Older sister smacked her hand and the sharpie was returned to it's spot.
Grow a pair? I hope to the good lord above that they've got a pair because we need them to save us from you for another five years at least. How you can drive up canyon roads while twirling your hair, gnawing on your nails, pulling your clothes out of your nooks and crannies, and smacking your gum is beyond me.
Barack Obama has a message about the importance of education to the text generation? Lay it on me. Lay it on my kids. Lay it on Debutante before she breeds.
If you disagree with it you are free to misspell vulgarities all you like.
Friday, September 04, 2009
Oh, you didn't get today off? Unless you live in Elko County, you wouldn't be aware that it's officially Elko's "You shore do gots a perty l'il heiffer, Earl. Let's get 'er in with my bull." day!
In other words, it's county fair day. My county commissioner wants me to drive my family 120 miles there and 120 miles back to look at 4-H exhibits.
I like sheep.
Oh, and there is a brothel along the route.
The point is, I always forget that I could actually enter stuff into these fairs myself. You know, stuff I sewed. Stuff I drew. Stuff I pulled off my cat, twisted into yarn and crocheted into house slippers. Because I don't knit. Knitting is a Ayn Randian conspiracy.
Besides the blue ribbon I know I'd be awarded for all my excellence there are 20 dollar prizes associated with each! Enough blue ribbons and I've paid the gas to get there.
The only payment I get for collecting shedding cat hair is love.
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
I don't, but no one would blame me if I did. He's a scabby disgusting mess. If my cat took human form people would assume his meth addiction was so severe that he had been forced to hang out at truck stop bathrooms offering five dollar favors.
A new cat to the neighborhood has decided my backyard is his territory and has put the beat down on my Booger. My cat tried to nonchalantly come back in the house bleeding all over my carpet and upholstery and that's when I decided that his ass was now an indoor cat.
Three days ago, right when I was sure his injuries were healing well, he developed an abscess in one of his back paws.
Growing up on the farm it wasn't unusual for the animals to develop bumps on their bodies that needed to be lanced. Lancing day was exciting for the dog. Horse shoeing day was also exciting for the dog. Those were the good snacks. That dog also munched on bumblebees if he could catch them and I'll not detail how spastic he got on horse foaling days. Anyhow, a farm gal can learn plenty of backwoods doctorin'. If I had a tail I could dock it myself easy. Next time any of you people need deworming, call me.
It wasn't long after I noticed the abscess that the thing broke on it's own. Since I dislike abscess drainage oozing itself anywhere in my house I wrangled my cat into the sink and got the hell clawed out of me flushing it out. You have to keep flushing an abscess over the next couple days to make sure the wound stays open and clean. Then, if the scab looks good and the cat is acting like it's usual dumb gay self, you can let nature take it's course. My cat has learned that it's in his interest to throw a fit every time I pick him up and I'm as meth scabby as he is.
I remember once...back on the farm...one of our cats had an abscess burst on the back porch. No one knew Barfy had this abscess and so the sheer amount of goo that was left on the concrete was almost like pondering how that five foot, 90 pound, woman that lived down the street gave birth to that eleven pound baby. Not being very old and since the dog hadn't got to it yet, I thought "puddle" and immediately jumped in it. Another thing you learn about living on a farm is that at any time you can expect to be sprayed down with a hose.
Folks, that's why I have such an amazing immune system today.
Booger is sitting at the sliding glass door whining about not being able to go outside and poop in some unsuspecting neighbor's flower bed. This is an activity that I once encouraged so I'm a little sad about it too.
But after abscess squeezing he can use his damned litter box. That's final.
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