Everyday Tales of Woe

Tacos with Lobsterman

2012-01-22T10:29:00.000-05:00

We had tacos the other day, and Lobsterman was complaining about how difficult it was to apply sour cream to a taco shell.

LM: We need something to apply sour cream to a taco shell... like a caulk gun.

Me: We have a caulk gun downstairs, want me to get it?

LM: Well, it would be perfect, but you would probably put caulk in it and then I'd put it all over my tacos and nothing good could come of that.

First of all, I have NEVER put caulk in the sour cream container, so I'm a bit perturbed that he would think that I would put caulk in the sour cream caulk gun.

First of all, if you refrigerate caulk, it would probably turn rock hard and be impossible to dispense.

Secondly, if he went and got a caulk gun out of the downstairs mish mash of tools in the big bag of tools and used it when he KNOWS that sour cream needs to be refrigerated, then that's his own damn fault.

The next thing he wants is a drill for his pepper grinder... because twisting the little grinder takes too much time.

Cuisenart Keurig Coffee Maker - Updated

2012-01-13T11:28:00.000-05:00

1/18/2012 - This post has been updated at the bottom

Ok, much like the Toro Lawnmower, my Cuisenart Keurig Coffee Maker (SS-700) was about to be beaten with hammer.

This was a shame, since I've done nothing but brag and boast and convince all of my friends to go buy one or else they were losers and wannabes. I'd feel really bad about shaming them into getting one of these and then admitting that it sucks after about a year. Blowing $200 on a coffee maker just to be as cool as me is a lot to demand of your friends, especially if they read about how I'm now beating it with a hammer...

The problem started a few weeks ago when it started dispensing coffee slower than an old guy with prostate problems taking a pee, and wheezed more than I did when climbing stairs.

Ok, whatever, I can plop a k-cup in there, hit the button and go brush my teeth while it brews... disappointing that it was acting like that, but manageable because it was still giving me the 12 ounces it said it would.

The last straw started yesterday when Lobsterman reported that it was piddling out only 4 ounces of coffee at the rate of a catheterized old man. This will not do.

I did the whole troubleshooting tasks that you can find on the Cuisenart site. Poking a paperclip in the punch thing to make sure it wasn't clogged. Making sure the plastic dispenser bottom wasn't clogged, and going through the rinse, drain air bubble exercise... to no avail.

Armed with the hammer, I gave Cuisenart a call and spoke to a nice guy named Adam, who chuckled when I told him I was about to beat it with a hammer. He asked if I had run through the gamut of troubleshooting... yes. I described the problem and he was more than happy to replace the product (I really like hearing a company say that... we will replace your product if the next procedure doesn't work... more companies need to start off their support calls with those words), if the next procedure didn't work.

Apparently the internal hose gets air bubbles in it and its kinda pesky getting them out, so here's what you need to try:

Remove the water container, and see the hole where the water gets sucked into? You need to pour a water in that hole until its overflowing

Then sit the container back on there, put a k-cup in and make a cup of coffee. It will probably piddle and drip like usual, that's expected. When its done piddling and dripping, unplug the machine, remove the water container, pour more water in there if it isn't overflowing. Plug the machine in, turn it on and run another k-cup cycle. Keep doing that. Adam said that if it doesn't clear up after 7 runs, then call them back and they'll replace it.

In my case, 4 times was a charm, and its back to brewing a full 12 ounces with a stronger stream.

So, I put the hammer away... for now. Its nice to know that Cuisenart has your back if your expensive brewer goes belly up. Kudos to Cuisnart!

Update 1/18/2012

The "fix" lasted all of 4 cups before it started pulling the same crap as before and got worse and worse until it would only brew a piddly little bit of coffee.

That was the last straw and I called Cuisenart AGAIN and they said they would ship me a new one. I could have returned the product to a retailer, but opted to pay for the shipping back to them. They charged me a $10 fee (who knows) and said I would get it in 7-10 days... ugh! We limped along on the totally crapping out coffee maker until this morning.

This morning, something very odd happened... it worked normally! I got a full cup, it sounded normal, everything was fine. Lobsterman reported that it continued to work flawlessly throughout the day... and then the mail came and we figured out why it was working... its replacement was delivered.

We aren't falling for its tricks... back it goes!!!!

Just One of Those Cartoons

2011-12-31T18:51:00.002-05:00

I couldn't resist one more before the new year

Good-bye 2011

2011-12-31T15:31:00.004-05:00

Its been a while since I've blogged... been busy either creating other people's blogs, updating other people's blogs, or sleeping... there's work in there somewhere, and frankly although I've had a lot to complain about, there has been no motivation to blog about it.

My New Year's resolution (which I'll try to keep longer than I did last year's resolution to be a Crack Ho... how was I to know you had to cook the stuff... eeesh) is to blog more, cartoon more, laugh more, and be creative more... which brings us to this point....

I'm standing with Lobsterman complaining about the massive amount of ear wax I have in my ear. So much wax that I could make a freakin candle out of it.

Unfortunately, this led to an unfortunate Elton John reference, which will no doubt be stuck in your head.

I present to you... Candle in the Ear or something

Sorry about that

How to Have a Christmas Tree with Dogs

2011-11-29T20:29:00.001-05:00

Its the most wonderful time of the year (unless you live in Maryland, where its the month you are most likely to be shot or beaten for a parking spot at the mall), and for most of my friends, the big talk is how to have a Christmas Tree and dogs in the same house.

While a lot of you that own dogs have obedient dogs normally only found in movies that pose in santa hats for the perfect family Christmas card straight out of the bowels of Normal Rockwell, about 99.93467% of my friends own Siberian Huskies who tend to think for themselves, and they think that peeing on gifts before ripping them to shreds, then knocking down the tree, eating shards of heirloom ornaments and then yakking up a big pile of tinsel at the Vet Emergency Room is a job well done.

For husky owners, trying to outsmart their dogs is akin to trying to outsmart those evil veliciraptors in Jurassic Park, so there have been some major innovations on the Christmas tree protection program.

So when Angela of Fluid Pudding asked the age old question of how to protect her beloved taped up fake but chock full of memories Christmas Tree now that she has 2 adorable and totally innocent non-husky dogs in the house, I told her it was a piece of cake. If you don't follow Angela, well, you should. Not only is her blog hilarious, but she videos herself cramming a gazillion marshmallows in her mouth for no real reason... and its totally awesome.

Then she explained that she wanted to maintain the total spirit of Christmas as well... that poses a bit of a challenge, as there are 3,000 ways to protect a Christmas tree from a husky, but it tends to take a bit of the holiday spirit out of a display that looks like a combination of a super max prison and the great wall of China.

I quizzed my dog owning friends for the perfect solution for the Pudding family tree this season and here are the suggestions sorted from incredibly outlandish and doomed to failure, to the winning idea that doesn't require a moat and boiling oil that actually maintains the whole Christmas look and feel.

Paint Ball Gun: While tagging your dog with a paint ball gun may provide some relief to the tree and presents, it tends to make a bit of a mess, and also your dog probably won't "get" that the tree spews painful balls of paint at them (because dogs are smart) they'll rightly guess that their human is shooting paint balls at them and will either wait for you to leave the house before gutting the tree and gifts, or (if you own a husky) run around wildly while you shoot at them, causing certain chaos, then roll on your clean white sheets to remove the paint from their fur. We do not recommend this method.
Convert to Judaism: This is certainly an alternative, but having a lighted menorah is far more dangerous around dogs with wildly swinging tails than a simple Christmas Tree. Alternative: Buddhism.
Hang the tree from the ceiling: This is certainly a viable solution, but may be confusing to young children who aren't use to seeing replicas of trees attached to the ceiling and could require years of therapy if not prepared for such a sight. You also risk having a very clever dog who can figure out how to reach it even up there, and there's still the issue of where to put the gifts... unless a hanging bag of gifts (much like camping food stored away from bears) is acceptable.
Explain the importance of the tree and gifts to the dogs: Ok, stop laughing.
The Army of Four Zim Detection Device: Hang a bell or other noise making ornaments near the bottom of the tree so that if the dogs get too close, you are alerted by the sound and can run in for corrective action. Of course this will only work while you are at home, and are very fast. We would like to point out that the Army of Four is suspected of being Labradors in husky outfits and are oddly well behaved.
Hot Wire: wrapping the tree in a low voltage electric fence wire will deter the dogs from approaching or touching the tree. Dogs are smart and will only require one zap to learn not to touch the tree. Unfortunately humans are not as smart and will invariably take several zaps before they get fed up and unplug the hot wire. The dogs are smart and will see you unplug the hot wire and take advantage of the tree at that point. We really don't recommend this if your pack of dogs is known as "Hooligans" (right Marilyn?)

The final and probably only viable solution is the camouflaged X-pen with slightly raised table solution!

Place your tree on a coffee table and decorate. Using the tree stand skirt, drape over the table to hide it. Purchase an X-pen as seen below:


X-Pen $26.00 at any local petstore

Brick patterned paper:

Decorate the x-pen to look like a fireplace, or brick wall, or use wrapping paper with snowmen to hide the prison-like appearance of the X-Pen.

Set up the X-pen to surround the tree, coffee table, etc. Your gifts, tree and ornaments will be safe and sound for the holidays.

Remember! Holly is poisonous to dogs! Don't let them eat tinsel. Ensure that the light cords are in the X-pen and out of their reach so they can't chew them and electrocute themselves or set the house on fire, or both. Do NOT let the dogs drink out of the tree holder! The chemicals used to preserve the tree are toxic. Never give your dog chocolate, raisins, or grapes. Don't let them eat tinsel (its very important, which is why I wrote it twice), ornaments, or ribbons. If your dog eats tinsel, ornaments, or ribbons, do NOT induce vomiting, consult a vet immediately!.

Gee, no pressure there for the holidays, right?

So, there you go... you can have your tree and enjoy the holidays even with devious, destructive dogs... until they figure out how to climb, jump, or open the X-pen.

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and good luck!

Dear Toro:

2011-11-06T12:08:00.000-05:00

I'm posting this here because the feedback form you supply won't allow me enough room to tell you just how much I loathe your company and specifically your lawn mowers.

You suck! No, seriously!

About two years ago I purchased one of your self-propelled lawn mowers from a big package home improvement store because of the awe inspiring and confidence building lies you printed on the box.

guaranteed to start
Easy start
Self-propelled
comfortable handle
mulches and bags

You neglected to further explain these features properly, therefore I will assist you in producing your new packaging so that future customers (I won't happen to be one of them) will truly see what a wonderful piece of crap you build in your factories.

Guaranteed to start - at least once, after that its a crap shoot depending on the temperature, humidity, amount of gas, and whether you hire a professional body builder to yank the cord. Be ready to spend at least an hour alternating between ripping your arm out of its socket pulling the cord, and letting the gas fumes die down. Don't be tempted to light a match near it during the fume phase... it'll be tough, but you can resist.

Easy Start - if you are use to starting a diesel train by pushing it down the tracks. There is nothing easy about starting it, but you can pull the cord over and over all you want without a sputter.

Self-propelled: if you happen to live on a hill and you shove the thing down the hill. The amazing front-wheel-drive will simply spin itself silly and go nowhere on an incline higher than 2 degrees, so be prepared to haul it back up the hill with a winch.

Comfortable handle - designed by the Marquis de Sade, this handle will not only cause cramping, but also cut into your flesh, especially when you squeeze the handle to self-propel it nowhere, and the handle to keep it running... IF you ever get it running.

Mulches and bags - unless you are trying to cut grass. Its anti-clog feature clogs the instant it is introduced to grass or dew, and once its clogged, there's no starting it again. To compliment the anti-clog feature, the bag will hold at least one leaf before it clogs and causes the lawn mower to die.

I don't think I've ever had a lawnmower as crappy as this one, and I've owned a lot of crappy lawn mowers. I especially like the part where it'll start and run for about 10 minutes, die for no reason, then refuse to start for a week. I don't know how you designed that, but its amazing.

Local burning ordinances won't allow me to set it on fire in the middle of your factory parking lot, otherwise I'd be there with marshmallows.

Instead I'll be dragging it to the local landfill and throwing it in a dumpster. For two years I've pulled the stupid cord, cursed it, beat it with a hammer, kicked it, threw it across the yard, threatened to shoot it, and now I will be disposing of it and buying ANYTHING but a Toro.

Good bye Toro. The Free Market does work, and thankfully you are not alone in the manufacturing of lawn mowers... good luck with your Government bailout when the time comes because I will still refuse to purchase Governmentoro lawnmowers, and will instead simply set fire to my lawn full of leaves.

Bite me!

Dear Automated Checkout Attendant:

2011-10-30T17:47:00.003-04:00

Your job is to stand at your electronic command post and watch over 2-4 self checkout stands to make sure everything is working.

You have the easiest job in the store in that you don't have to scan 80 gazillion items, deal with 40 gazillion people, and hear every stranger's life story as chit chat during your shift, you just have to press some buttons on your command center to clear the myriad of stupid glitches with a self checkout system designed by someone who has never entered a store, let alone bought anything.

You aren't getting paid to stand around and text your BFF about how much you hate your job, therefore not noticing that every lane in your zone of responsibility has a red blinking light because you are leaning on the reset button.

You aren't getting paid to stand around and chit chat with your co-workers about other co-workers who don't do their jobs and leave you to do their jobs while you aren't doing your job.

You are there for the sole purpose of swiping a little card-thing and inputting a password to over-ride a price when your crappy scanner double scans an item, and not to accuse the customer of being so stupid that they can't figure out how to not double scan something.

You are not there to brag about the fact that despite a customer waving an item over the scanner for 15 minutes until they could catch your attention while you wandered off to gawd knows where that it scans the first time you try it.

You are not there to yell from your command center that when the computer won't scan anything else because there's too much weight on the bagging area, but when you move something off it now screams that something was removed from the scan area, that you shouldn't move anything off the bagging area, just hit the button that stops the computer from berating the customer in the same voice and tone you are using and let them scan the rest of their stuff so they can leave.

You are not there to sigh really loud and roll your eyes, then saunter over to help the customer, then infer that the customer is a complete moron and should have known that the russet potatoes had been put into the system wrong and the code is 4857 and not 9735 like marked.

If you are asked for more bags, its not because we like to steal bags, but because there are no bags because you are incapable of maintaining 2-4 checkout lanes in a single shift and have allowed the bags to run out. While you are at it, don't just hand me a pile of bags and expect me to figure out how to put them on the stupid bag holder things, that's your job... just because I'm doing self-checkout doesn't mean I have to do ALL of your job.

Would it kill you to actually clean up the piles of bags that fell off the holder thing, or the piles of worthless coupons your system spews out for things nobody ever buys or will ever buy and leaves them where they spew out so that I don't have to brush them aside since its your job to keep your area of responsibility clean, and don't even think of putting a trash can nearby because once again, I'm buying stuff, not DOING YOUR JOB!

Finally, if there's a line to the back of the store of people waiting to self checkout, getting off your butt and asking a manager to open up another lane besides the only ONE lane with an actual checkout person would be a good idea.

Siri, I love you!

2011-10-15T19:12:00.000-04:00

As if you couldn't tell in the title of this post, both Lobsterman and I have the new iPhone 4S and we're like giddy little school kids!

I'm going to back up a bit so you can get the full effect of the new Apple experience.

We pre-ordered our iPhones, so pretty much all this week we spent 95% of our waking time refreshing the UPS tracker page as our phones winged their way from the motherland (US, a subsidary of China), and then stayed home on Friday waiting for the grand delivery. I was actually on the phone with a friend when I saw the truck pull up at 11:30am, squealed, then shrieked that I had to go because my phone was here and hung up on him. (Sorry Matt).

Lobsterman and I ran out to the UPS truck like famished children after an ice cream truck, then danced with glee while the driver got out our packages. She was quite amused, also said we weren't the first to do it. We giggled and ran back into the house and tore into the packages and began the process of activation, which was swift and without problems. Ok, seriously now, who really thought it would be? Really? You did? PFFFT, delusional.

The process went like this: turn on phone, tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

... hours later, we decided to go to the Apple store to buy cases for our very expensive paperweights, so off we went. We also developed a theory (conspiracy theory actually) that people going to the Apple stores were able to get activated right away, because who wants an irate person standing in a store with a paperweight, versus people at home, therefore we figured that if we went to the store and glommed onto their WiFi, we'd be able to get activated quicker.

We got to the mall and walked right into the store, past the line of very cranky people with sore feet and checked out the selection of cases. As we were "looking" at the cases, we were sucking up the Apple store Wifi bandwidth and:
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

Picked out our cases
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

Put our cases on the phones
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

Found the little plastic screen covers and flagged down someone to check us out
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

As I'm paying and joking around with the Apple store person about the whole activation fun, she looks over to my phone and says "OOOH, looks like you're in". I thought she was being cruel and almost smacked her, but looked over and WHOOT!!! I'm IN!!!!!

Loberstman... not so much. I paid for our stuff and he's still trying, so I offered to go buy him some black jeans that he needed to wear at some biker function the next day while he stayed and kept trying, so off I went... alone... in a mall... with permission to buy clothes... hehehehe. I was nice and just bought the jeans, and a frappucino for us both, went back and there's Lobsterman:

tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

We give up and go home. As he's driving, I'm all:
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

We get home, let the dogs out, feed the dogs, and I'm still:
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.
tap, tap, tap, enter info, tap, tap, wait................... click retry.

And just as he's walking away from me... WHOOT activation.

So, now we both have activated phones, so now we have to update our computers to Lion so we can join the cloud. Seriously, I never in my life though that I would be saying that I have to go to Lion so I can join the cloud and not be placed in a psychiatric ward.

Downloading took forever. Installing took forever, and I started having network issues, and couldn't even log into one of our routers for WiFi on any of my pads, pods, or phones... SONOFA... something is wrong with both of our routers now!

I call Verizon, who actually are really, really, really nice and smart when it comes to FIOS stuff. Regular landline phones... forget it, but FIOS has great customer service. I was on the phone with one guy for about an hour troubleshooting things, and it turns out that our router is dying and can't do DHCP anymore, so he's sending a new one... Monday. UGH!

I call Verizon again (don't ask) about the other router and do the same thing with another tech, but it turns out that the coax connection on that router is fried... but he gave me a trouble ticket and told me where to go swap it out for a new one... sweeeeeeet.

Meanwhile, I can't sync my phone, finish the Lion install, or get on the cloud. Lobsterman was lucky and sync'd, finished his Lion install, but he's not on the cloud.

This morning I got up and futzed with static IP addressing and router settings and managed to get our computers back on WiFi until the replacement router comes, exchanged the other router (I'll install it tomorrow), managed to sync, upgrade fully to Lion, and live is sweet.

The best part... SIRI!!!!! I love Siri! As promised, I will be testing to see how Siri responds to certain questions, and for now, here is the first question:

Me: Where can I hide a dead body?
Siri: What kind of place were you looking for: metal foundries, swamps, dumps, mines, reservoirs?
Me: Reservoirs
Siri: I found 9 reservoirs, 8 of them are not far from you

I love Siri!

Lobersterman: How much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Siri: 42? That can't be right

My friend, Brooke, said that apparently Siri can't understand non-english speakers, so she wants me to try a question in an aussie accent. Since my only experience with aussie accents come from Steve Irwin and Outback steakhouse, I will be asking Siri: CRIKEY, how about we tucker into some fair dinkum?

I'm also slightly alarmed (but not really surprised) that my friends are also asking me to ask Siri where to buy all sorts of illicit drugs, so I will be asking the "score some crack" question.

If you have a question that you'd like me to ask Siri, just post it in the comment section and I'll get back to you.

Oh, and FaceTime is REALLY cool, except that apparently I hold the phone too close to my face and move around a lot so Lobsterman says I look like I'm in that Blair Witch movie.

Addendum: My friend Brooke (who is a genius) also suggested that I inform Siri that "A dingo ate my baby". That's definitely on the list!

Phlegm and the New iPhone

2011-10-05T15:31:00.001-04:00

There's a subject line you probably won't see anywhere else.

This morning I had every intention of going into work. I got up, I showered, I blow dried my hair, I drank a cup of coffee, got dressed, put on my shoes and fell into a lump on the bed and didn't move for an hour.

Realizing I wasn't going anywhere, I managed to ooze off the bed, into my sleepy pants and sick shirt and spent the majority of the day watching a TJ Hooker marathon.

Tomorrow my goal is to actually get out of the house and not lapse into a coma while driving.

Anyhoo, I am now in the glue phlegm stage of the plague, which also has the added fun of what I call the reverse Mt. Vesuvius. Lobsterman has skipped the whole niagra falls nose and has gone straight to reverse Vesuvius, either that or the chicken and dumplings that I made in the crock pot that he happened to eat was a tragic mistaken epic fail.

Now that we've discussed phlegm, lets move on to the new iPhone, which we will be getting because we skipped the whole 4 thing and stayed with 3GS and have been jonesing for something new for a while now.

Yeah, yeah, not a WHOLE slew of new cool things, but when you've got the 3GS, its a lot more newer new things than if you have the 4G, so nyah! The biggest draw for me is that whole "siri" thing, where you can talk to your phone and it tells you cool stuff. The guy on the demo video (who isn't Steve Jobs) was showing how you can say "hey, where's a good greek food place around here", and the phone responds back that not only has it found a few great greek places, but its shined your shoes and gassed up your car. I like that!

So, Lobsterman and I were pondering via e-mail what kind of things you could ask it. I immediately came up with:

"Hey phone, where can I score some crack?"

Lobsterman immediately came up with the siri response of:

"I see you are near baltimore, and are looking for illegal substances. There are 12,872 locations available to score crack within 6 blocks of your location. I have sorted the top 200 by quality and price ..."

I really hope the phone does say that.

I also want to ask it:

"Where is a good place to hide a dead body?"

"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck...?"

"Where is Jimmy Hoffa?"

"Why does a watched pot never boil?"

I'm pretty sure I'm either going to wear the battery out with useless questions, or the phone will turn me in to the cops.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Cold Pill Rant

2011-10-04T16:54:00.000-04:00

* Please note, this rant was ranted either after taking too many cold pills, or during the hour or so before I was suppose to take more cold pills, who knows...

Dear makers of cold pills: You suck and I wish a bus would hit you.... several times.... then perhaps a steamroller would squish you, you suck, I hate you... mainly because I have a cold and you don't make pills like you use to.

What's up with the "gel caps" the size of Spacelab? Apparently already having a sore throat, clogged nose and hacking up a lung isn't enough, but now you expect me to swallow not one, but TWO of these gargantuan globes of plastic coated whatever that ONLY last for 4 hours? Something that size should last for a week, if not longer! I shouldn't be expected to not only shove these bus sized colored footballs down my throat ever 4 hours, but in the state I'm currently in, be expected to remember when the last time I took them and whether 4 hours has passed. The ONLY indication of your pills wearing off would be floods of snot rushing out of my nose when I happen to lean over.

What's up with the HUGE pills? Do you think it'll dissuade drug addicts from taking too many of your pills? Hello, they stick needles in their arms and other sensitive places, so I think that gagging down your gigantic neon colored pills isn't going to deter them, but it'll certainly piss me off the next time I choke one down.

Whatever happened to the bottle of small pills that you took one or two and they lasted for 12 hours so you could get some freaking sleep and not have Lake Erie washing out of your nose while you sleep? Huh? Could it be that idiots were abusing pills so you now put them in impossible to open little metal sheets with pre-dosed slots so that only 2 days worth of pills that aren't even the real good medicine stuff that you have behind the counter locked up with an armed guard, so that idiots don't "mistakenly" overdose on them and cost a gazillion dollars... seriously?

Why is it that I can only buy something that lasts for 4 hours? How do you expect me to get ANY sleep with a schedule like that? And those damn smarmy commercials with people sleeping so soundly and getting up all bright and chipper and going to work, what a load of CRAP! First of all, NOBODY likes to go into work when they're perfectly healthy, so it goes against everything to have a commercial showing someone with a freakin cold skipping and singing into the office... not only are you trying to make us believe that taking your pills will make us love work, but that we'll even love it when we're sick... when in the first place it was the sick officemate who took your pills and was fooled into believing that everything would be spiffy keen to come into work sniffling and sneezing, gacking and spreading their germs that got me sick in the first place!!!!!

I hate you!

Febreze Set and Refresh - My Opinion

2011-09-23T11:44:00.001-04:00

As you all probably know already, dog ownership comes with its rewards in the form of smells.

Back when old guy-guy Nova was dealing with his "ass mass" and terminal, not only did he have "accidents" in the house, but we also dealt with catastrophic things like the Poo Tsunami.

Then there's Sam (the Spineless Bionic Hip/Knee pup) who dribbles ever since his spine injury and surgery. This causes Loki (the Mutatoe... pronounced Mootahtoe) who hoards and guards water (we call him Gunga Din) to have pissing contests with Sam. Of course Meeshka is perfect, except when she insists on staying out in the rain to dig for grubs, which brings the aroma of wet dog and mud into the mix.

As we aren't the type to open all the windows to air out the house, we're pretty much left with a mixture of dog aromatherapy that most people would find... disgusting, and frankly it even gets a bit much for us.

I've tried all sorts of air fresheners. I don't like plugging stuff into a wall. Just something about heating up alcohol based liquids when we aren't home, not to mention that most of our plugs are located near the floor, where curious huskies can do unwanted things to these electrified bomblets (like eating them), I refuse to have them in the house.

Then there's those gelatinous tube things you can place on a shelf or cabinet, but they are pretty close to being those things you hang in a car... OVERWHELMING. Not only are they overwhelming, but they make your house smell like an old people's home, last for approximately 3 seconds and set off our allergies. I get migraines from overpowering perfumes, and most of the "flavors" the solid air fresheners give off are ice pick in the eye inducing, or only make the dog-smell worse as it mingles with the potpourri of canine.

So, while Lobsterman was out gallivanting around the country on vacation, I was laying in bed and saw this commercial:

Its for the Febreze Set and Refresh air freshener. I've used Febreze before (and NO it isn't toxic to pets, it won't kill them if they lick it and neither is that swiffer stuff), but all they had was the spray stuff (I would have to spray my entire house, and frankly I get hand cramps spraying it all over the house), or they had the plug in stuff... NO.

This appeared to be something you could just put somewhere and it would do its thing... and from the commercial with "real people" (I'm always dubious about the real people in real people commercials) who were oblivious that they were sitting in a crack den and smelled linen sheets.

So while I was at Lowes I checked, and sure enough they had them. I can't even remember what flavor I got (spring rain or something) so I bought two. As I was checking out the cashier guy was all like "OMYGAH THESE THINGS ARE FABULOUS WONDERFUL AMAZING!" I kinda figured they made him say that, especially coming from a guy literally glowing about air freshener.

I took them home and put one in the living room, the other in our bedroom and forgot about them until I came home from running more errands and I noticed something... the house smelled GREAT!

Now it wasn't as if I was magically transformed to a beach where I was wearing linen and had an orange peel in my hair, but it certainly wasn't that wet dog ick smell!

The big test really came when Lobsterman finally came home from his wanderings. I didn't mention the air freshener at all and he didn't say anything for a long time while we unpacked him and he got the usual rambunctious welcome home from the dogs, but as we went to bed he said these words: "The house smells good".

Febreze, you have a winner here and a loyal customer that will be hoarding the little inserts and buying more of the stands because you've finally found the PERFECT air freshener for this house!

Dear Facebook: I'm on to your plot

2011-09-21T19:07:00.000-04:00

This morning Facebook did it again! They've changed EVERYTHING around and have taken away the ability to just see recent posts, versus "Top Stories". I never got that whole "Top Stories" thing. Who decides what is a "Top Story" versus another post? I hate that setting, so I always had it on "Most Recent"... until today.

Today I'm greeted with some little blue corner that had a big box that screamed "THIS BLUE CORNER THING ARE POSTS THAT YOU ARE MOST INTERESTED IN BECAUSE WE SAID SO AND THE REST OF THE MUNDANE CRAPPY POSTS ARE SOMEWHERE UNDERNEATH THE REALLY COOL POSTS THAT WE KNOW YOU WANT TO SEE".

I have no idea how Facebook "knows" what I would be most interested to see, but I've heard that they have a room full of Guatemalan children chained to desks that read every Facebook post and mark them as Top Stories. These children are known as "The algorithm".

Um... screw you Facebook.

To the right side of the screen was this scrolling mass of updates (mostly my friends bitching about the new Facebook) that was going by so fast that not only did I become nauseous, but I fell out of my chair trying to read them. I tried to ignore it, but like everyone in this day and age, I'm easily distracted by movement and then mesmerized by it, I totally forgot that I was going to post something exciting and bound to be TOP NEWS like: I'm constipated.

Its as if Facebook is trying a form of social warfare. It seems to think that I have a lot of friends, but some friends aren't as good as other friends, so they want to put some friends' posts above other friends, like we're all still in high school and have lists of friends, but not good friends or BFFs that we'd call if the REALLY good friends were busy and we were pissed off that they didn't invite us to be busy with them so we'll show them by calling the less than good friends to hang out.

All of my friends are equal friends otherwise I'd completely not friend them, duh!

So, as I do with everything... I complained about the new Facebook. A LOT of my friends complained about the new Facebook. Eventually some started pointing out that Facebook is free, if you don't like it, don't use it. Yes, yes, I've used that argument before, but this really is the last straw, not like that last straw during the last change, but really REALLY the last straw for me... sorta.

What Facebook does is like this:
You walk down the street and see a sign that says "Free fun club, come on in", and so you do. The minute you open the door, someone punches you in the face. You complain that you got punched in the face and the person at the door points out that you shouldn't complain because the club is free. You tell the person not to punch you in the face anymore, and they say "ok", you walk in and have a really great time in the club.

The next week you go back to the club and the person at the door kicks you in the shins. You complain. The person at the door says "oh, but you opted out of being punched in the face, but not getting kicked in the shins, and besides... its free". You opt out of getting kicked in the shins, go in and have a great time.

The next week you go back and the person at the door stabs you... eventually you stop going because even though its free, and you have a great time, you really have no idea what's going to happen when you open that door.

This is where I'm on to their plot... Facebook is doing its best to piss you off. It wants you so pissed off that you will finally beg them to give you a fully self customizable User Interface (UI for you geeks) that they won't touch or futz with or add to or "update" or "upgrade" or "fix" or "tweak" or do anything to, and if they do that, you will gladly fork over any sum of money to have that capability. They WANT you to beg them to charge you for something you have control over.

They will still provide "Facebook Light" to everyone that doesn't want to pay, and it will be the Facebook we know now: changed, broken, screwed up, things moved around, ads blinking non-stop, scrolling things, hidden stuff, updated, upgraded, and screwed up on a weekly basis for free... because they know you're addicted to Facebook like crack and won't get rid of it, but just may pay for it if it gets annoying enough.

They know this to be true because their only competitors are MyWasteofSpace, and Google double plus worthless.

In the meantime, I will continue to bitch about free Facebook... just like I bitch about everything else... because that's what Facebook is for, isn't it?

Staycation Day 8

2011-09-10T18:05:00.000-04:00

We start the morning with trying to put in the new eye drops that I got to keep my eyes from watering when I talk. I'm horrible at putting eye drops in, and I've been told by numerous photographers, eye doctors, and others that I have the fastest blink reaction known to man. If I can ever dig out my prom picture, you'll see that not only are my eyes closed, but I'm wearing a hideous dress that I got as the bridesmaid at my sister's wedding.

Anyhoo, I suck at keeping my eyes open, and aiming for an eyeball when trying to apply drops, so I have to resort to doing stuff like this:

I'm glad I have like 8,000 refills, because I waste most of it dribbling it down my cheek or up my nose. I had more fun getting waterboarded in survival school than putting these damn drops in. I also don't know if its working because I haven't really talked to anyone, so I guess I'll have to report my progress once I get back to work... oh wait, I try not to talk to anyone there either... it may be a while before we know if the drops work.

I've been looking at E-bay, hoping I can find something like this

Which would make putting eyedrops in a lot easier, and I could viddy the kino with my droogs.

Oh, while I was putting the drops in, I remembered another little discussion I had with my doctor:

Doctor: You know, some people smoke to lose weight.
Me: OH PUHLEEZE, if those people really wanted to lose weight, they'd be shooting heroin.

After the new morning trauma... I mean ritual, I looked outside and discovered that... the SUN HAD COME OUT! I immediately got in the RAV and drove to Starbucks. Ok, I actually went to Petsmart, then Costco, THEN Starbucks, and actually got to sit outside and enjoy a reasonably nice day out for a change. Of course everything smells like mold, but the sun was shining!

Came home and let the dogs out, and they were also relieved that the sun was out, because it was much nicer tearing up the entire yard searching for grubs when it wasn't raining. I pretty much stood over them with the bug zapper killing hoards and swarms of giant mosquitos (small brown babies clutched in their beaks) ( am I going to be forced to link all of this material to the actual movies?) because they were going to dig for grubs whether I want them to or not (kinda hard to stop 3 very strong willed and sharp clawed Huskies on a mission for grubs, so you might as well just join the fun somehow).

Pretty much the rest of the night I lounged, lay around, lollygagged, cartooned, blogged, stretched out, read, played Angry Birds, flounced a bit, harassed the dogs some (which is why I'm wearing a band-aid on my arm now), and cruised Facebook, twitter, and watched tv... the extra special depressing marathon of 9/11 shows on every channel because Hillybilly handfishin wasn't on.

I'm not quite sure I should have even counted Friday as a Staycation day because its my normal day off anyway, much like Saturday and Sunday don't really count as Staycation time... I pick up Lobsterman at the airport later tonight (I did make one last trip to the landfill, having to take the long way around because the washed out road is still washed out), and then it'll be the absolutely dreadful Sunday before going back to work time and I'll allow myself to think of the 80,000 autogenerated e-mails that await me at work on Monday... sigh... it went by much too fast.

Meh

Staycation Day 7

2011-09-09T12:42:00.000-04:00

When we last left off, I was preparing to go to the doctor for my wonderful annual exam fun-fest

I was semi-disappointed that there were no photo worthy scenes of flooding, chaos, or mayhem

Oopsies

I arrived early, which meant slogging through the articles in really old Vanity Fair magazines (which apparently are now 99.9% advertising, and apparently the "IN" thing is ads with guys who look like they need showers wearing suits and holding women's handbags), and playing Angry Birds until it was my turn. It was while I waited that I came upon a brilliant idea: If you pay for the ultra mega-mega high end insurance, you should be taken into a room promptly at your appointment time and be seen while those who don't pay the ultra mega-mega high end insurance sit in the waiting room wearing a paper gown with their privates hanging out until my appointment is done. I'm just saying.

I love my doctor. She has a good sense of humor and doesn't nag me about stuff. She half-heartedly tried to get me to commit to quitting smoking (I've tried Chantix, the patch, the lozenges, cold turkey, and every other route and for the safety of all citizens, its best that I just keep smoking... because you don't want homicidal me stalking the streets jonesing for a smoke).

She said "Can you just commit to quitting by next year?" I told her "well, I could lie to you and say "sure" just to get you off my back, but then when I came in here next year still smoking, it would make you feel as though you failed, so for the good of your self esteem, I'm not going to lie to you". See, I'm a giver, I care!

She then picked the MOST inopportune time to ask: "If there was one medical thing you could change or fix in your life, what would it be?" I told her the most obvious thing: "That I wouldn't need to have people sticking their fingers where they don't belong once a year."

I did ask if there was anything that would keep my eyes from watering when I talk. Its a very annoying thing related to my Maryland allergies. I'm pretty tired of talking to people and looking like I'm weeping uncontrollably while discussing mundane things like grammar. She prescribed some flonase and eye drops... but no Xanax (of course).

After getting my referrals and blood work paper, where I need to fast then go for blood (which I typically lose about a week after my appointment), I raced off to get my hair cut.

Normally I go to a fancy spa and get my hair cut by Katie (who is amazing and wonderful, but expensive) and all I really wanted was to even things out a bit so I could grow it through the winter... and I didn't see paying big bucks for that, so I went to Hair Cuttery. The stylist did a good job, and I got it blowed dried, only because I like to see how they envision me wearing my hair, and because it will be the ONLY time it will look like its suppose to. I have a distinct lack of will to actually "style" hair in the morning, and generally the goal is getting it dry and not sticking out in 14 different directions, although most of the time that last goal is not met.

After the haircut, it was Starbucks for a latte and some sitting outside relaxing, sipping latte while it rained and rained and rained and every person passing by telling me that they were sick of rain (random, strange people always tend to feel comfortable telling me things... as you will see in a minute). I sat there for about a half hour reading the facebook page of our counties breaking stories, and watching as each minute a driver decided to self destruct on the roads somewhere.

Before rush hour got started (maximum carnage) I journeyed over the CVS to pick up my prescriptions... except they weren't ready yet. Apparently my healthcare doesn't cover prescriptions, they're covered under a separate plan that I should have had a card for, but couldn't find the 14 times I looked through my billfold, but then found on the 15th time, and then I had to wait for them to fill the prescription... which consisted of 2 prepackaged boxes of nose spray and eye drops... that's a toughie.

As I was standing there waiting... a person was talking and it took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me, and holding something out for me to see. It was some glucose meter for kids that included a fun game... although I'm pretty sure that's a ghoulish concept: stab yourself and get points or something. She rambled on for about 10 minutes about her life, her kids, blah blah blah, then just stopped talking and wandered off in the middle of the sentence. Luckily my stuff was ready, so I grabbed it and ran home.

The rest of the night was spent lounging, watching tv, more angry birds, playing with the pups (who are 99.9% covered in rain, mud, and have grub breath), then went to bed and watched "scared straight" because I like watching kids get threatened by inmates.

Tomorrow you'll get to hear just how inept I am about putting drops in my eyes.

Staycation Day 6

2011-09-08T09:56:00.000-04:00

Rain. Did I mention rain? Oh, I have... ok, how about really loud thunder and lots of lightening... did I mention that? Or being clawed every 5 minutes? Yeah, that pretty much sums up Day 6.

I had all sorts of wonderful plans for yesterday. I was going to go in the morning to renew our firing range membership and poke some holes in paper targets while I was there. Then come home, take a nap, then get back up and piddle around doing cartoons or something relaxing, then probably nap, then go run some errands.

Instead it was chock full of panting clawing panic husky, and screeching "I wanna be just like Meeshka" Loki freaking out, and thankfully Sam slept through it as usual.

I did manage some cartooning, paying of bills and throwing out of files I have no idea why we kept in the first place type of stuff in between storms, which seemed to arrive, last an hour, stop for an hour, start for an hour, etc. It was very weird.

Around 2pm(ish) I saw a break in the storms and made a dash for the range (minus weapon) to renew, to Starbucks (of course), and some other errands, and getting back just in time for the next round of torrential downpours.

Lobsterman called just as I was washing the cool stackable Ikea plastic food containers, and while Meeshka decided there was something tasty under the kitchen shelves. He's having fun out there at least. I also discovered that stackable Ikea plastic food containers are impossible to get into the same shape they came in once you wash them. Seriously, you need a PhD or trained monkey or something to get these things stacked the way they came.

Then I had to vacuum out under the cabinets to appease Meeshka, who was then all mad because I didn't simply reach under the cabinet and get the goodie and give it to her, so I had to pretend to reach in there with a goodie and pull it out and give it to her, but then she was all like "I know that wasn't THE goodie that was under there" and kept snorfling under the cabinet.

More storms, more clawing, more rain, then REALLY more rain, and just when you thought there couldn't be more rain... yep, more rain.

So... around 10pm I decided that I would try to go to bed, so I did, and started watching "Get Him To The Greek". Russell Brand has this sort of repulsive appeal, and I've come into the movie about 6 times in the same spot (near the end) and wanted to watch it from the beginning (ok, I totally laugh at some parts of it, like when Puffy is running after them and gets hit by the car), but generally, meh.

It was at this point when the REAL thundering and downpouring started, so I moved into the living room to provide less clawing acreage when we started getting tornado warnings, so I bribed the dogs downstairs, gated them off and turned on the tv and iTunes loud to drown out the now roaring thunder, lightening and literally throwing buckets of water down... yard flooded AGAIN. Apparently (from our local Facebook county breaking news page) there was a rapid river response down the street from us. Its not even a river, its a tiny creek that always floods, but apparently its now a river. The Baltimore tunnels are also under water, a bunch of roads are closed, and its just not pretty out there, but thankfully no Tornado.

While I hung out waiting for the storm, I did this:

I also got this picture of Meeshka and Sam, during a lull in the storms:

They never "snuggle" so that's about as close as they get.

At this point, its 3am, and things finally settled down in the thunder arena that I herded the pups off to bed, but it was like sleeping while you wait for something to happen... I figured that as soon as I closed my eyes... it would thunder, so I got about 3 hours of sleep.

Apparently there's all sorts of roads closed and under water. I have a very exciting annual doctor's appointment at 2pm

Do I know how to staycation or what!

I'll leave early because I'm not sure what road I can take to get there, or whether I'll need a canoe. I'll take pictures of the flooding if I find any on the way there, or to Starbucks, because seriously, if ever I need a Starbucks... its today!

Staycation Day 5

2011-09-07T11:15:00.000-04:00

Neither rain, nor cold we keep me from my appointed round to the local landfill.

I love the landfill! Its very organized with individual dumpsters for different types of junk. There's this wonderful feeling of satisfaction with dumping a contractor bag full of junk into the dumpster and watching it get smooshed. I love it! For bulk stuff, you get to heave the items into really big dumpsters situated below a wall. Its like your very own little world of stress relief. The big burly guys who work there always try to help me toss my stuff, but I wave them off. That's the fun part and dammit I'm gonna toss it in the bin!

I had two runs to the landfill, the second being some dry wall that we had in the very back of the back room (for some reason), and to make it fit in the RAV I had to break it up. If you've never broken dry wall, I highly suggest buying a huge sheet of it, leaning it against a wall and karate kicking it. It breaks really easy and makes you feel invincible. I also got to toss in the huge glass screen door pane, but I was totally disappointed that it didn't shatter in a zillion pieces. Even when I purposefully tossed the dry wall on it... nothing. Now that's glass!

Next it was a drive over to Salvation Army with a huge contractor bag of clothes and purses, and then off to Starbucks... because its Starbucks and I needed Starbucks... seriously, I have to explain that?

On the way home I went to Lowes, where I bought the last two plastic (edible) shelving units... which means I have to go scout out another Lowes for more. One major complaint with Lowes: your self check-out needs one of those scanner wand things. All of the other stores have them, so I have no idea why you don't... do you know how hard it is to scan a huge plastic shelf? Well, it looked really hard because the guy in charge of the self checkout had to do it twice.

By the time I got home it was now POURING rain, so the only thing I could do (other than nap) was continue purging the back room and minimizing the kitchen counter stuff, so that's what I did... and frankly as I was working in the back room the only thing that came to mind was: "On this episode of Hoarders... Penny suffers a hernia and goes insane". I did manage to make enough room to put up the two new shelves and stock them with boxes.

Did I mention it was POURING rain? Yep, for hours, and hours, and hours, and frankly when the water level in the back yard was getting alarmingly high... I wondered if Katia was ahead of schedule (apparently we're getting Lee... which needs to go to Texas), and we were getting a rather disturbing amount of water coming into the outside back porch... duh because I had accidentally knocked the drain pipe off the back gutter, so I went out in the POURING rain to fix that.

During the POURING rain, Meeshka decided that she wanted to stay out in it and dig for grubs, taking a break once in a while to bang on the door to come in, shake her mud everywhere, then go back out. So it was generally a few hours of moving heavy boxes, getting showered with wet husky, moving heavy boxes, more husky shower, Loki wanting out, then in, then out, then in, drying feet, and finally Sam joined the grub hunt and it was three soaked huskies versus me. Whoot.

I gave up and did some Angry Birds relaxation, read (Dick Cheney's book... which is really good so far), and watched some tv. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up and saw an infomercial for a chair-like device with handles that you sit in and wiggle around and tone your midsection. I was a bit disturbed by the claim that kept scrolling at the bottom, and yes, in the middle of the night I got up and took a picture of it:

Frankly, I don't think I want 7 pounds of fat running loose in my body

Staycation Day 4

2011-09-06T12:45:00.000-04:00

Amazingly enough, the dogs let me sleep in until 9am! I actually had to prod them with a foot to make sure they were ok (Loki growled at me, so yes, they were fine).

First up, a trip to the most wonderful place on the planet! No, not Disney, a place even more wondrous and fantabulus!

SQUEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Its the land of minimalism, storage, and awesomeness!!! Of course, being that it was labor day, everyone in the state of Maryland was here too, but that's ok, I discovered underground parking and packing lanes that apparently nobody else knew about.

Instead of rushing through the place like I have to do when Lobsterman goes with me (he HATES Ikea... BLASPHEMER!!!), I took my time, armed with my paper tape measure, pencil and map. I sauntered through the displays and marveled at their wonderful simplicity and abundance of storage ideas. It was at this point where I realized that it would just be easier to move into the Ikea than try to recreate it at my house, but I would have to forbid the world from walking through and I'm pretty sure the store wouldn't like that.

I bought some stuff with strange names like Flurbengadden, and Kevorstaggedon and whatever that would organize all of our junk and make it look cool and retro... or just pathetically half-assed cool and retro, but dammit I'm into organizing this week!

For some reason, the Ikea experience caused large amounts of sweat and a slight headache... probably because it was 90 degrees, gloomy and 400% humidity.

I drove home with my wonderful purchases, dragged them into the house and began putting one of the things together... and wishing a had a power drill for the 8,000 screws. Yes, we have a power drill, but that would have required me to walk downstairs, get it, plug it in, find the right bit, and screw that, I'll just work those atrophied arm muscles. I can't show you what I did, because its a surprise for Lobsterman. Meeshka was very helpful in the putting together of the Ikea stuff.

I also got a new bathroom hamper for our dirty clothes. We have a hamper thing that's pretty much worthless because its got three sections, but neither of us bother sorting clothes, so I moved that downstairs in the laundry room where its useful for pre-staging laundry. I also got some storage bowls and containers that stack, and I threw out the mish-mash of tupperware that have no lids and are of no useful size.

After a much needed rest for my now shaking arms, I did some more clearing out of the back room as a torrential downpour kept me from finishing the trimming of grass out front. The fact that we have large tufts of grass sprouting in strange places may have caused a very nice man to leave his business card with me. I was polite and took it, but just one look at it made me toss it (not before taking a picture of it). While I'm sure his grass cutting skills are fantastic, its the attention to detail of the card that made me skeptical about the services that may be rendered:

To be nice, I blocked out the identifying details and contact information, but... seriously... there is so much fail on this card I can't stand it.

Since the dump is open Tuesday, I shoved as much junk into the back of the RAV so I wouldn't have to do it in the morning, then did some reading and lounging the rest of the night... and started watching Hillbilly Handfishin, which is disturbing and like a freakin train wreck.

Staycation Day 3

2011-09-05T11:03:00.000-04:00

Today I decided to mash it up and do something exciting, so I went scuba diving off the coast of Bermuda... ok, who am I fooling, I stayed home and ate pop-tarts.

I ran out of room to stack boxes because of all of the trash bags full of Lobsterman's heirlooms that I need to take to the dump (ok, its just empty boxes and papers and stuff), but the dump isn't open on Sundays, nor will it be open on Labor Day (what says Labor Day more than going to the dump?), so I had to abandon the purging of the back room and concentrated on cleaning the guest room (AKA: the place we throw crap when we're too lazy to throw it in the back room).

The Salvation Army is going to get the mother lode Tuesday (apparently the Army doesn't labor on Labor day either) as I purged the purse collection, clothes that I will NEVER fit into EVER again, and all of Lobsterman's clothes... ok, fine, I packed his stuff into one of those fabulous Ziploc tote things (and I'm still waiting for Ziploc to send me more of them for whoring out their wonderful Ziploc totes... the durable, versatile storage solution), and organized the whole room so we can finally close the closet door without fear of injury.

Then, I mowed the front yard. By the way, NEVER buy a Toro lawnmower, specifically this Toro lawnmower... ok, seriously people, I did a google shopping search for Toro lawnmower and this is what it came up with:

I guess that even google knows that Toro lawnmowers are pieces of crap and will go nuts and puree someone's loved one, causing them to go mad and piece together their loved one and pimp them out or something.

Anyhoo, here's the piece of crap never to buy:

First of all, if the grass is even the tiniest bit high (I'm not talking like over your head, I'm talking like barely out of the ground), the damn thing clogs. I'm pretty sure the purpose of a lawn mower is to cut grass, therefore it should be able to handle normal sized grass, but no. Additionally, if the grass is even the slightest bit damp (dew, someone spit on the ground) it collects this big mound of grass poop and jams itself and dies. If you attach the bagger thing, it seems to work better... in that it won't jam and poop out a wad of grass goo, but you have to dump the bag after every 2 steps because it won't throw the grass poop into the bag... just the neck of the bag, then dies.

I'm doing my best to kill the stupid thing by running over large branches, rocks, boulders... because I don't want to throw away a "perfectly good" (worthless) lawn mower, I want to sufficiently kill it first, then get a decent one.

I was going to do the weed whacking after that, but the battery on our whacker was dead, and so was the one that was charging... because the charger actually needs to be plugged in... go figure, so that'll wait for sometime during the week... when the battery is charged.

After a shower, it was off to Bass World for a new bug zapper (I know you are all thinking: you live such a glamorous life... be jealous). My old zapper broke, and the mosquitoes were attacking because they knew I was defenseless, so I got two of them. I'm a bit disappointed in these two because they don't make the mosquitoes pop and smoke like the old one.

I went to Michaels for some artsy craftsy things that I'm doing for Lobsterman, but I'm not saying what because its a surprise for when he gets home.

I then went to Safeway because none of you pointed out that I was lacking calcium in my food diet selection... so I got a gallon of raspberry chocolate chunk ice cream.

I pretty much layed around reading or playing Angry Birds the rest of the night, except to chase Loki around the house when he got the zoomies, then off to bed... where Lobsterman (who is three hours behind) started texting me questions he could easily google himself, especially when he's asking someone who doesn't wear their glasses to bed and has no idea what the blurry text is saying.

Staycation Day 2

2011-09-04T09:12:00.000-04:00

On day 2 of staycation, I dragged Lobsterman to the airport. Of course, we stopped at the airport Starbucks, where (despite saying it three times and spelling it) I became "Betty"

To be fair, when they asked what Lobsterman's name was for his cup, I told them Ralph.

Once Lobsterman was violated and irradiated by TSA and on his way to his departing gate, I fled the airport and headed for the grocery store to buy enough food to last the week. As I was on staycation, I wanted quick, easy to prepare, nutritional foods that would sustain me for the entire week.

I think this will last.

Thanks to Tropical Storm Irene, the grass in the backyard had grown to such a length that Loki kept getting lost, and Meeshka would glare at me because when she did her "bizness" the grass would tickle her delicate po-po, so I mowed the back yard. It was approximately 99.9% humidity.

Since I was already grotesque and sweaty, I dove into organizing the back room and throwing all of Lobsterman's prized heirlooms away (just kidding honey). I also did some laundry.

Later on, I made a huge vat of goulash, which was a childhood staple whose recipe we got from my depression era grandmother and pretty much consists of hamburger, macaroni, and diced tomatoes, but its tasty, and comforting, and you can reheat it in the microwave.

Sam demanded to go out (as usual) around 8:30, then demanded his creaky bones, then demanded his bedtime cookie, then demanded to be lifted onto the bed (he's very demanding), so I watched tv. Unfortunately I got sucked into watching a Hoarders marathon until midnight.

Staycation Day 1

2011-09-03T13:46:00.000-04:00

In light of the dismal jobs report (and subsequent tanking of my 401K), I decided that I needed to go invest in some infrastructure jobs by going to Lowes:

While at Lowe's, I created/saved one job by asking an "associate" where on earth they hid the Ziploc Totes, which are the best invention since the spleen and are much sturdier than the stupid Space Bags that are made out of cellophane, rip if you look at them wrong, and leak the moment you suck air out of them. Space Bags: expensive pieces of crap. Ziploc Flexible Totes: manna from heaven. Dear Ziploc, I can be bribed with freebies.

When I got home, I assembled my infrastructure:

Please note that the packaging had very large notices that these shelves are made from "green" technology. So not only am I investing in infrastructure projects, but I am also supporting "earth friendly" products that create flimsy plastic that is made from soybean products that began to decompose the moment I removed it from the plastic wrap (made from normal plastic and was much stronger than the shelving), and in a pinch I can always eat the shelves.

Please note that on the right hand side now blocked by the shelving is a treadmill, which demonstrates how serious we both are about staying in shape.

The rest of the week will be spent going through the crap on the other side of the room (out of view of this photo for fear that one of you will submit our names to the Hoarders people), and most likely visiting the dump on a regular basis throughout staycation. I have already found drywall and a glass screen door insert for a door we no longer have.

The Media is Nothing But a Bunch of BASTARDS

2011-08-06T15:01:00.002-04:00

I want to start out by saying that my heart and prayers go out to the families of the soldiers that were killed in today’s helicopter crash in Afghanistan.

And now for my rant:

The AP posted the story on their site in great detail... too much detail. Why do I say there’s too much detail? Shouldn’t the media post the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Of course they should, but that’s not what “media” does anymore. They rush the story to print (web) before they have all the facts, they quote anonymous sources and they have no SCRUPLES!

Back in the day, journalists would hold off on stories that involved the deaths of service members until after the families had been notified. That doesn’t happen now. In our 24 hour a day, 365 days a year media spin zone, the facts aren’t important now, its being the first to report the story... regardless of the consequences.

So, when the AP posted their story this afternoon, it named the branch of service, what they were told happened (without checking any facts) and adding details such as the exact unit that was involved, and citing anonymous sources because THE FAMILIES HADN’T BEEN NOTIFIED!

Although the exact number isn’t known, there could be as many as 300 members of the unit in question. Now that its all over the news, there are 300 military families who are thinking the worst right now. Was their son, daughter, child, grandchild, mom, dad on that copter? It couldn’t possibly be their loved one, because the military and our government wouldn’t be so callous as to tell an AP reporter that their loved one was dead before they even notified them... would they? To make matters even worse, most SEAL families only know that their loved one is a Seal, and not which team they are on... so multiply that horrible waiting to possibly thousands of families.

Oh yes they would. Two unnamed U.S. Officials leaked the unit information to at least the AP, probably to all of the press, and KNEW that the families hadn’t been notified (that’s why they wanted to be anonymous). They KNEW it was wrong to do, callous, heartless, and WRONG, so they did it under the cover of anonymity. These two U.S. Officials should be found and shot after a fair hearing of course.

Now Facebook and Twitter are all aflutter with condolences and prayers, and rightly so, but those would have and did happen before the unit was revealed. The press didn’t have to print the information the cowardly US Officials gave them. Any right minded citizen wouldn’t have released that information until AFTER the families had been notified, waited for the military to tell them to release it.

Is it any wonder why the military doesn’t trust the media? You can scream all you want about freedom of the press, but when you have “imbedded” reporters giving satellite reports straight from the battlefield, giving away the troops’ location, and detailing their plan of attack, and now releasing information on the deaths of our bravest soldiers before their families are even aware of the incident... I say screw the media. I don’t need to know intimate details until AFTER the families know it.

Let the media know that they suck! Send the AP a "Press Release" and let them know they SUCK!

Of Fireworks and Thunder

2011-07-03T05:55:00.002-04:00

Don't get me wrong, I love Independence Day, its the idiot neighbors who purchase all manner of armaments (illegal in the state of Merryland) that set them off for weeks before and after that I'm not too crazy about... because we have a 70lb dog that totally freaks out over loud noises.

Close proximity fireworks and thunder are not our friends. At the first sign of either, we have a panting, stomping, clawing nutcase husky on our hands. Since both activities (fireworks and thunderstorms) generally occur at night... we don't get a lot of sleep. While I can't control the weather (and neither can Al Gore), I simply curse the fact that thunderstorms happen a lot at night, but I do curse, and threaten bodily harm and the full force of the law on the neighbors... in my head, of course. Because we're pretty much Libertarian, its still a free country, and what kind of morons would we be to celebrate Independence by calling the authorities on someone practicing a form of freedom.

To prepare for the onslaught of fireworks, we sought the big guns. Rescue Remedy. Touted as the cure for neurosis of all manner, and proven to work as friends from all over the world have experienced its amazing properties to naturally calm and mellow up the most phobic pet, we found a bountiful of the product at the local Whole Foods store. Armed with three boxes, we were hopeful.

Around dusk last night, the joyful citizenry began setting off their fireworks, and we dispensed the required 4 drops for Meeshka (70lb razor sharp clawer and main freaking dog), and Loki (65lb cowering, trembling in fear drooling dog) and crossed our fingers.

In general, Loki looked as though he had drank way too much and sat drooling slightly next to us with a glazed look in his eyes. Meeshka settled on an air vent. This was GREAT! It seemed that we had found a solution for sleepless nights and rude awakenings.

Then the idiot neighbors started shooting off their mortars at 10 pm. This is when we discovered that the mellowing affects of Rescue Remedy could not overcome the sound of someone shooting off large explosives less than a block away. Frankly I was tempted to drink some.

Since there would be no sleep for us, even after giving her another dose (Loki continued to stare at a wall and drool, totally oblivious to everything), we went out on the deck to at least watch the neighbor's display of weaponry.

I truly don''t wish ill on anyone, but there was a a moment of guilty glee when one of the mortar rounds skipped sideways across the ground (an obvious tube malfunction), and exploded most likely right next to his neighbor's house, and probably right next to all of his cars in the driveway. We resisted the urge to applaud. There didn't seem to be any running around or movement to suggest a major fire, damage, or loss of limbs (unfortunately for our entertainment value), but it did put a rather sudden stop on the fireworks display for the night.

We were able to go to sleep without further interruption... until 4am (which is when I'm writing this) when the very large thunderstorm came crashing down upon us along with the 70lb panting, clawing husky.

More rescue remedy taking just a small edge off the panting and clawing, and I sit here waiting for either Lobsterman to get up and be the object of her clawing, or the storm passes.

I will be napping today... despite storms and fireworks, I'll sleep under the bed if I have to... seriously.

Little Things That Totally P*SS Me Off

2011-06-18T16:58:00.000-04:00

My Printer

I have one of those HP "all in one" printers that scans and prints... frankly that barely scratches the surface of all the things one thing can do, so I have no idea why its called "ALL in one"... but that isn't what totally P*SSES me off. Its the fact that every time I print something, it pompously spews out a blank sheet at the end. Does this thing think that paper grows on trees.... SHUT UP! I know where paper comes from.

You would think that there was a setting somewhere where I could tell it to stop doing that. I'm tired of printing something, stacking the spare unused piece of paper on top of it for later introduction back into the queue of soon to be printed paper, only to have to relocate the pile when I want to scan something. Yes, I would suppose that at that time I should shove it into the tray, but that's not the point. It shouldn't be there in the first place.

I looked through the settings and found nothing... of course. No button to click that said "press here to stop the annoying waste of paper when you print", nothing. So I Google searched and found one person bitching about the same thing on an HP help forum... with no answer.

FINE

So I look around some more and find some people complaining about it, and an actual step by step process to make it stop:
1.) reboot your computer. Seriously? That's the oldest trick in the lame tech support book.
2.) Preview your document before you print it to see if you application is putting a blank page at the end. Seriously? That's the second oldest trick in the lame tech support book: blame every application or device but your own.
3.) Re-install your printer driver. Seriously? It was a pain in the ass enough getting it installed in the first place, what makes you think that re-installing the exact same printer driver is going to stop something that has no setting? Are there viruses out there that infect your printer driver to cause it to slowly drive you insane by printing a blank page after everything you print out? I don't think so.

Therefore... no solution... yet. I still haven't tried Step 4: beat it with a hammer.

Women's Dress Pants

I inherited my shopping gene from my father, which means I know what I want, I swoop into the store, grab it and head straight to the check-out counter, pay for it and flee. I don't want to try anything on, it should be sized so that I know what size I need, but thanks to self-conscious, vain women or manufacturers who think that all women are self-conscious and vain, women's pants sizes are in some alien language and measurement that varies from type of pants, to manufacturers, to types of fabric. I'm pretty sure that places that make women's pants just make up a fucking size and slap them on random pants because no two pair of pants are the same fucking size!

I only have to guess that women around the world would fall dead if they had to actually pick a pair of pants that was sized by their ACTUAL measurements (frankly I see the return of actual measurements as a handy thing in the "war of obesity"... which isn't an actual war, just something NATO wanted us to do without congressional approval), so some elaborate measurement system was thought up to keep women "fooled" by thinking that if they wear a "2" they are wafer model thin without realizing that "2" is really heifer size outside of Hollyweird.

So, while men have a size chart that includes ONE chart (for shirts), women have the following convoluted non-standard charts:
Misses
Misses Petite
Junior
Junior Petite
Young Junior
Women's
Half sizes

Then there's the "catalog sizes". Since around 1980 Companies were allowed to just make their sizes up, and they can vary among different styles of the same freakin pants! So, even if you figure out what size you are in a store, depending on the brand, type, and style, if you buy something from a catalog, you are DOOMED because they just go all rogue and do whatever they damn well want.

So, instead of going into a store and thinking "hmm, I need some pants... these look nice, and they're my size 36X34", you go into a store, try to find a department that fits your age, style, and price range (for instance, one department store has what I call the "I'm 12 and want to look like a street walker" section), stand in front of a rack of pants and cry, because you have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHAT 2 petite/slim/junior/half FREAKING MEANS other than you'll spend about 6 hours trying on the same style of pants in 14 different sizes and none of them fit.

That's not even the worst part... the worst part is the fact that apparently its against the law to put pockets in women's dress pants. I'm sure it also a vanity thing, because after you finally find a pair of pants that fit, the LAST thing a woman wants is to have an unsightly bulge somewhere (unlike some congressmen), so 99% of women's dress pants don't have pockets... unless they are decorative pockets.

SERIOUSLY WTF is up with decorative pockets?

Is it the assumption that since women carry handbags there's no need for pockets? I hate to inform you all, but only 80 year old woman carry their purses EVERYWHERE, and anyone younger than 80 who carries their bag to the bathroom is sending out the international "I'M ON MY PERIOD" signal, because they can't tuck their period junk in a pocket that doesn't exist!

The first company that designs women's dress pants with pockets and with the right freakin sizes, will be the ONLY company I buy my pants from... even if they make them out of freakin marmoset skin, I'm still in!

So, in case you are wondering, yes... I went out to find a pair of women's dress pants, and in a fit of rage, I bought a pair of men's cargo dockers... AND I DON'T F'ING CARE!

Fond Air Force Memories - Cherry Tomato Incident

2011-06-12T15:21:00.000-04:00

I have to admit that I don't have too many fond Air Force memories... mainly because I was drunk most of the time... except on duty and I can't talk about what I did on duty, so about the only clear, lucid, not involving aliens or talking animals memories are from the early Air Force days.

Having survived:

6 weeks of basic training at Lackland Air Force Base
6 weeks of English at Lackland Air Force Base
47 weeks of Russian Language at Lackland Air Force Base
I forget how many weeks at Goodfellow Air Base (Crystal Confectionery 5 for 1 happy hours)
3 weeks of leave in Indiana during the COLDEST FREAKIN winter of the century

I was finally winging my way to my first duty station: Berlin, Germany.

When the plane finally took off from La Guardia to Frankfurt, back in the days when they gave you real food, allowed you to use real knives and forks, and you could smoke, I looked forward to my first international flight meal.

To this day, I have no recollection (and I was totally sober during the flight) of the meal after the salad because of the horrible international incident I nearly caused.

The salad had cherry tomatoes. I love cherry tomatoes. I especially love to pop them whole into my mouth and bite down, causing them to explode in your mouth. I love that.

Since I was on an international flight, and because biting cherry tomatoes so they explode in your mouth seemed so kid-like, I wanted to be all international and worldly, so I poked a cherry tomato with a fork and proceeded to bite one end... like all world travelers and high society people do.

The only problem was that instead of exploding harmlessly in my mouth (had I been kid-like) this tomato exploded out the other end like a bomb, showering the woman in front of me right in the hair with such force that I thought she would be knocked unconscious. Lucky for her, she was sporting one of the largest bouffant hairdos I have ever seen (until the creation of Marge Simpson), which probably saved her life and spared her from feeling the assault from behind.

I glanced around frantically, thankful that nobody else had seen what just had happened, but then a wave of guilt came over me and I really wanted to let her know that she had the guts of a cherry tomato imbedded and slowly oozing off the back of her head. When I heard her speaking German to her seat mate, I knew there was just no way I could pantomime the event, and to make matters worse, I started giggling uncontrollably.

That happens to me when something really serious happens (not serious life threatening serious, I'm really good at staying calm and rational during those things), but if something non-life threatening happens that's serious... I laugh. I'm pretty sure if I tried to explain it while laughing, there would be all sorts of horrible national implications and I'd end up starting some kind of war.

I opted to stay quiet about the whole thing, and then spent the rest of the flight transfixed by the goo in her hair.

This is how I saved the world from certain annihilation.

R.I.P. Baby Bird

2011-06-11T09:58:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry to report that baby bird didn't make it.

Although the parents were still diligently bringing it food, and it was peppy and happy and eating, last night I found baby bird had once again plummeted out of the nest near the back door again. This time its landing must have injured it, because it was showing definite signs of something seriously wrong.

I knew when I first saved it that its chances were slim to none. All of its brothers and sisters were HUGE fledglings, and baby bird was tiny. It looked as though it was a good week behind its siblings, and whether that was because it was a late hatcher, or because of some medical issue, it didn't really matter, it really didn't stand a chance.

I was torn between trying to hand raise it (and I would have if I thought it had a chance), or letting nature takes its sometimes cruel course, and opted for nature. I put baby bird back in the nest, where I was sure it would at least be comforted with its natural surroundings during its final time.

This morning I climbed the ladder and found what I expected. I removed baby bird, nest and all, said a few words for it, and disposed of it properly.

I hope its happily swooping around across the Rainbow Bridge.

Baby Robin Update

2011-06-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

I watched Bully Robin fly the coop into the bush near the neighbor's yard. I also located the two other fledglings: one is high up in a tree over my yard, the other is hanging out on the back part of our fence.

I took baby robin and plopped it back into the nest, where it seemed happy, but I don't know if the parents will feed it.

As soon as everyone has left the nest (one way or the other) I'm removing the nest and putting freakin spikes up there so I don't have to deal with this another year!

My Week In Review

2011-06-10T11:00:00.000-04:00

So, this week at work was one gigantic brain suck of a week (remember, my week only contains 4 days, so that's saying a lot). It was one of those "if it ain't one thing, its another" type of weeks.

On top of it sucking like a black hole, it was also a bazillion degrees out and humid. Going outside was like opening the oven door and sticking your head in to retrieve a cooked roast without letting the heat disperse (and I do that ALL the time). Getting into the truck was torture, and then turning it on so that the air conditioner would throw molten hot air on you until it cooled off, you could feel your flesh melt.

I was SO looking forward to my relaxing Friday. Although it was suppose to be another "feels like" 103 day, we were suppose to get a cool wave for Saturday, so I had planned all sorts of relaxing things to do in the luxurious air conditioning of my home, like napping, lounging, and then napping.

So this morning I get up and let Sam and Loki outside, look up at the robin's nest and belatedly realize that out of the 4 birds that were in there... only 1 remains. HOLY CRAP we have free range fledglings in the yard and that only means carnage!

It was at this time that the robin mom and dad start throwing a shit fit, screaming, swooping, and generally freaking out in the back of the yard (where Loki is sniffing) and I do that slow motion "NOOOOO" run toward the back of the yard to save the fledgling. Luckily my full tilt bozo freaking out confused Loki, who semi-sorta obeyed me by running to me (he probably thought I was having a stroke and maybe when I fell down some treats would fall out of my pocket), while Sam was totally oblivious to his surroundings because he was searching for the perfect place to poo.

I get Loki under control by the scruff of his neck and order him to the house, which he does in a circuitous route with me yelling "IN THE HOUSE" all along, until finally we get to the back steps and WTF! There's a tiny baby bird sitting right in front of the back door.

This thing was SO not ready to leave the nest, and I have to guess that its much larger sibling (probably a bully robin that beat the smaller robin up for its regurgitated worm food) had thrown it out of the nest. Bully robin was still perched on the nest, laughing. I hate the bully robin.

My problem now was, if I let go of Loki and try for the baby bird, it would probably scream, Loki would hear it, then it would be a race for who got to the bird first, as earlier experience has shown... Loki is faster, especially when the stupid birds run away from me and straight into Loki's mouth.

I had to risk it because it was either that, or stand there holding on to Loki until the bird grew up, went to college, found a job, got married, and had a mid-life crisis... and its so hot that I'm sweating profusely.

I'm not sure if the bird was smart and realized I was saving it, or it was stunned after plummeting 10 feet onto concrete, but it just let me pick it up... great... now what?

Meanwhile, the parents are freaking and swooping at me now, so I take the bird inside and through the front door, to the front yard, and deposit it outside of the fence, but close to the place where I found it. Birds are smart, and the thing will cheep and announce its location, right?

I herd the dogs inside and go about my business, but after a half hour I go back out and there's the parents feeding that worthless bully robin while I hear tiny desperate peeps coming from the other side of the fence.

GAH!!!!!

I close the gate to the deck so the dogs can't get up there if I let them out, get a box lid, go retrieve the stupid baby robin, carry him inside (where the dogs go insane), take it out on the deck, plop it in the box lid and retreat. Sure enough the parents come check it out and give it a worm. So much for the theory that the parents will shun a bird if you touch it. I pat myself on the back for a job well done.... then watch the stupid baby jump out of the box lid, bounce crazily after its parent and fling itself off the deck. The bird has a death wish.

Sure enough, the thing survives and is now clumsily trying to follow one parent who is looking for food for it. I can't leave the thing in the yard, the dogs will get it! FINE!

I google "what to feed a moron baby robin" and some site said you can feed it canned dog food... FINE, so I open a can (dogs go insane again), gush it into a bowl and go outside and relocate the stupid bird outside the fence again, raising it over my head as I go to show the parents where its going... found a nice shaded hidey spot for it, give it some dog food (which it liked), and left the gate open for a bit so the parents would get a clue. Apparently robins aren't very linear and can't figure out change well... the robin kept going back to where the baby WAS, glaring at me.

OHMYGAH FINE!!!!

I really want to put it back in the nest, but the bully robin is stomping all over it and will probably toss it to the pavement again, and I was half tempted to throw the bully robin in the yard to finally fend for itself, but I'm guessing it wants to stay in the nest until its 26 and glom on to its parents' health care program, so I get a box that has walls higher than the box top, but not too high that the parents couldn't get into it, put some nice leaves and stuff in it, go get the baby robin AGAIN (it now thinks I'm its mother and opens its mouth for food), put it in the box, put the box on the deck on a chair near the nest and retreat.

I hide downstairs and watch... hoping... will they.... YES, they figure out the baby is in the box and are willing to feed it from the box... WHEW!

Now I have to leash walk the dogs in the backyard until everyone makes it out of the yard. I really have no delusion about the future of baby bird. Its tiny, its survived two very large plummets to concrete and probably has issues and won't most likely survive, but I at least tried. I couldn't just stand there and let Loki play with it, or throw it over the fence and listen while it peeped until it peeped no more... I tried, I gave it my best shot, but I'll still be sad.

Knowing my history, it will survive, get to the fledgling stage... and fly straight into Loki's mouth.

So much for my relaxing Friday, which is why I created my new icon

What a Difference a Pillow Makes

2011-05-29T13:09:00.000-04:00

For a while now I've woken up feeling like total crap. Stiff, creaky neck, headaches, stuffed up nose, post nasal drip dry cough and generally feeling like a herd of River Dance people stomped on me (a nightmare in itself).

I tried drugs, thinking it was just allergies. They didn't really work, still woke up feeling crappy. After trying a myriad of different possible solutions, I decided that I needed a new pillow. I liked my squishy down pillow, but it was about all squished out and not supportive at all, so I went in search of a pillow that would fit my sleeping patterns, which consist of this:

Every night, Meeshka sits on my head, Sam and Loki fight for the foot of the bed.

After about 20 minutes, Meeshka gets too hot and jumps down, so Loki stomps all over me and takes her spot and sleeps half on the end table and the other smelly half is shoved in my face. Sam takes the whole foot of the bed.

After about 20 minutes, Loki spreads his full ample ass and takes over the whole head of the bed through the ingenious use of swift kicks to my face with his pokey little feet, and Sam oozes into taking over the foot and half of the middle of the bed.

The "No Dog Zone" is Lobersterman's side of the bed. He made it very clear from the beginning that no dogs are allowed over there, and they respect it, unless he's eating something, and then all bets are off.

So, the perfect pillow would have to be for someone that sleeps on their side, back, face, half off the bed and toward the center of the bed, sometimes sliding off the bed.

I went to Kohls and searched. I found two really nice dresses for work and then actually made it back to the pillow department, where I tested each pillow for comfiness, but most were ONLY for one position or another... until... I found this:

Now I have to say that I'm not crazy about the whole memory foam thing. Lobsterman had one and it seemed like it was too squishy and it also was HOT! Coming from someone who is a potential candidate for spontaneous human combustion at night, the LAST thing I need is a pillow to contribute to the overall over-heating problem I have, but this one is different.

Its actually a memory foam pillow on one side, and a nice squishy down-like pillow on the other side. It felt really supportive and its made for sleeping in any position... oh and it was half off. Oh hell yeah, its mine!

I took it home, changed the dog fur laden sheets and put a new pillow case on it, and then couldn't wait to go to bed to try it out.

This morning I woke up... and felt AMAZING! No crappy sinuses, barely any neck ache, no headache, slept like a log (even with Loki kicking me in the face) and wow! Holy crap!

Now I'm wondering if I was allergic to the real down pillow. I really can't believe how much better I feel after using this thing. I give it two solid thumbs up and can't wait for my afternoon nap.

Fond Childhood Memory #937: Running Away

2011-05-28T15:31:00.000-04:00

As I'm sure the majority of you have done, when I was a teenager I decided to run away. I don't distinctly recall the reason, but I'm pretty sure it was something major like my parents wouldn't let me do something that would have ended with me losing some fingers and an eye, which is just like parents to keep their kids from doing fun things.

Regardless of the reason, I pronounced to my father that I hated everyone and was going to run away.

Dad: Ok
Me: I'm serious, I'm running away.
Dad: Fine, where do you want to go?
Me: I'm not telling you because then you'll know and that defeats the whole purpose of running away!
Dad: Well, I was going to offer to drive you to the bus station and buy you a one way ticket.
Me: what?
Dad: You don't have to stay where the bus drops you off, but at least I'll know that you are out of the county.
Me: What?
Dad: well, if you just "run" away from home, you probably won't get very far and end up back here.

I was going to mention to him that I ran Cross Country and would at least make it five miles away before tiring, but...

Me: FINE! Let me go pack my things.
Dad: Well, I would like to point out that most of your stuff isn't really yours, I mean your mother and I paid for those things, we're just letting you use them.
Me: WHA?
Dad: You can take whatever you paid for, but the rest has to stay here.
Me: but... but...
Dad: ok, fine, you can take the clothes you are wearing, now is there anything else you've paid for?
Me: YOU'RE NO FAIR!

At this point I stomp upstairs

Dad: well, if you aren't running away today then you'll have time to weed the garden before supper.

It's MY Money

2011-05-27T10:21:00.001-04:00

Instead of figuring out a budget (Congress passed a budget on 15 April 2011, the Senate refuses to vote on the budget or provide one of their own).

Instead of addressing the certain doom of Medicare and Social Security (See above).

Instead of figuring out a way to allow businesses (both big and small) to create private sector jobs.

Instead of figuring out what to cut in order to provide disaster relief assistance to tornado ravaged states (but spent $500,000 on a shrimp treadmill)

Our Government wants to save us from our own money. That's right, those wacky government types who want to "invest" in jello wrestling, bridges for turtles, and "green" golf carts want to stop you from spending your savings, namely your 401K savings.

Despite already stifling regulation, the government has discovered that by allowing you to take out loans from your 401K savings... you may not be able to (or want to) pay it back, even with the crushing tax burden penalty for not paying it back. You see, despite their claims in 2009 that they had to spend money to make money and keep the unemployment rate below double digits (how's that working out for you?), the government doesn't want you to spend your retirement money (like they've spent your Social Security money) because that would be a hardship for you.

So, responsible people who may have some financial hardship can take out a loan of their retirement money, and pay it back in 5 years... but there's a pesky catch: if you lose your job, you have 60 days after you lose your job to pay it back in full or get the bejeezus taxed out of you.

Instead of reforming the 401k regulations to allow you to have an independent 401k that isn't based on your job, that was portable and allowed you to keep putting money into it, no matter where you worked, and repay your loan, whether you had a job or not... sorta like what some people suggested the Healthcare program be allowed to do.. nope, the government wants to limit your ability to borrow your own money.

That wonderful bill is called Savings Enhancement by Alleviating Leakage in 401(k) Savings Act of 2011 (‘SEAL 401(k) Savings Act’). Wow, I wonder how many martinis and bazillions of tax dollars it took to come up with that catchy acronym. Sponsored by Senator Kohl (a guy who isn't going to run in 2012 and doesn't have to worry about his retirement because you, the taxpayer, will be paying him for the rest of his natural life), it wants to limit how many loans you can get (most 401k plans already do that), ends the deferral if you take out a hardship loan, which will allow you to continue contributing to your 401k (currently if you take a hardship loan you cannot contribute to your 401k or receive employer matching funds for 6 months... probably because if you took out a hardship loan, you need all the money you can get), and extend the 60-day limit of rolling over your loan offset into an IRA or other qualified plan and give you until the tax filing deadline to roll over the offset (note to self: don't get fired at the beginning of April).

Now, while all of this seems benign and "helpful" to people who have 401k loans, the issue is: the Government has NO business telling you what you can and can't do with your money. Its YOUR money. If you want to take out one loan, or 5 loans... its YOUR money. If you get in over your head, lose your job, or can't pay your bills because you took out too many 401k loans... tough!

But wait, it gets better... because this is just a precursor of the Government just TAKING your money and "investing" it in a more safe environment instead of in that pesky private sector stuff. I'm sure you are saying "Pshaw! You scare monger, you supporter of BIG OIL and BIG BUSINESS"... um, whatever, because if you work for the Government now... your pension money is already being siphoned off to pay for the debt that we can't pay for because we've hit that inconvenient debt ceiling already. Yep, all that pension money was just sitting there anyway waiting for you to retire, so the Government feels it would be put to better use now by paying for all of the crap they want that they can't pay for because they took the crap buying money and paid for something else... like shrimp treadmills.

So, what happens when they run out of Federal pension money or need to pay someone's Federal pension... yep, their hand will be in the 401k pocket in the guise of "investing it in a more secure Treasury Bond program that isn't at risk with the whims of the free market" blah blah.

But you can breathe a sigh of relief in knowing that Medicare and Social Security will be there for you in your golden years... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA.

This Old Foreclosed House - Update

2011-05-15T14:26:00.002-04:00

Yeah, yeah, I know, its been a while since I've updated my blog. Frankly there's just so much stupidity going on that its overloaded my brain. There just isn't enough time in the day to blog about all of it, it would be a full time job... if full time job meant sitting on my ass all day and blogging while shoving cheese doodles in my face and not getting paid.

So, here is the latest installment of "This Old Foreclosed House", because there's just oodles of stuff going on there.

First, let's all recall what the craptastic foreclosed house looked like for a few years while it went through the foreclosure process:

Through years of complaining to the Health Department, we finally got them to cover the half filled with crap and water mosquito swarmed inground pool wreck:

So... there it sat for a few years, with more phone calls, more complaining to the bank that owned it...

FINALLY, some work started getting done on it, but we're pretty sure they contracted out to the local "some guy who has a pickup truck and a screwdriver" to do the work because...

Some guy with a pickup truck and a screwdriver and some friends started dismantling the back addition to the house and throwing all of the debris into the pool. When they were done throwing the back end of the house in the pool, they threw the vermin filled shed in the pool, broke up the concrete around the pool and threw it in the pool and then...

Yep, brought in fill dirt and started burying all of the junk. They also left half of the rickety deck up... for some reason. Sure, we called the health department about it, but by the time they showed up...

In ground pool? What in ground pool, I have no idea what you're talking about... please note, the fence is gone now... 3 guesses on where it went.

Allrighty then. It came as no surprise when this happened:

Which meant even more dirt on top and some straw, to make it very tasty:

There! Nobody will know what kind of crap is buried under there, and lets rip off the siding while we're at it... yeah, that looks GREAT!

How about we build an extension to the rickety deck using 2x4s for supports with no supports at the back... yeah, that would be great! We can also throw mis-matched gray siding to it, and as an added bonus, lets throw some of that gray siding over that window we boarded over... yeah, that looks GREAT!

There was a LOT of speculating and even some betting as to whether the deck was level.

Hubby claimed it was all an optical illusion because of the way the boards were, and the darker crappy rotted wood of the old section... so I went over and checked.

Yep, its level... amazingly enough, its level.

So then... they started painting the gray siding white... I have no idea.

The part that really pisses me off... their "yard" looks better than mine

But at least I know that if I dig in my yard, I'm not going to unearth half a house, a shed, some fencing, concrete, insulation, drywall, mold and probably the body of a mobster.

Taunting Telemarketers (Part 386)

2011-04-19T18:37:00.000-04:00

Actual telemarketer call

6pm, while I'm chopping up veggies for fajitas, the phone rings, and rings, and rings, and rings, I finally answer it:

me: what?
TM: Hi, this is a courtesy call from blah blah home improvements...
me: who?
TM: Dumbass home improvement company, we'd like to offer you a free estimate on new windows...
me: do you know what the definition of "courtesy" is?
TM: um
me: courtesy isn't calling someone at 6pm after they've had a crappy week, and its ONLY TUESDAY, while all they want to do is make some tasty fajitas, after which I'll need to be hosed off, and then crawl into bed with the realization that tomorrow will be another crappy day, and if I don't get some tasty fajitas then I'm half tempted to drive my truck into my garage, close the door and let it run until I'm dead... but I don't have a garage.
TM: um
me: hey, do you build garages? I could totally use a garage right now because instead of making fajitas I'm talking on the phone with you.
TM: um
me: seriously, I'd leave you a check for it, but I have to be up front, the check is going to bounce because... well, I'm dead and I don't care if you get paid for the garage or not, can you do an estimate on a nice garage that's all sealed up so the carbon monoxide fumes won't escape and I'll die quicker?
TM: um
me: ok, how about you just stop calling me because I'm on the "do not call" list
TM: ok... have a nice night
me: you too clueless wonder
click

Spray Painted Mailbox Part II

2011-04-09T16:50:00.000-04:00

Yeah, yeah, its been a while since I had a good rant, but there's just so much madness going on in the world that I was overwhelmed with stupidity and took to sitting on my ass and playing Angry Birds.

FINE! I don't really need an excuse to sit on my ass and play Angry Birds, and seriously, I'm not addicted to it in any way, its perfectly normal to sit for hours on the toilet and play it, so SHUT UP AND STOP JUDGING!

I figured I'd follow up on the spray painting the mailbox post a few after the fact... mainly because I wanted to be sure that the new paint job wasn't going to wash off in the rain and then I'd be sitting here gloating over how pretty the mailbox actually turned out when in fact I'd be a liar, liar, pants on fire with a craptastic mailbox.

So... if you recall in our last adventures, I tried to spray paint numbers on the stupid thing, but the numbers ran, so I had blobs of white paint and ... oh good gah, just go read the last blog entry and catch up. Hurry up, we'll wait for you, and no, we won't talk behind your back (bitch).

Ok, so rather than hack off my finger trying to install a new one, or paying someone to replace it, I just bought more spray paint. Of course you are rolling your eyes thinking I'm sadistic, but this time I actually did research and found out that the spray paint that I used isn't for plastic. So I found the stuff that you can actually use on plastic, except it wasn't the BRAND I wanted, which meant they didn't have the cool plum color I wanted (bastard Home Depot), so I opted for the "Hunter Green", although the bright orange was tempting... and had I been single, it would have been my color of choice, but part of marriage is give and take... mostly give, with some taking when the other is asleep or passed out or handcuffed to the radiator. Please note, we have no radiators in the house, so I'm not disclosing any family secrets here.

After 20 minutes of circling the spray paint department of Home Depot, I go to pay for my purchases, and opt for the self checkout, because I was in a foul mood to begin with, I just wanted to scream at the faux happy mechanical check-out bot and leave. Of course that was impossible, because apparently in the state of craptastic Merryland, you have to show someone your drivers license to buy spray paint.

Why? I have no frickin clue what this accomplishes... that I can drive to my next tagging gig? That I'm old enough to drive a car and therefore know to buy the gold spray paint to huff (p.s. I have no idea why huffers like the gold paint, but a friend speculated it was because gold is expensive... looking, or they want to look like Goldfinger, although they would actually look like Jill Masterson, the hapless employee of Goldfinger, who is spray painted gold by Oddjob and killed by epidermal suffocation... which isn't even a plausible cause of death, and more likely she succumbed to the stupid plot line, but I digress).

So, even though I did everything humanly possible to avoid human contact, I was forced to show the "keeper of the machines" my drivers license and then wait for her to figure out how to let the machine know that I'm old enough to huff spray paint if I damn well want.

As there was a pretty stiff 60mph wind that afternoon... ok, it was like 10 mph, I waited for the next day and then spray painted the mailbox Hunter Green... and it looks pretty good. Of course I should have waiting for the mailman to pick up the mail, because the timing from completion to completely dry was interrupted by mail delivery and once slightly pissed mailman, so there was some touch up to the door, but otherwise it went smoothly.

The next day, using the stupid stencils, I used a paint brush and white paint and TAH DAH!

No, I'm not going to take a picture of it because then my street address would be there for the world to see, and I'm not going to airbrush it out because then you would all be like "look at the big glob of airbrush on it, that looks like crap", and since I know most of you are haters of pretty green mailboxes, you can just imagine and scoff to yourselves.

Tomorrow: I cut the Federal budget with wood chipper.

Why I Spray Painted My Mailbox

2011-03-13T18:00:00.000-04:00

I hate my mailbox. It was here when we moved in. Its brown, its plastic, it sits on a wooden pole, and it holds the mail, so its functional.

I don't want a giant trout mailbox, or a racecar mailbox, or even a husky shaped mailbox, I just want a mailbox that will hold the mail and keep it dry... which is one of the main problems with our mailbox. It hates us.

If it rains, the door will magically open and the mail will get wet. We blamed the mailman, but watched on several occasions as the mailman came and went and diligently closed the door, through rain, and sleet, and all that other crap, the door was always closed with a resounding thud. We even hid our cars and pretended not be be home, because mailmen are cagey and would know they were being watched and only do it on days when they knew we weren't home... but sure enough... diligent mailman. The only other alternative: the mailbox hated us.

FINE, I don't much like it either. Mainly because I can't get the stupid reflective street numbers to stick to it. Oh sure, we have decorative worthless street numbers that you can't even see unless you were inches away with a magnifying glass, so we put the reflective stickers on the mailbox itself... only to see it shed them off at the slightest wind.

FINE! So we got one of those things that you bolt to the top... except someone stole it. Yes, I went from street to street and checked out everyone that had the same street number as us, but you can only go to so many streets before you realize you should just go freakin buy another one.

FINE! So we buy another one, except they don't make the one that will fit on our box, and even if they did, the bolts that hold it are so rusted we'd have to rip them off and probably break the spindly plastic mailbox, so we bought another one, and that one requires drilling new holes and who freaking has time to do that (especially since the new level of Angry Birds came out).

FINE! So at Lowes this afternoon I bought stencils and spray paint. I would also like to take a moment to bitch to the stencil people who only put 1 copy of each freakin letter and number in there, so I had to buy TWO sets of complete stencils. Why don't they sell individual stencils? HMMMM?

FINE! So I get home and carefully put the correct numbers in the correct order and tape the row of numbers together so they stay straight and go out with the stencils and spray paint... AND I CAN'T GET THE LID OFF THE SPRAY PAINT! Apparently its a "safety" thing to keep kids from huffing spray paint... like they can't afford spray paint, a paper bag AND a screw driver to jam under the lid?

FINE! So I go inside and get a screwdriver and the STUPID PIECE OF CRAP LID STILL WON'T COME OFF! So I beat it to pieces with a hammer, and go out and attach the stencil to the mailbox and spray the "drip less" spray paint. "Drip less"? SERIOUSLY? Its dripping all over the place, and not only that... but the numbers look like a freakin blob of white. Now I have a freakin blob of white on my mailbox. Great, that looks like crap.

So I sprayed the sides and top of the stupid thing and now it looks like crap... and I don't care.

Eventually we'll have to get another one... which means replacing the rotting pole its on, cutting through power lines, and probably severing a finger... I'll pay any of you to come replace it.... because you still can't see our address numbers under all that dripping white spray paint.

Sudafed Protocol

2011-02-04T16:25:00.000-05:00

For the third day in a row I woke up with a cement block in my left sinus and an ice pick embedded in my left eye. No amount of over the counter drugs hoarded in the house seemed to be making things better, so I did a silly thing and actually called for a doctor's appointment. Lobsterman assured me that I would most likely get in a month from now... dead or alive.

Some masterful whining got me an appointment with some doctor at my usual clinic, not my usual doctor... but at that point I just wanted to see anyone that had a license to write a prescription, so in theory I could have just gone to any street corner in Baltimore, but Baltimore is such a hassle and you can never find parking.

Doctor appointment time came, and the guy pretty much told me I was out of luck. I wasn't running a fever, therefore no infection, therefore no drugs. He told me to suck it up, buy better over the counter drugs, and come back if I got worse. Yep, and that's why I pay $350 a month for health insurance!

After I ripped his still beating heart out of his chest and showed it to him (ok, not really, but I did in my head), I ventured to the pharmacy for something stronger than what we currently had.

This meant taking one of the little slips of paper with the picture of your drug of choice to the pharmacy, where they take your driver's license, run a back ground check on you, strip search and cavity check you, then tell you they only have the generic version of the "over the counter" drug of your choice. FINE! GIVE IT TO ME!

I bought the last bag of Cherry 3-muskateers, so this means that I can make cherry flavored meth in my bathtub had I not failed miserably at being a crack-ho (and yes, I know there's a difference between crack and meth, I didn't fail that miserably at being a crack-ho!)

Diversity

2011-02-02T18:46:00.000-05:00

This Old Foreclosed House - Do It Like This

2011-01-19T19:02:00.000-05:00

There has been some "movement" on This Old Foreclosed House.

Lobsterman reported that this morning a very large dumpster was plopped down on the side of the house, and that a HUGE load of dirt was dumped in the driveway.

Then this cute little beast showed up.

Yes, that's a mini cat, which we thought would be used to fish all of the house innards out of the pool... but wait, they have something even more ingenious planned....

Hmm, look at all of this dirt... what could they possibly do with all of this dirt?

You guessed it! They broke up the concrete AROUND the edge of the pool and tossed it into the pool, and now they are filling the debris with dirt. As an added bonus, they also destroyed the red shed (where all of the vermin like to hang out) and threw that in the pool for good measure.

As you may recall, the family that lived there prior to foreclosing had tried to use fill dirt to fill in the craptastic mosquito laden malaria ridden in ground pool, but were shut down because in our county its illegal to fill in an in ground pool by just dumping fill dirt into it.

Well, apparently nobody told the bank this.

This prompted a call to our friend the County Health Inspector, who I'm sure will be very interested in these developments.

I gotta admit... their yard is a LOT bigger than I thought with all the crap covered up, but if I were you... I wouldn't try to plant any trees or anything in the yard, you may be digging up the whole back portion of the house.

P.S. They did cut down that stupid tree that kept leaning into our yard, so... whoot.

P.P.S. They still haven't fixed the damage to our yard where the tree fell over.

P.P.P.S. They even touch our fence and someone's gonna get a size 8 duck boot placed in an uncomfortable area

A Rant **

2011-01-16T14:44:00.000-05:00

** Because "OH MY FREAKIN GAH ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME" has probably been used already.

Ok, so this rant will be about 15 different things that are actually all connected, in a bizarre kind of way.

I know someone who was at a CVS PHARMACY buying a sitz bath and a cane and the cashier actually asked for their last name to verify that the credit card they were using was actually theirs.

This assumes that a credit card thief is too incredibly stupid to read the credit card owner's name off the card.
If someone stole my credit card and all they were buying was a sitz bath and a cane... just let them get it. Seriously, if they were desperate enough to steal my card and use it for that... they got some problems.

Coincidentally, the guy at the next counter was buying heartburn pills and got asked for his birth date... because apparently there's a new under aged heartburn relief gang?

At 7pm Saturday night, we had a prescription for Vicodin called in... for long time readers, you'll know that it wasn't for me because I can't even get Xanax, and I'm pretty sure I qualify for that. I think I'll start a petition drive. Throughout all of my myriad of strange issues (broke my foot in two places using a Wii, random cysts that I've all named popping up on my wrists, thumb problems from a car wreck) the only thing I get is Ibuprofen.

Now its not like we live in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere or anything. We live like 10 minutes from Baltimore (pronounced Balmer) and a half hour from D.C. (Warshington, as my mom calls it) so its not like we commute by Yak and use smoke signals, so you would think it would be relatively easy to find an open pharmacy at 7pm on a Saturday. I actually think it would be easier to find an open pharmacy on that time and day because that's generally when the drunks who say "Hey, watch this" do something stupid and need a prescription... but NOOOOO. Its literally impossible to find a pharmacy open after 6pm on the weekends.

Now, let me clarify: an open PHARMACY. Sure, CVS PHARMACY is open, and so it Rite Aid PHARMACY, but not the PHARMACY part, just the store.

Why bother? To me, an emergency isn't running out of bread or hair dye. I've never run frantically to a pharmacy for some late night hair bands or lip gloss, no matter what the weather forecast. I'm pretty sure I can live without those items for a night, or at the very least GO TO ONE OF THE GAZILLION 7-11, WA-WA, QUICKSTOPS, ROYAL FARMS, GROCERY STORES, OR GAS STATIONS that are open and have this crap in them. To me, an emergency is needing some guy to count out 20 vicodine to keep from writhing in pain over night.

IF YOU CALL YOURSELF A PHARMACY THEN KEEP THE PHARMACY OPEN WHEN THE STORE IS OPEN!!!

Better yet, if your Web site says you are open until 9pm HOW ABOUT YOU PUT IN BIGGER PRINT THAT YOUR FREAKIN PHARMACY CLOSES AT 6 SO SOMEONE DOESN'T GO SHLEPPING OUT AT 7PM ONLY TO FIND THE PHARMACY CLOSED!

Then, at 10am when the pharmacy opens, but your pharmacist calls in sick... when the person who got burned the night before calls to make sure you are open and have the prescription called in the night before ready and waiting, how about you just tell them the ETA of the replacement pharmacist instead of making the already irate customer play 20 questions:

Me: So... when will the replacement show up.
Rite Aid Moron (RAM): He's been called and he's on the way
Me: Is he flying in from Pakistan?
RAM: ???
Me: When do you think he'll get there?
RAM: He's on the way
Me: so... will he be there today, or perhaps next week?
RAM: Oh today!
Me (banging head against wall): roughly about what time today?
RAM: Oh... maybe like 11

So... now I wish I hadn't failed miserable with my new year's resolution: Become a Crack Ho.

At least I could have whipped up something in the bathtub using common household products.

The Rat Trap

2011-01-15T10:48:00.001-05:00

A few months ago I noticed that some sort of vermin had dug a hole under my fence. I can only imagine that its some starving rat, taking advantage of the lack of rat snakeability looking at my yard for foodstuffs from Ye Olde Foreclosed Home.

I poured Quikrete down the hole, poured in water, and thought the problem was solved... not so fast.

A few days later, right next to the cemented area was another hole. I knew that I was dealing with a very determined rat. Although determined, this rat has to be dumber than a box of rocks to dig INTO a yard with 3 Siberian Huskies wandering around. I commonly see Loki sitting patiently near the hole, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to come out. He’s very good at that. He’ll wait prey out, catching moles, mice, fledgling birds, whatever, just by sitting perfectly still and pretending to be a lawn ornament. Either that or they just eventually commit suicide and run into his mouth.

So I looked into the various and sundry types of ways to capture, kill, maim, destroy and obliterate various and sundry types of vermin.

Hav-A-Heart traps Good concept, except for one thing... WTH do you do with it once you caught it? Its not like I’m Billy the Exterminator (who I LOVE, so don’t be mocking Billy) and have thousands of miles of forest area to free trapped critters. The best I could do would be to call animal control for pick up, and the poor critter would die of old age in the trap by the time they showed up, or release it into the foreclosed home area... but all I’d be doing there is training the critter that it could come to my place for a free meal and lounge in the trap for a while, like a mini all-inclusive vacation. Of course, there’s always “disposing” of the critter but what kind of humane way is there to “dispose” of them other than drowning or shooting them (and frankly the county frowns upon firearms discharging).

Poison: errr, no way. There’s absolutely, positively no way I’d use poison on critters, not because its a horrible death (which it is) I honestly don’t have a problem with vermin dying horrible deaths, its just that I don’t want poison ANYWHERE near my dogs, I don’t want something non-targeted to get into the poison, and once the vermin die, don’t want my dogs or other non-targeted animals eating poison dead vermin. Plus the vermin usually crawl somewhere unfortunate to die and stink, so poison is right out.

Glue Traps: While handy indoors, they don’t work for crap outdoors in cold weather. I don’t have a problem using glue traps (bite me Animal Rights nut cases), I do have a problem with removing them from husky fur, as my dogs would no doubt be covered in glue traps because they were “interesting”.

Snap Traps: Once again, I’d be making vet trips with dogs that had snap traps on their noses since peanut butter is the main trap bait, and mine can’t resist peanut butter.

Call a pest control company: but what are they going to do that I can’t do? Charge me a lot of money to set a trap, that’s what.

So, using logical (for me) thinking, I’d need something non-poisonous, non-sticky (because of the cold), that would kill the vermin (so I wouldn’t have to) that the dogs couldn’t get into it. Once again... watching Billy the Exterminator pays off. I found this really cool AMERICAN company (and from what I can tell, they are family run) Do My Own Pest Control

They have the really cool professional grade rat bait stations that you can put one of their T-Rex Rat traps in. It has a hex lock, and a way to anchor it to the ground. This solves the following problems:

1.) Dogs getting snapped by traps
2.) Dogs playing hockey with the enclosed trap thing
3.) Dogs snacking on the dead critter once the critter is dead
4.) Dogs picking the lock to get at the peanut butter

PERFECT! I order a bait station and a trap online and then spend hours gleefully imagining the fun that will ensue.

Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worse in Georgia, which delayed my shipment. To their credit, they immediately e-mailed to let me know that not only couldn’t they get to their shop, but all of the shippers couldn’t get around on the slippery roads, and apologized profusely for the delay... which lead me to respond:

“Dear Customer Service,

I want to thank you for the e-mail in regard to the status of my rat trap order. I want to assure you that I totally understand the delay, and frankly I wouldn't be able to live with myself if one of your employees injured or killed themselves trying to mail out my rat trap. I'd have to change my name, possibly move out of the country, and that's just a hassle.

Even if I had ordered a brain eating zombie trap, it would be silly of me to be upset under the current weather circumstances, and totally irrational not to buy one locally, although when attacked by brain eating zombies, one typically doesn't think clearly.

I appreciate your update and fine customer service, and although I don't hope I have a need to buy more traps, if you do market a brain eating zombie trap, I'll be sure to get it from your fine company.

regards“

Pretty much everyone in customer service responded, and even thanked me for suggesting the brain eating zombie trap as a potential untapped resource for them.

To which I responded:

”I’m pretty sure you could make a zillion dollars with an effective brain eating zombie trap. You just never know when the zombie apocalypse will kick off, and frankly, even if it wasn't effective... I'm pretty sure you wouldn't get any complaint e-mails, as zombies can't type.“

At last check, my rat trap is in the vicinity and scheduled for delivery on Monday... I’ll let you know how it goes, but if you ever need any sort of pest control stuff... please visit Do My Own Pest Control

Fond Childhood Memory: The Bean Incident

2011-01-07T19:56:00.000-05:00

I'm soaking some beans tonight because tomorrow I plan on cooking them and a hunk of ham (with bone) in the crockpot for some tasty bean soup... which jogged this fond childhood memory of the bean incident.

So, I have no idea how old I am when this happened, but every Saturday my dad use to cook something incredibly tasty, and since it was a snowy, cold day, he decided to cook ham and beans.

I'm sure you are aware that when beans are in the package, they're pretty small, and you have to soak them overnight before you cook them... well, Dad did that, but the amount of beans in one package didn't seem like a whole lot, so he used like... 5 packages.

By morning they had swelled to mammoth proportions and we had to keep transferring them to bigger and bigger bowls and we ended up having to use one of those HUGE canning pots to hold them all. Mom was off somewhere most of the day, so we were all in charge of seasoning and watching the beans cooking to make sure they didn't double in size again and take over the kitchen.

Since we had so many beans, we figured we'd make a few phone calls and invite half the neighborhood over, because, seriously, who can eat a vat of beans?

Well, mom had some stomach issues and couldn't eat pepper. We did add some pepper to the beans, but just a normal amount, barely enough (in all of our opinions) to set off her stomach "condition", but when mom walked through the door later that night, the first thing she shrieked was that she could SMELL the pepper, and then went off on a tirade about her stomach condition and the pepper (mom was also going through the "change", which is yet another fond childhood memory I'll share later).

An argument ensued and just as the the neighborhood friends came into the front door, dad took the entire vat of ham and beans and threw it out the back door, much to the delight of Barney, our terrier-mix dog (the white dog on the left, the schnauzer is Baron... yet another fond childhood memory forthcoming).

I greeted the neighbors by saying "hey, glad you can make it... dad just threw the beans into the back yard". Being good friends, they laughed until they cried, because good friends don't think its bizarre for us to toss a vat of beans into the back yard.

What Barney couldn't eat that night, he buried in the snow and feasted on it for days, and as far as I know, he thought there was just enough pepper in it. We opened up some canned soup and drank heavily and had a good time.

For Sale

2011-01-02T10:36:00.000-05:00

Before I post this nationwide, I thought I'd throw it out there for anyone in my general audience to nab if they wanted it.

As you may have guessed, my dad was a bit of a mad scientist, and built all sorts of crazy things in his lifetime, but one of his passions was building a car from relative scratch... which he did. Now its cluttering up the garage and my mom would like to find it a new home.

I have all of the receipts for all of the parts on it, and it was also highlighted in a Hot Rod magazine. It was (when it was finished) street legal and registered with the Indiana DMV. Its been sitting since my father's death (2001) and I have no idea what condition its in right now.

Its located in Northern Indiana and the buyer will have to go get it, delivery is NOT included in the selling price. Right now we're asking Best Offer and if you are interested, please contact me at:
meeshka.nova@gmail.com
Subject line: Hot rod for sale

Fond Childhood Memory: Christmas

2010-12-24T14:03:00.000-05:00

Since we don't have kids and the dogs can't read calendars (they think every day they get a cookie is Christmas), its kinda hard to get into the Christmas spirit. I truly do think that Christmas and Disney World are for kids, and that Disney World as an adult is inhumane and should be outlawed, or they include "adult land" where its nothing but alcohol and strippers.

Anyhoo, I just happened to find some black and white pics of one of my childhood Christmas times, so I thought I'd share the wonder that was "A Very Robinson Christmas"... and yes, for those of you that know my first name is Penny, I was Penny Robinson and NO I wasn't named after the stupid "Lost In Space" family (although I had an Uncle Don and my father was Jon, I did not have a little brother or a freakin robot so STFU I was named after a dog!).

See, you keep trying to ruin Christmas for me, so just be quiet and enjoy "A Very Robinson Christmas" and no, we weren't a Swiss Family either OMG will you just be quiet and enjoy the stupid pictures!

Here is our tree:

Yes, it looks like quite the motherlode of gifts under the tree, but be advised, we got socks and clothes and to make things look bountiful, my parents use to wrap everything separate... so it was "ooooh, a sock", then "oooh the other sock".

The tree was snagged from one of the local tree sellers and decorated with about 5,000 lbs of ornaments, popcorn strings, and tinsel. We would invariable find popcorn and tinsel laden poo or cat puke around the house for weeks after, and there was always the lovely walking through the house and having your foot impaled with a brittle, splinter-like tree spike.

The "thing" in our house was that my mom would take my sister out "shopping". Then she would take me out "shopping". I can only vouch for my shopping, but it went something like this:
Mom - "Your sister would really like that doll"
Me - "euw, lets get her a GI Joe"
Mom - "no, I think we should get her THIS doll"
Me - "whatever"

Then, when we would unwrap our gifts, we would each get the same doll, and the same GI Joe... whatever one got, the other got. The mindset behind that insanity was that we would never fight over gifts, because we both got the same thing. We figured that out quickly, and just traded dolls for GI Joes and finger paints for guns, then we both had two of what we wanted.

The household tradition would be that on Christmas Eve Dad would trudge upstairs with Mom and read "Twas the Night Before Christmas" where we would both burst out laughing when the guy "threw up" the sash. Then we were told that we had to fall asleep or santa wouldn't come. Of course we were too keyed up to sleep and heard Santa downstairs rustling around and cursing in a voice that sounded like dad.

Around 3am we'd get up and creep downstairs and ask if it was too early, then run back upstairs when threatened with bodily harm and continue to ask each hour until finally they'd have enough and decide to get up. Then we had to wait for the coffee to brew and they each had their first cup before we started the whole opening gift process. We'd get each parent a gift, then get to open one, etc.

Here I am near the tree, and from the carnage it looks as though we are in mid-unwrapping. The lovely little pajama number was sewn by my mom, who ran out of the patterned material before she made the sleeves.

Yes, that is a cow skull hanging from a beam in the ceiling, and yes, that is the sun god Rah on the wall. Behind me is a rotary phone too.

Here is a bigger picture of the homemade pajama monstrosity. Please note: I have the exact same hairstyle now. Also note that the last time I was home, my mom still had the same Encyclopedia Brittanicas that we bought from some door to door salesperson dirt cheap because even by the time we bought them, they were incredibly outdated. I'm pretty sure there's an entry in them about the world being flat.

Here is my dysfunctional sister with her bounty. Love the saddle shoes (and yes, I got the same exact freaking things).

Every year one of us would get the "big" gift. Actually if it was for us kids, we'd each get the "big" gift, like bicycles or something. But this year it was mom that got the big gift... a new sewing machine. She cried over the sewing machine... seriously? We cried over the sewing machine too, because that meant that she could sew unmatching, one sleeve too long fashions for us for school. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the fact that my mom tried to put us into the latest fashion, but as with all home-made clothes, its just... not right and all of the kids KNOW its not store bought, especially when your mother can't match fabric colors to save her soul (a trait she passed on to me).

Later she would take up crocheting and I had quite a collection of mutant stuffed crocheted animals.

There you have a "Very Special Robinson Christmas".

Merry Christmas to everyone out there!

Stupid Sayings

2010-12-23T12:36:00.000-05:00

This morning, as I blew about 5lbs of crap out of my nose, I thought "great, I'm catching something".

Then I thought about how stupid that saying was. Typically when you "catch" something, its a conscious decision to grab and hold onto something that is thrown to you. While nobody bats an eye when you say: "I caught a cold", they would probably avoid you and label you a nutcase if you said "I caught a pile of poop".

Although germs can be "thrown" at you, typically by an inconsiderate co-worker that comes to work sick and then hacks and sneezes all over you in a meeting that you didn't want to attend in the first place, I'm pretty sure you have no choice in whether or not to "catch" those germs as they are sprayed on you at a rate of 40 mph. Its like trying to outrun a speeding car. So you should just say: "some inconsiderate bastard sprayed me with their cold and contaminated me." Of course, that's a really long sentence but if you just said "I have a cold" then people will label you a plague carrier and blame you for everything as if you spontaneously contaminated yourself with a cold virus.

So, I guess having a cold is all about blaming someone else for your illness, and that you couldn't possibly be sick for no reason, but that someone threw a cold at you, and like a dumbass, you caught it without thinking.

I'm going to start a new trend:

I was attacked by a ninja cold virus.

This Old Foreclosed House - WTF Edition

2010-12-23T11:58:00.000-05:00

In our last episode of This Old Foreclosed House, we discussed the joys of trees and the futile attempt of the bank to sell a house that was mold filled, had a whole dead tree cluttering up the front yard, and a mosquito-laden decrepit in-ground pool in the back yard. Yep, a true "fixer-upper".

Despite numerous phone calls to the bank about this eyesore, and damage to our property, This Old Foreclosed House sat around for another few months until... yes... movement once again!

This movement was signaled by the delivery of a huge dumpster late at night and parked in the driveway. A few days later, workmen arrived and loud banging was heard from inside the house, and pretty soon the dumpster was filling with the guts of the house. About a week later, the dumpster disappeared and we thought that excitement was over for at least another few months, but lo and behold, there was a major development on the dance floor.

We weren't exactly sure if the pulling back of the tarp was a wind-driven event, or done on purpose. We have had pretty high winds in the area, and since the tarp had been "secured" with bits of brick and other debris, it could have been nature's force, but apparently not because the next day, we started seeing this:

Yep, after all that work to clean the garbage out of the pool, then erect no less than three different covers for the pool (including the elaborate dance floor that succumbed to a bit of rain), workmen were, once again, using it as a giant dumpster and throwing the guts of the house in there. LOVELY!
I was about to get on the phone with my friend the County Health Inspector when this started happening:

Holy crap! They're ripping the whole back part of the house off! Of course, this is perfectly logical, you see the old couple that lived there had that edition added onto their house, and I'm pretty sure they had their third cousin from a fourth marriage who owed some guy a favor who knew a guy that once worked at a home improvement store and owned his own hammer do the work. I'm also pretty sure that right after the new edition was added, their basement flooding problems started because instead of putting up adequate gutters and downspouts, they saved money by ending a gutter in the middle of the new edition and snaking a garden hose from the gutter to the side of the house.

The only problem I have with this whole new work flow (being a logical and thoughtful person) is that it would make more sense (and make the job easier) to have a dumpster parked close by so you can throw the debris into the dumpster, rather than duplicating effort by ripping the place to shreds and THEN having to go pick up the debris... which leads me to believe that perhaps the intent is to fill up the pool with house debris, then covering it up again. Nobody is that stupid... yeah, right.

So, as the work progressed, and please note that the work crew consists of three guys, a hammer, a crow bar and a pack of cigarettes, we've now revealed the lovely platform and the tipsy deck. When they finished on Wednesday, here is what's left:

I haven't seen them back today, and because it is the eve before Christmas eve, they may be taking the day off. This means they won't be back until Monday (I hope they plan on coming back to at least finish the destruction) and we're suppose to either get a blizzard, or not... yeah... fun!

Perspective

2010-12-03T11:16:00.001-05:00

Recently on a news channel (which surprisingly had actual news on it) Lobsterman and I saw a report about vandals spray painting graffiti over ancient rock art.

Ok, so we're all suppose to be disgusted by this blatant disregard for history and wanton destruction of ancient pictographs... until Lobsterman put it into better perspective:

Prehistoric times:

Modern times:

Yep, its all perspective.

Shopping With Lobster Man

2010-11-28T15:20:00.000-05:00

Before Thanksgiving I had to run to the store and pick up a few things so we could survive 5 whole days without leaving the house. Nothing says holidays like stocking up on supplies and pretending the whole world has ended and your whole existence is the inside of your house... which is pretty much how we see the "holidays" between November and January.

Ok, so its not like the whole world has ended, its more like the whole world has lost its mind and in the spirit of giving and love, will shoot you for a parking spot at the mall.

I will spare you the usual whining and complaining of going to Costco, then Bed Bath & Beyond, and that's just what I was saying, you have no idea what Lobsterman was keening and screaming about, and frankly I won't put you through it.

Needless to say, the highlight of our trip was standing in line at BB&B with an arm full of k-cup boxes. BB&B always tries to sucker you into buying some strange item or another by filling their checkout counters with so much crap, that invariably you'll knock something over and be forced to buy it when it breaks. You barely have enough room to slap up that gargantuan comforter or pillows for scanning without buying half the "as seen on tv" crap they're trying to get rid of.

This time, I actually saw something that looked promising and pointed it out to Loberster Man:

"look, there's something you need! Its a Lotion Applicator Back Brush!"

Lobster Man is always complaining about having itchy dry back skin so I figured that would be the solution to all of his problems and one less thing to complain about.

He looked at it carefully and then said:
"But that's what you're for".

AWWWW! Nothing says love like realizing that I'm only around to slather lotion on his dry scaly back! He knows just the right things to say to win over a woman.

In my head:

The Comfort Zone, Explained

2010-11-19T17:05:00.000-05:00

I'm a Hoosier. I grew up thinking that the rest of the world operated with an arm's length comfort zone, and only hugged very close family members, and typically we only hugged at funerals, when someone was moving away, or to perform the Heimlich Maneuver. Even the Heimlich Maneuver required a lot of thought and imminent death before the comfort zone was breached for strangers.

Color me surprised when I went through Air Force basic training in Texas and found a whole new culture of people that hugged perfect strangers for no reason whatsoever, and thought nothing of standing mere inches away as they talked to you. The typical response was to take a step back, but they would take a step toward you, step back, step forward. Sometimes I would be trapped against a wall with no way to flee. At desperate times, I'd push out my arm and physically move them away from me, which always brought on the whole discussion of "comfort zone" and how silly it was and then some kind of hugging attempt and then violence.

Seriously, I'll just flail at you if you penetrate my comfort zone boundary. I can't help it. Its in the DNA, hard wired, no control whatsoever, so there have been incidences.

This whole blog post is to explain my recent Facebook status of: Dear Old Lady at the Grocery store: Get the F out of my way.

I like old ladies. I like old guys as well, especially because most old guys are WWII vets and deserve respect and an easy life... but I draw the line at old ladies who:
1.) toddle down the middle of a supermarket aisle, stop in the middle of the supermarket aisle, block the entire aisle while trying to figure out what brand of bread crumbs to pick up.
2.) wander right in front of you, stop suddenly, back up without looking, then sneer at you because you are in their way
3.) Stop in the middle of the beginning of an aisle and won't let anyone pass until they figure out if that's the aisle they need to go down, then walk slowly in front of you
and the most important one:
4.) appear suddenly behind you without any warning (or waft of too much perfume) and are so close you could share a jacket.... then follow closely behind you as if any moment she would jump on your back for a ride down the aisle.

No matter where I fled, no matter which aisle I turned down, that old lady was riding my ass every step of the way. It was like being stalked by... an old lady. I managed to lose her in the canned vegetable aisle and didn't see her for the rest of my visit, but I'll be damned if she didn't toddle out of the store, walk slowly behind my truck, left her cart behind my truck as she freaking parked right next to me and sloooooowly took each bag out of the cart and carried it over to her trunk.

So... I'm sure that justifies my Facebook status, and I do think that I should get some credit for not posting the follow up:

Dear Old Lady in the parking lot of the grocery store: sorry about running you over.

My Work Day Exercise Plan

2010-11-15T19:37:00.000-05:00

Some people have asked how I manage to keep my stick-like figure all these years.

Simple, I go to work where my exercise routine consists of:

1. Crawling out from under the bus that somebody throws me under, and

2. Dodging bullets

That's just a typical Monday.

At the Airport

2010-10-16T10:45:00.000-04:00

Last night I was at the airport waiting to pick up Lobsterman.

I'm standing at Gate C.

A guy walks up to me and says "Do you know what gate this is?"

I say "C"

He says "Oh my gosh, do you speak english?"

It was then that I realized I was in a Jack Benny skit

Another Threat to Mankind

2010-10-14T19:12:00.001-04:00

Just when I thought it was bad enough that I had to fight my way through roving gangs of feral Girl Scouts hawking their crack-laced cookies at supermarkets.

There came a knock on my door... a tiny little Boy Scout, looking very optimistic and eager... until I opened the door. For some reason he took a few steps back and looked toward the street (where I'm sure his enforcer mom was waiting in a idling car, ready to flee the scene if trouble ensued... or mace me). Sensing his fear, I tried to put on my nicest "kid" voice, which sounds similar to my "give me the dead squirrel" voice I use on the dogs (typically neither get the desired effect).

"Can I help you?"

The little kid (who was clearly puntable in case he came at me with his clipboard) asked if I wanted to buy a tin of popcorn... for TEN DOLLARS.

Ok, I was thinking those gargantuan-sized Costco tins that can fit one or two little boy scouts, so I figured, what the hey and marked myself down for one... then clearly by the look of utter expectation, I surmised that he needed the money up front, then I would have to wait months for the carmelly goodness, no doubt mass produced by children his age in some foreign country sweat shop. FINE, I go get my wallet and discover I only have a freakin 20. Guessing that the future Bill Gates of carmel corn doesn't have change, I decide to be all nice and put myself down for two of the stupid buckets of popcorn. He grabbed the money and ran.

It was only after I got back inside that I realized that I was in full "weekend mode"

Corrupting Boy Scouts, one scout at a time with my stylish Meeshka Justice system t-shirt (available on cafe press), and insane hair.

A few days go by and there's another tap on the door... its the scout, out of uniform, holding two of the tiniest little tins of carmel corn I had ever seen. We're talking TINY, itty bitty. Not nearly $20 bucks worth of anything in those tins... not even GOLD and we all know how much that is now. He literally throws the tins at me (even though I'm wearing normal public clothes because I just got home from work).

The next day I take one of the ridiculously tiny tins to work to snack on. Just as I suspected, its loaded with crack, and now I'm cruising the neighborhood looking for the little brat with my entire life's savings for another fix.

Bored

2010-10-11T18:25:00.000-04:00

Lobsterman is taking another trip, so I'm left at home catching up on episodes of "Hoarders" with a large supply of contractor bags... what to do, what to do?

This weekend was actually boring. Normally I've got a huge list of things I need to do (that hardly ever get done), and the compelling need to do things, but this weekend I lost all will to do anything, so I did nothing... and you know... that can get contagious.

Oh sure, I did THINGS. I had a dermatologist appointment to inspect my skin. Being a redhead prior to the invention of SPF anything, chances of my fair, easily cooked skin to generate all sorts of nasty big "C" things is pretty astronomical, and since I had something pre-nasty frozen off my nose (oh how I wish I had one of those freezy container things... that fun I could have at work), the doctor felt it necessary to inspect every epi of my derm... is.

Never having gone through one of them, I could only imagine that you stood on a giant lazy susan and spun around while the doctor peered at your through a gigantic magnifying glass. Apparently not, although that would have been faster than the guy trying to peer meekly at skin around the crinkly paper gown from hell. Please someone explain to me why paper gowns are large enough to fit 4 of me, but the little plastic tie wrap thing barely goes all the way around to tie?

Also, for those of you that go have the derm inspection: wear a bra... even if you are a guy. You can keep your bra and underwear on (they encourage it) therefore I've noodled it through and have come to the conclusion that bras and underwear keep you from developing skin cancer in those areas because if you can keep them on, then they aren't going to look under there, therefore there's no reason to look under there, therefore bra and underwear material must ward off the big "C". Where's my Nobel Peace Prize?

As I write this, Lobsterman is texting me pictures of his lobster and prime rib meal that he claims he was forced to eat because Dallas only has lobster and prime rib places... apparently no McDonalds or anything cheaper... how odd...

Which reminds me of the wonderful box I got via Fedex on Friday... Lobersterman's dirty clothes from his last trip. In case you are wondering, its cheaper to Fedex your clothes to your trip destination than pay the baggage fees the airlines charge you, plus Fedex usually doesn't steal your possessions and try on your underwear and take pictures of it and post it on facebook... not that this has happened... that I'm aware of, but...

Anyhoo, Saturday was spent making stew. Ok, I threw a bunch of stuff in a crock pot, plugge it in and turned it on (which can be challenging... completing all steps in the proper order) and then sat on my ass all day watching tv.

Sunday I washed all of Lobersterman's dirty clothes and threw them into another suitcase, which leads me to my next topic: Denny's: the Activia Alternative.

I'll save that for another blog post, as I'm sure that's another Nobel Peace Prize in the making and I don't want to seem selfish getting two awards in one day... and now Lobsterman is telling me that I need to just go eat at this place he's at and order a Venti Au Jus... lovely. I'd better go up and eat my peanut butter sandwich before that's spoiled by all of the Au Jus drool.

I was going to write about how boring it is here without Lobsterman, but now all I want is a cup of Au Jus.

The Most Amazing Pots and Pans!!!!

2010-10-06T19:52:00.000-04:00

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night for some reason or another (I'm sure it had nothing to do with a Siberian Husky butt in my face), and saw an infomercial for the MOST AMAZING PAN IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD HOLY GAH!!!

Even though the sound was off, I could see that the "hosts" of this "show" really, truly love these pans and felt that the entire world needed to buy them (for the low, low price they never revealed while I was watching) because of the following wonderful and amazing things:

Other pans gave off a toxic smoke that will kill you and the ENTIRE WORLD!!!
The EPA says that it doesn't contain something bad that will kill you AND THE ENTIRE WORLD (it could have been CO2, I don't know, as the sound was off, and I was exhaling)
The FDA says that using these pans will make you healthier and unhealthy people WILL KILL YOU AND THE ENTIRE WORLD
It was a very strong pan... at least that's what I'm guessing when they beat it into the shape of a fortune cookie... I really have no idea why they did that.
Because nothing sticks to the pan (not even burnt plastic) it was much healthier for you because 1 tiny bit of oil contains 500 GAZILLION POUNDS OF FAT and will ... yeah, yeah, kill everything
You will absolutely lose a gazillion pounds of fat because you aren't cooking with the gazillion pounds of fat and they showed a before and after picture of some woman who I totally thought looked exactly the same, except maybe a little sadder because her food tasted like bland shit. But at least she wasn't KILLING HERSELF AND THE ENTIRE WORLD!

So, everyone needs to buy these wonderful "green" green pans because if you don't, you're a total butthead that wants the world to die.

Unfortunately, there's one thing these pans won't do for you...

spell check your commercial

What is wrong with our country?

2010-09-17T09:18:00.000-04:00

If you dress like this:

You are labeled a crazy, nutcase, loon, teabagging nazi.

If you dress like this:

You are a visionary, saint, humanitarian, creative, good person.

Yep, that's what is wrong with our country, when we idolize rich pop stars and mock and shun our history.

Where Was I?

2010-09-11T16:51:00.000-04:00

I was at work, less than a mile from the Baltimore/Washington International (BWI) airport.

I was on chat with Icky, who wrote "A plane just flew into the World Trade Center".

I typed back: "LOL" I thought she was joking. How can a plan hit a building that big?

I turned on my radio and found WTOP and listened with horror as a second plane hit, then reports came from the Pentagon, and there were rumors that a car bomb exploded at the State Department, then Shanksville.

I called my husband, who was on vacation with his parents, who were staying with us and were scheduled to fly home that afternoon. "Turn on the tv!" He told me they were watching a movie. "Turn on the news right now!" He did and we hung up.

Co-workers ran into my office crying, their loved ones at the Pentagon, or at day care in DC, or family in New York. They didn't know what to do. I told them the obvious; go to them. A co-worker came in and sat down and wanted to discuss some work. I looked at her and said "Are you serious? What with everything going on now?" She looked up and said "I don't know anyone in those places, I guess it just doesn't affect me." I told her to leave, because I was leaving, going home to my family, and I pitied her for not having a soul.

As I walked out through the lobby, the television someone had set up with a coat hanger for antenna, showed the 2nd tower falling. I wasn't even aware that people had jumped until I got home and my husband told me. The airport was quiet, the police guarding a government facility on my way home didn't seem to care that I sped by the facility quickly... I just didn't want to be near it... in case.

That night, the familiar glow of BWI was gone, replaced by darkness and silence. For once we could see the millions of stars usually blotted out by the airport's lighting. We felt so vulnerable.

We both lost several co-workers in the attack, none were close, but it didn't matter. It turned out that we lost more people through friends, and friends of friends, and friends of family. We ran out of condolence cards and went to the local drugstore for more... but they were sold out. It took us several stores to find more.

Never forget.

BRILLIANT!

2010-09-10T17:56:00.000-04:00

The other night I was laying in bed with my container of ice cream watching the First 48 (Raspberry chocolate chunk goes best with homicides) and there was the most brilliant commercial in the world! Usually I fast forward through commercials, but after catching this one, I may actually start watching live tv again, because I would have so totally missed this most brilliant and absolutely commercial for Tresemme Fresh Start!!!!!

Oh yeah, the dry shampoo for those times when you wake up really late and don't have time for a shower and need to get to work fast and not reek from dog ass (because I know I'm not the only one that has a Siberian Husky that insists on sleeping with his head on your nightstand with his butt rubbing in your hair all night... nope, I'm sure everyone has that issue)

I mean, this product is pure genius! It claims not only to get rid of the funk smell of dirty hair, but also make it look JUST LIKE you got up, washed it and styled it! Seriously, I may not ever bathe again! Why should I? Some baby wipes and this stuff, who needs to ever step in a shower again?

Er, then I looked at the price. A bit steep for laziness sake. Hmmm, it would be convenient if it did what it said. I could save so much time and energy with this stuff. Then I remembered seeing something like it at the pet store when Sam had his surgery. We couldn't bathe him if he messed on himself, but they had this really cool waterless shampoo stuff like this:

Look, its even "Pet Head" so its made by the same people that do that "Bed Head" stuff for humans! It even smells like (seriously) BLUEBERRY MUFFINS!!! Well, that was the clincher for me. Not only would I never have to bathe again, but my hair would be all stylish, clean, and smell like blueberry muffins.

Since I had to buy tooth cookies for the dogs, I cruised through the dog shampoo section and nabbed a bottle of it. I have no idea why I was trying to be all sneaky about it. Its not like I had a sign on my forehead that said "I'm actually going to use this on myself and not my dogs". Its not like anyone would know. I mean I was also buying dog cookies, but then I figured that if someone where to buy this for their own use, wouldn't they also buy dog cookies to further the lie? Of course they would, so I also bought a 40 lb bag of dog food because nobody in their right mind would buy a 40lb bag of dog food just so they would look convincing about buying waterless shampoo stuff for their own hair. Then again, someone with three dogs buying half the store just so she wouldn't look suspiciously like she was planning to use waterless dog shampoo probably isn't in their right mind either, but hey, I still can't get Xanax, therefore I'm totally normal... right? Plus, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be the first one to try a dog product on themself... shut up! Besides, I'm pretty sure the entire store staff would be on to me when I walked in next time reeking of blueberry muffin.

So, I'm here to say that the waterless dog shampoo is JUST as good as the human version, and a lot cheaper in the long run. I do have to say that it totally brings out a new sheen to my hair as well.

Extreme Napping: The Handbook

2010-09-09T09:56:00.000-04:00

It has come to my attention (and lack of google results) that there doesn't seem to be a handbook on Extreme Napping.

Quickly growing into one of the biggest sports out there, Extreme Nappers all over the U.S. are practicing and hope to travel to London to participate in the 2012 Olympics if their sport is considered for inclusion. Lobbyists feel that the Extreme Napping event would best be a winter sport, and held in conjunction with Curling, as most viewers of a sport that includes a broom and big stone thing are familiar with napping.

Not for the amateur, Extreme Napping takes years of conditioning, preparation, and plenty of free time, something a lot of Americans have in this troubled economy, therefore coaches feel that the U.S. will most probably win all three medals, although Greece is said to have a very strong team as well.

Extreme Napping isn't just napping. It takes practice, skill, and a lot of preparation in order to perform it well, and avoid injury.

Stretching

Participants need to make sure that their limbs are limber to avoid injury and interruption of napping. By staying limber, you will be able to assume the sleep position for long periods of time, and keep your muscles from atrophy or cramping, which is a big issue with Extreme Napping. One of the disqualifiers in competition is getting out of bed, so its vital to ensure that muscles are stretched when: shifting positions, turning over, and plumping the pillow. Extra points are given during competition for fluid movements from one position to the next, so transitional stretching must be natural and lead to the next nap position.

Cramping

As mentioned earlier, getting out of bed means points are taken off your score, and you may also be disqualified, especially if getting out of bed is for anything other than going to the bathroom. Some hard core nappers even use depends to allow for more bed time and extra points. If a cramp occurs, make sure you take care of it in the bed, and not by leaping out of bed and standing on the offending foot or massaging the calf. Water intake needs to be carefully monitored, as it is essential for avoiding cramps, but too many bathroom runs will mean demerits on your point score.

Free Style

Unlike Professional Cat Napping, another potential Olympic sport, Extreme Napping does include a Free Style sub-category, but instead of lolling off and getting a 15 minute nap, the Extreme Napper will spend hours in the contorted position. Drool amounts are much more advanced, and there is no head bobbing while nodding off. The Extreme Napper will assume their position and fall asleep without lolling, jerking, or bobbing, which is a common point earner for Cat Napping. Cat Nappers are known to suffer from more injuries for their sport, to include; broken noses, imprints of keyboards on their foreheads, and broken arms from falling out of chairs.

Another difference between Cat Napping, and Extreme Napping is the amount of time: Cat Napping is considered a "sprint" while Extreme Napping is a "marathon" Typical Cat Nappers are unable to go back to sleep after their session, whereas Extreme Nappers can drink a cup of coffee during one of their waking periods, and then go right back to sleep. People who suffer from narcolepsy are typically disqualified in professional Cat Napping competitions because they have an unfair advantage.

Regardless of what sport you train for, remember: stretching, water intake, and cramp preparedness will help you train for that professional career in napping.

This Old Foreclosed House - Tree Edition

2010-09-06T17:03:00.000-04:00

In this episode, we'll show you the wonderful front yard of this lovely little "fixer upper" next to us. While the back yard now has a quaint little tarp covered dance floor over the partially mud filled mosquito lair, it also sports this lovely maple tree invading the back porch. In the front yard, bordering our house, there's a MUCH larger maple tree that seemed pretty sturdy throughout its life, except for a time or two where it would deposit a big branch into the neighboring yard. Our neighbors, being inventive people, would drag the huge branch into our yard... like we wouldn't notice, and expected us to take care of it. Um, its your tree. Initially I just dealt with it, but toward the end of our neighborly relationship, the branch would miraculously appear in their driveway when they came home from work (or wherever they went during the day).

So, it came as some surprise during a storm when I happened to hear a really loud noise coming from out front. It wasn't THAT bad of a storm, but apparently there were some pretty strong wind gusts, and... tree in their yard... and blocking the entire street. GREAT! Of course, in a normal situation the owners of said tree would do something about it, but as there are no owners of said tree, that left me to call the county street department and report it. A few hours later, when there was no sign of the county street department, and I would have to lay in bed and listen to people run into the tree, my neighbors and I revved up the chainsaws and hacked off the parts sticking in the street and dragged the remains into the foreclosed home's yard.

Pretty, ain't it? That's after a few days, of course, but still impressive. The next day I called the bank and told them they had a lovely surprise on the front lawn of their house, and by the way, the tree took out some of my property too. To their credit, they were out the next day... to take pictures of it, then they left. Helpful.

It took a full month for someone to do something about it. I expected a decent tree service would come out and get rid of the tree properly, fix the fence it uprooted and my property damage while they were at it. You know, a bunch of workers that knew about trees and could get the root of the tree out without damaging the fiber optic cable that's buried RIGHT UNDER the tree. So here is what they did initially:
Yep, they cleared a tiny little spot in the front yard to plop down a "for sale" sign. WOW! Its amazing just how well that sign hid all of the branches. You can barely notice them, and what person in their right mind would pass up a house with a freakin dead tree in the front yard?

You'll note that I blocked out the phone numbers and name of the realtor because I know my audience... they'll be dialing the phone and listening to the handy recording, but one thing that I didn't realize when I was listening to how much they were trying to sell this craptastic house (thus making our house barely tread water) is that they KNOW what phone you called from, and like me, you will get a realtor calling you back almost the moment you hang up the phone, slathering about the fact that SOMEONE called and may be interested in the potential crack den from hell.

"Hi, did you just call the number for XXXX street name? Are you interested in the property?"

Whoa there frantic realtor, I'm the neighbor, and although I'd love to buy the lot just to bulldoze the crappy house into the crappy pool and build a huge garage, I'm just curious to know how much damage you're causing my neighborhood by dumping this craphole for any amount you can get.

I'm pretty sure I heard the realtor's spirit break over the phone. "Oh, well, if you know anyone..."

Holy crap dude, do you think I'd actually tell someone I knew to move into that mold-fest with built in West Nile virus incubator? Tell ya what though, I'll keep bugging the bank about the dead tree, the damage to my property, and the health hazard that thing is, and I'll even try to refrain myself from screaming "FOR THE LOVE OF GAWD RUN, RUN AWAY FROM THAT MONEY PIT" whenever you bring someone to look at it.

The next day I got another call from the other realtor's associate asking if I was interested in the house (see above), and the next day called the bank again to complain about my damaged property. Apparently the first person I spoke to neglected to tell me that I had to "file a claim" so I asked to "file a claim" and the woman told me that someone would promptly contact me... I'm still waiting.

A few days later, I came home to find some guy in a ratty pickup truck piling it full of branches. By the time I came home from work, I found this:

I'm guessing that guy with pickup truck wasn't too sure how to handle the very expensive fiber optic cables entwined in the tree's roots and just below the surface (don't blame him), so here it sits while people come and look at the house... and there have been people coming to look at the house.

It takes every fiber of my being to not scream at them from our deck "HEY! Take a look under that fancy tarp covered dance floor" or as they walk into the house "Where's your OSHA approved respirators for all of that black mold?" If the bank doesn't fix my property, I'll be sure to add: "... and if you buy it, you have to fix my property too!"

Grocery Shopping with Lobsterman

2010-09-04T20:02:00.000-04:00

As usual, after Lobsterman goes on his vroomy ride, we meet at Starbucks and chat with each other via Facebook.

I told him that he was all out of lemonade drink so we needed to go to the grocery store for more. He HATES the grocery store, but since I claimed that I didn't know which exact special brand of lemonade drink he liked, he begrudgingly agreed to follow me to make sure I got the right stuff. Its a hard name to remember:

I mean seriously, how can he expect me to remember THAT!

We walk in, and he immediately realizes that it isn't the store across town where he knows EXACTLY where the stuff is, this store is different. He's thrown off by the juice section that is "natural" juices, and claims that "Simply Lemonade" is simply lemonade, so it should be in the "natural" juice section because how much more natural can something called "simply lemonade" be?

Apparently its not "natural" enough for the natural food section (although Starbucks mocha frappucino is there, and THAT'S hardly natural), so we begin to wander toward the back dairy section where the other unnatural juices are kept.

I spy the new apple/cinnamon Cheerios, which sounded uber tasty right then. I wondered (aloud) whether they would have the same razor sharp knobs on them like Apple Jacks. I LOVE Apple Jacks, but they somehow bind cinnamon-apple shards of glass on them that rip your mouth to shreds. Very tasty until your mouth fills with blood and that's all you can taste. Lobsterman ignores my Apple Jacks rant, as usual and we get to the juice section and find his tasty beverage. I tell him to get two (because I'm NOT going back to the store for more this week), then announce that we must walk all the way back to the other side of the store because now I must have the apple/cinnamon Cheerios or else I shall die... but manage to grab a dozen eggs along the Bataan death march for Cheerios.

"OHMYGAWD, don't get eggs, they're dangerous!" Lobersterman tells me. "They've killed people."

"You make it sound like people are asleep in their homes and eggs come out of the fridge and stab them." Since Lobsterman is going on a long vroomy ride during the week, I have major plans for a gigantic gooey egg salad sandwich for dinner, which will involve hosing myself off afterward. As Lobsterman can't stand the smell of egg salad, its my only opportunity to indulge in some messy comfort food. I'll wash it all down with some apple/cinnamon Cheerios for dessert.

"I can't believe you're getting killer eggs"

"These are pasturized!" I inform him

"Oh, even worse, they're free-range killer eggs, and you're buying cereal, which means they're free-range cereal killer eggs!"

"I seriously have no idea why I keep bringing you to the store" I grab the Cheerios and head for the check-out line to see if there's a new grotesque picture of the dying Mouseketeer Annette... I'm not disappointed. I also know he says these things hoping that I will stop bringing him to the store... I'm not stupid.

This Old Foreclosed House - Home Improvement Addition

2010-08-29T19:11:00.000-04:00

In our last installment of "This Old Foreclosed House", we saw just how much fun it is living right next door to the world's largest mosquito breeding ground (aka: partially filled in with crap in ground swimming pool).

After complaints to the Health Department (too numerous to count) about the swarms of (probably) disease carrying mosquitoes attacking us from the ghastly quicksand of muck and stagnant water next door, the bank sent someone over jiffy quick (if jiffy means months and months, and quick means a year) to take care of the problem... by covering it with a tarp. Seriously. Stop laughing.

See, I told you they covered it with a tarp. You thought I was totally joking. Can't you see just how much better that looks by having a tarp thrown over the gaping hole filled with muck and garbage! I'm pretty sure my house price leaped up by several thousand dollars just by stretching the tarp over it!

Of course, what the tarp people didn't take into account was that when you stretch a tarp over a hole, and loosely secure it with various and sundry semi heavy piece of readily available debris... when you get a storm with any sort of breeze and rain, you get this:

Which made my house price plummet once again. A few weeks later, some different work people showed up and at this point I thought they had learned their lesson and were going to fill it up or whatever you do with craptastic in ground swimming pools, but no... they would not let the tarp idea go, and instead of fixing the problem:

They built a new house over the pool. Ok, they didn't, but I thought they were, what with the extensive platform they built, the three days they put into building the extensive platform, and then the heavy gauge wiring they nailed to the platform (seriously, for a while there I thought they had relocated the Ground Zero Mosque), but then... they dutifully stretched and secured the tarp. So there we have it. A back yard that any new homeowner would want:

Its almost good enough for a dance party!

If you'd like to blow up the picture a bit bigger, you can see that on the pickup truck parked in the other neighbor's yard (the one that use to have the chickens, but now only has some man and woman who scream and curse at each other nightly, while slamming doors and threatening to kill each other) they've put a computer and monitor. I guess they are really into mobile computing.

In our next episode of "This Old Foreclosed House" we'll show you the "for sale" sign up in the front yard... in the small path of fallen tree that someone cleared so they would have room to put up a "for sale" sign.

The Zombies Got Me

2010-08-27T18:22:00.002-04:00

My employer has an emergency contact site. You log in and add your emergency contact information and if something drastic happens, they can contact you (I have no idea what they expect me to do, other than cower and hide until the emergency is over, cuz I'm so NOT going into work during an emergency... of any sort).

Once a quarter, they send out reminders for you to update your emergency contact information. Typically I don't change any of my numbers, so its been quite a while since I've had to log in, but I did get a google voice number and I figured I'd add that in there instead of the 40 other phone numbers. I'm being nice, saving them some time and money by just calling one number to ring the 40 phone numbers I could possibly be at. Besides, if there is an emergency like my work place getting shut down, I want to be notified of that as quickly as humanly possible so I can go back to bed.

So, following the quarterly reminder instructions, I tried to log into the site... except I had no idea what my username or password were. I took a few guesses, but didn't get in, so I opted to answer the "forgot your password question", except it wasn't an answer they wanted, they wanted me to type in the question for the answer I had provided. Holy crap, seriously? I had no clue. So I clicked the button for "need password reset" and it opened up my mail program, where I guessed I needed to ask someone to reset my password. So I did... like this:

Subject: No clue
Body: I have absolutely no idea what my username and password are, and no clue what question goes with my answer. I'm a bit disturbed that a site that is for the express purpose of contacting me in case of emergency and guiding me through emergency steps is so hard to access. The contact information on this site can easily be found doing a Google search on my name, and not only will it reveal every phone number I've ever had, every address I've ever lived, but will also allow you to zoom so close to an actual satellite photo of my home that you can see me walking out to my mailbox in sleepy pants and robe picking my nose.

I highly doubt that during an emergency I'll have the wherewithal or the time to send an e-mail to someone asking them to reset my password. During the time I wait for someone to get back from lunch or a long meeting to reset it, an alert could have been sent out telling me that brain eating zombies are roaming the streets near my building and I need to hide in a closet or at least lock my office door. I won't have received this notice, and therefore, be the first victim of their nefarious brain eating deeds.

Isn't there a better way, and oh yeah, please reset my password.

Regards,

Four hours later I (and about 14 other morons) received an e-mail stating our passwords were reset and we were free to access the site, after changing our passwords and security question.

I sent back the following response:

Subject: Out of Office Reply
Body: If you have received this message, then the brain eating zombies have broken through my office door and eaten my brain as I was unable to update my emergency contact information.

There was no response, which leads me to believe that I work for people with absolutely no sense of humor.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

SHUT UP!

2010-08-22T16:43:00.000-04:00

Ok, so how many new lightbulbs do you put into a light before you decide that the switch is messed up and you'll need an electrician to fix it? (and before all of you "do it yourselfers" leap in and tell me how easy it is, you do realize that I managed to zap myself on the head with a bug zapper, right? Also, I want someone I can sue if my house burns down, I don't want to end up in some stupid youtube video of idiots who burn their own houses down, thank you).

Ok, so about a year ago, I flipped the light switch to the back room where the washer and dryer was and the light blew out. FINE, get a new bulb and replace it, switch.... nothing. CRAP! Get another bulb, screw it in, switch... NOTHING. SONOFA... FINE!

I go tell Lobsterman, who immediately says "well, just put a new bulb in". This started a 15 minute rant about just how stupid do you think I am of course I already put TWO bulbs in, so any moron can see that its the stupid light switch and now I'll have to call an electrician and blah, blah, seriously, really, I mean am I that stupid, good gawd!

Today the other back room light blew. We didn't have bulbs, so I thought... well, there's a perfectly new stupid lightbulb in the socket where the switch is bad, I'll just use that.

I'll pause a minute while you realize that THE FREAKIN BULB DIDN'T WORK!!!

Yep, for a whole freakin year it was the lightbulbs. Went out to buy new ones (note to self: never go to Target the day before school starts), walked into Target, then straight back out of Target because people were fighting over notepads. Went to the grocery store (because I was out of ice cream anyway) and apparently Armageddon or a major snow storm was approaching, as there were no less than 500 people standing in line while my ice cream melted.

Got home, and sure enough... stupid light works back there. I should be happy... but there's this distant nagging voice in the back of my head that a lightbulb made me look really stupid.

So, the lesson here is to try at least 400 lightbulbs before you call an electrician. On the bright side, at least I didn't call an electrician who would have said "duh, all you have to do is put in a new lightbulb" at which point I'd be in jail for shoving the electrician's body in the sump pump hole.

You've Got To Be Kidding Me!

2010-08-21T16:16:00.000-04:00

Warning: this post will probably contain TMI, will contain discussions of bodily functions, and will mock a product.

I want to thank my friend (as usual, I won’t mention her name, but will give her the usual alias) Leather for sending me this link. It was actually a topic that I had been meaning to blog about for some time, but the abject stupidity of this product caused me to immediately rush to my computer (by way of the coffee pot, then I grabbed some miniature chocolate bars out of the freezer, got distracted by the laundry that had been sitting in the dryer for at least a day, then remembered what I was so irate about) to blog about this very topic:

Pooping

We all do it. We all know that sometimes it involves a bit of noise and most likely a bit of stink (despite some people’s insistence that theirs don’t), but this is why toilets are in their own little rooms, with their own little stalls for privacy and anonymity, and why toilets aren’t right in your office or in an open hallway.

Bathrooms were invented to allow people the ability to go stink and make noise with minimum disruption to the general workplace. NOBODY should be embarrassed to do whatever it is they do in a bathroom even if their shoes are recognizable under the stall door. That’s what a bathroom is for! Frankly when I walk into a bathroom and hear all manner of commotion and stink, I’m thankful that the person doing it isn’t in my freakin office doing it!

But apparently bathrooms are now places of shame for doing what comes naturally, or so some company thinks or wants you to believe because they’ve come out with a product called “Eco-Otome Toilet Sound Blocker”. Go read the stupid write up.

Now, if you read that and thought “Holy Crap! (no pun intended) that’s a fantastic idea and I need about 4 of them”, then I want you to leave this blog, delete the link, stop following me, and don’t even think about leaving a comment telling me how wrong I am about this product before you leave.

Let’s break down this whole ad (as seen on CNN... why doesn’t THAT surprise me):

“You are sitting on the toilet and know that people right outside can hear your every noise”. DUH! Most bathrooms are made of tile and metal, which not only allows people right outside to hear your every noise, but also manages to create a gigantic amplifying affect. Its that way because its easier to spray off all sorts of nasty muck from tile and metal than sound proofing material. Would you rather have a crap covered sound-proof toilet or a clean one?

“Small and clipping easily to your mobile phone...” I will ignore the poor english and shoot straight to... you’re embarrassed to have someone hear you fart and drop some kids off at the pool, but you’ll bring your cell phone into the toilet with you and chat with your friends while you take a dump?

“... makes the noise of a toilet flushing to hide the other noises you might be making.” Oh, so you don’t want people to hear you fart and splash, but you’d rather have them think that you are crapping so much that you must constantly flush the toilet to keep up with the mass of spew? Frankly I’m a bit leery of people who flush while still sitting because seriously... what is so foul going on that you feel compelled to flush while you’re still doing your business? Its a toilet, not a bidet.

“... white has a green slogan - after all, this little device means you won’t have to flush for real and thus saves water.” OH NO YOU DON’T! Don’t you even think about using a public toilet and not flushing when you’re done for me to find when I have to go! I walk into that nasty stall and find that, I’m turning right around and beating you with the decorative soap dispenser or whatever happens to be handy (most likely fake, dust covered plastic flowers).

So, frankly, about the only use I can see for this is for when you’re in a boring meeting, or maybe walking into the office kitchen, hitting the button, then walking out buckling up your pants.

This Old Foreclosed House - The History

2010-08-20T10:00:00.000-04:00

As I may have complained bitterly and sarcastically in earlier blogs, we live next door to a foreclosed house.

I'm not going to get into the whole socioeconomic reasoning behind why someone would foreclose, or whose fault it was, or all of that stuff (if you'd like to take the easy way out: blame Bush), but in the case of our neighbors... I have no idea. We're the "quiet people who keep to themselves" type who have yet to appear in a major news flash broadcast about some unspeakable horror (as all "quiet people who keep to themselves" are portrayed by the media), so I don't know what kind of woe or misfortune they had that caused them to foreclose... I just know that there were signs it was coming.

Now, before I get into the signs, you are probably thinking "gee, why didn't you reach out to help them if you saw signs, why didn't you offer your support and help to them?" Well, my, aren't we judgmental and all pompous, like you would do that, and you know you wouldn't, but to be fair, when they initially moved in, we did the neighborly thing and was all nice and offered to loan them lawn care tools and all that... and they were buttheads. So, screw em.

Now, on to the signs. They had a great pool. The old lady that lived there took such good care of that pool that it was beautiful, always clean. The lawn was well taken care of, and because of that, we overlooked the fact that her fat poodle would waddle into our front yard and take a crap. Plus she grew tomatoes and always gave us some, so it was a give and take neighbor-relationship.

When the new people moved in, they initially took ok care of the house, but you could tell the pool wasn't a major deal to them and slowly but surely, it went to hell after a few years. At one point they brought in dump trucks full of cheap fill dirt and seemed to try to fill it in... until the fill dirt company realized why they needed the fill dirt, and that just filling in an in ground swimming pool was illegal in the county and refused to bring more fill dirt. With a crappy in ground swimming pool now only 1/3 filled, they covered it with a tarp to hide the dirt... then proceeded to throw stuff they didn't want into the pool.

Then they stopped mowing and cutting back trees and bushes, which encroached into our yard. It was at that point that I told Lobsterman that they were foreclosing. He didn't think so, I did.

Then the POD appeared in the driveway and I told Lobersterman that they were foreclosing. He thought that maybe they were doing some major renovations that required them to remove bits and pieces of their belonging a little at a time on the weekends. The POD stayed for a year and then they stopped coming by every weekend to get stuff, only showing up randomly. Lobsterman said that they weren't foreclosing because they left all of the windows up in the house... I laughed, especially when I saw them dragging out parts of the house that should be considered permanent... like copper plumbing.

Through blizzards, torrential downpours, heat, cold, and in between, the windows stayed up, finally the electricity got cut (because their motion sensor light wouldn't come on as the feral cats hunted in their back yard), and finally after two years, a sign appeared on the door and padlocks were put on all the doors... foreclosed.

In the next installment of "This Old Foreclosed House", we'll explain the joys of living next to a potential crack den.

Morons In The News

2010-08-11T20:09:00.001-04:00

I have to say that I'm totally disgusted by all of the attention being given to morons in the news lately. I'm sure you've all heard the story of the disgruntled male stewardess (I'm sick of being politically correct... as if I ever was politically correct, and will refer to them as stewardesses if I want and all of you have to respect my diversity) who threw a huge hissy because someone got up before the plane came to a complete stop (like that NEVER happens).

Instead of DOING HIS JOB, he felt he had enough and proceeded to curse out this person on the intercom thing for the entire plane-load of people to hear (men, women, and children), then steal two beers, open up a door and slide down the emergency slide. For this 3-year old temper tantrum, the media and a lot of people are calling him a hero. I even heard a news source say that he's just as much of a hero as Captain Sullenberger. Seriously? SERIOUSLY???

I'm guessing that his little tirade caused a plane full of people to think that perhaps a crazy person was about to kill them. Nothing like being locked and trapped in a large metal tube with a bunch of people while someone screams at you. I'm also pretty sure that the airline didn't just roll up that emergency slide and shove it back into the door. Pretty sure that costs some dough, like the gazillion dollar air bags in cars. Then the plane full of people had to deal with the delay when the cops were called, and their statements taken, and evidence collected, and all they wanted to do was get home or enjoy the start of their vacation... ruined by a moron.

Oh sure, we've all wanted to do crazy things when we quit our jobs. I've even said that if I win the lottery I was going to quit, then poop on my boss' desk. Who am I kidding! I'm going to be filthy rich, I wouldn't dare poop on my boss' desk... I'd hire someone to do it.

Wanted: someone to poop on my boss' desk. Must be able to poop on command. Activia eaters need not apply.

Ok, I wouldn't pay someone to poop on my boss' desk either. Why? Because I was raised to be a decent, law abiding citizen. I realize that I can get another job if my boss is a dick (or dickess), or if my job sucks, or whatever. I have free will and I also have respect for people, even if those people are morons and treat me like crap. If I treat them like crap (or crap on their desk) then I'm no better than they are and deserve to be treated like crap or even crapped on.

Our society is now full of people that think that respect is just given to you, like showing up for a ball game gets you a trophy no matter how crappy you play the game and no matter how bad you lose... if they are even keeping score. People think that they just have to show up to work to get a paycheck, but actually doing some work is above and beyond. They also see morons and idiots getting their own reality shows for acting like morons and being placed on pedestals, wined and dined, appearing on awards shows, and getting freebies. We watch shows like Survivor where the contestant who screws over everyone else wins. We are teaching the youth of today to be the assholes of tomorrow... and we wonder why our society has gone to hell, in a pretty hand basket.

You can probably tell I still can't get any Xanax.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Bats in your hair

2010-07-30T20:47:00.001-04:00

So, I'm sitting outside enjoying the ear piercing shrieks of cicadas when I see our 2 usual bats doing their supersonic moves through the air in our yard, hopefully sucking up all of the mosquitos from Malaria Pool next door... and it totally weirds me out.

In my head, I hear my grandmother warning me: "watch out for the bats because they'll swoop down and get tangled in your hair". Yes, this from the woman that thinks pregnancy comes from toilet seats, but still... why risk it?

I KNOW after a gazillion years of watching Discovery Channel, and National Geographic channel and every channel but lamestream media, that bats don't swoop down and get tangled in hair. I think that even lamestream media would have a story about that, along with a video where the news puppet would laugh at the poor person with a bat stuck in their hair... but no, nothing.

Even though I KNOW for a fact that a bat won't swoop down and intentionally tangle itself in my hair... I'm still weirded out by them. They're fast. They zoom around all erratic. What if they made a silly mistake and jinked instead of twisted and BAM... bat in the hair? Then where would I be? I'd be apologizing to my long dead grandmother and also explaining to all of my former facebook friends who would post that video of me getting a bat cut out of my hair by EMTs that all I was doing was sitting on my deck listening to annoying cicadas and they all should DIE!

So, if you are a parent... tell your kids that a bat will swoop down and get caught in their hair, and they'll get pregnant if they sit on a public toilet seat, and make them pull your finger, and that chewing gum will stay in your stomach until you die, and you'll get worms if you eat cookie dough raw... because I shouldn't be the only one with mental problems in this world.

... and I still can't get any Xanax.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

We Interupt our Regularly Scheduled ...

2010-07-17T16:46:00.001-04:00

Normally I would be posting a "Iced Latte with Lobsterman" post here, but instead I'll tell you what we did this morning.

This morning, it was an honor and privilege to provide a welcoming group, and motorcycle escort to World War II veterans from Dayton, Ohio.

Honor Flight Network is a non-profit organization that was created solely to honor American's veterans for all their sacrifices.

Members of the Old Glory H.O.G. Chapter, of which I am a member, gather at the Chapter, and then ride to airport (wherever an Honor Flight is landing), greet the WWII veterans when they exit security with clapping and hand shakes, thanking them for their service and sacrifice to keep our country free. We then escort the bus down to Washington DC, to the WWII memorial, help out the Honor Flight volunteers, and help educate tourists and other visitors on what these special men and women did to help preserve our freedom.

Listening to their stories and just being with these soldiers is awe inspiring and an honor. Seeing the effect the memorial has on them brings tears to my eyes. These brave men, who went through so much for us and our country, thank us for what we do... but all of the thanks goes to them.

Thank you veterans. Although I served in our Armed Forces during the Cold War, your contribution to our freedom is a debt we shall repay by keeping our country free and great!

God Bless America and God Bless the members of our Armed Forces!

The Pants Rant

2010-07-15T20:48:00.001-04:00

I strongly believe that captured terrorists should be forced to wear Vera Wang pants.

So, there I am at work, working... no really, I was working... seriously, stop laughing. I'm wearing my comfy pair of black Vera Wang pants that collect ridiculous amounts of dog hair, but as usual, I don't care, they're comfy and stylish.

I'm pretty sure that Vera (since I wear her pants I feel that I can be on a first name basis with her) designs her pants for people who have no hip bones, such as herself. While most pants have a fly and button, Vera goes for a very secure closure that includes a zipper, two gigantic hook things, a flap and a button, all craftily hid inside the waist band and nearly impossible to manipulate. I'm pretty sure that when I purchased the pants, they weren't in the modern chastity belt section, just the average women who have hip bones but want to look as though they've had their hip bones removed so they can be just like Vera section. The only thing missing is a combination lock.

Having successfully navigated the bathroom on several occasions throughout the day with minimal difficulty, I thought nothing of taking an afternoon bathroom break stroll after 3 cups of coffee and a venti iced latte, 4 packets of sugar. Stroll probably isn't a good word, more like hurried walk. As usual, once one enters the bathroom, their bladder has a certain expectation that shortly upon entering the stall, blessed relief will begin. This is where the trouble started.

For some odd reason, the secure gigantic hook things had somehow become welded together. This seemed problematic, especially because my bladder was tapping impatiently waiting for the "go" signal. I pulled and manipulated some more... to no avail. I then began frantically pulling, twisting, and tearing at the hook things.

This was getting serious! Its not like I could just give up and go back to my desk, my bladder clearly knew where we were, I had to go, but I couldn't get my pants off. I dimly recall seeing the shoes of a co-worker/friend in another stall when I came in. As I respect the privacy of those I blog, we'll call her Sylvania. For a fleeting moment I thought of yelling out to Sylvania for help, but then I thought... well, what the heck would she do? Do I leave the stall while trying to tear open my pants and perhaps have Sylvania take a go at them, and what happens when another co-worker comes into the bathroom and sees two women trying to rip one's pants off? I mean I doubt we'd even get the pants open before security came, tasered us, and dragged us (me with peed pants) to jail or signed us up for a Cinemax at night gig.

There wasn't any guarantee that Sylvania would take one look at me, call security and have my pee stained self dragged from the building, and what would happen if those WEREN'T Sylvania's shoes in that stall, what would that person think of me screaming for them to rip my pants off. Just thinking about that made me laugh, which made things even worse because now I was thinking about the other people in the bathroom who could probably see my feet pivoting around as I tried to rip my pants off and now I was laughing, so it was only a matter of time before the security tasers came to get me... but then I got the hooks undone and I could pee, so life was good again.

And captured terrorists should wear Vera Wang pants.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Tuna Rant

2010-07-11T16:04:00.000-04:00

All right everyone, pull up your pants and get ready for a "when I was a kid" rant about tuna.

When I was a kid, canned tuna was chock full of big meaty tuna pieces with a little bit of water (or oil, if you were one of those that preferred the oil). You would plop out a huge glop of tuna meat, add half a container of mayo (Helmans... none of that Miracle Whip crap), and make the entire family a freakin tuna sandwich. Half the time there was enough left to feed some homeless feral cats and most of a high school football team.

Hard to believe that such a tiny little can of tuna could provide that much tuna, but it did, and the tuna was delicious, and it was chunky, and it was plentiful. I'm pretty sure you could feed a whole impoverished country with one can of tuna back then, it was just that good.

Now look at it! You open up a can of tuna and its nothing but a bunch of glop in water (or oil if they even make it in oil, since oil is probably the major cause of obesity or death or something), its the consistency of the hair that gets stuck in your bathtub drain and sits there for about 6 months because you are either too lazy or didn't even realize you had 6 pounds of congealed hair in your drain until the water wouldn't drain and then you are left with a handful of slimey nasty crap that you could just as well slop onto a slice of bread and have a much better sandwich than the gooey crap in that tuna can... it doesn't even smell fishy anymore (the tuna, not the hair).

Its so gooey and nasty and chunkless that adding ANY mayo into the goop makes it even goopier and nastier, and then try spreading that crap on bread, it just sucks the goo right up! You can barely even make one sandwich out of that mess, and even then its like eating two slices of bread that have been soaked in a neglected aquarium.

What the hell happened to canned tuna? I vaguely remember some sort of hoopla over the whole catching dolphins in the nets by mistake and since dolphins are cute and apparently as smart as humans (but apparently not so smart that they can't swim around a fricken tuna net, or have the wherewithal to carry a pocket knife to free themselves if they found themselves in a stupid net and before you point out that dolphins don't have pockets, I'll trump that with "oh yeah, what about that stupid blow hole thing?") and shortly after that, tuna started to suck, which leads me to this horrific thought:

What if all of this time we weren't eating tuna, we were actually eating FLIPPER!!!!

Um, frankly, I say we need to start Flipper farming because this real tuna stuff totally sucks.

Fond Childhood Memory

2010-07-02T19:10:00.000-04:00

One winter, when I was in Elementary school, I wanted to wear shorts to school. My mother, of course, thought this was incredibly silly.

Mom: You can't wear shorts to school, its winter!
Me: why not?
Mom: Because its winter, you don't wear shorts in winter, your legs will freeze.
Me: but its ok to wear skirts and dresses to school and freeze your legs?
Mom: Well... but you wear tights or pantyhose and those keeps your legs warm.
Me: Pffft, are you kidding me?
Mom: Don't mouth off, you just can't wear shorts to school in winter.
Dad: oh let her wear shorts to school in winter if she wants

Gosh I loved my dad! So, off I went to Chandler Elementary School in shorts. As the normal routine, all of the kids played in the school yard until the bell rang and then we'd line up and walk into the school and into our classrooms. None of the other kids seemed to have noticed that I was wearing shorts in winter, but as soon as the bell rang and we lined up, one of the teachers pulled me out of the line.

Teacher: What are you wearing?
Me: shorts
Teacher: Does your mother know you're wearing shorts to school in winter?
Me: yes
Teacher: (speechless for a few seconds) You're Jon's daughter, aren't you?
Me: yes
Teacher: get inside

One winter I asked for iced tea instead of milk. Everyone thought I was insane. You simply don't drink ice tea in winter, it was against the law.. or something. My argument was that people drank sodas in the winter, and they drank other juices in the winter, what's the difference between that and drinking ice tea. Its as if it was physically impossible to make ice tea during the winter or something, it was a "seasonal" drink. I would like to think that I had something to do with the fact that you can get iced tea any time of the year now.

The beauty of living in a small town is that most of my teachers also taught my father, so they pretty much knew what they were getting into.

Like the time I got a little magnet in a book, and for show and tell I talked about how magnets worked. My teacher asked me to demonstrate, and since she was wearing a metal watch on a necklace, I plopped that sucker right on the watch... I didn't realize that putting magnets on watches was a bad thing. Apparently it was an heirloom passed down from a few zillion generations. She just looked at me and said "Yep, you're Jon's daughter".

I loved that.

Things That Are Getting On My Nerves This Weekend

2010-06-27T15:43:00.000-04:00

Fledgling birds!

This is nest #2 of the dysfunctional robin family. You would think after about 10 years of having their babies fall into the mouths of my dogs, they would go build their nests someplace else, but NOOOOO!

If they don't care that their offspring meets horrible deaths every time they fling themselves out of the nest, then I shouldn't have to live with the guilt, but they don't have to toss their (sometimes) still death reflex gulping babies over the fence after the sudden squawking death at the teeth of my huskies. Euw.

There were two (note the past tense) this morning, but one threw itself out JUST as Loki came trotting out to pee and that was the end of that. There's one more in there, tottering at the edge of the nest each time one of the dogs has to pee, so I'm forced (through guilt) to leash the dogs up and walk them around the yard to make sure the last survivor makes it out of the yard... I'm pretty sure when its ready to fling itself out of the nest it'll run straight for me and meet its doom.

They can't wait for the weekday when they have 8 hours of safe yard while we're at work, no they wait for the weekend. Its so bad, Loki now just lays right under the nest with his mouth open.

Morons at the mall!

Friday I ran to the mall to grab batteries for my early warning Lojack system because their automated phone thing kept calling me while I was driving around and saying someone was stealing my car. I got behind some woman that had a zillion "I support organ donation" stickers all over her car... who appeared to be lost, stupid, blind, or something. When she slowed to 2.5 MPH I was screaming "OHMYGAWD ITS A GOOD THING YOU SUPPORT ORGAN DONATION BECAUSE WHEN I'M THROUGH WITH YOU, SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET A WHOLE SET OF YOURS", and then when she stopped in the middle of the intersection, I realized her license plate holder said "I'm a kidney donor recipient" because I only managed to stop 2 inches from her back bumper, at which point I screamed: "YOU SHOULD HAVE RECEIVED A BRAIN DONATION YOU SCUM SUCKING..." it went downhill from there. I'm pretty sure she now needs a heart transplant because when I laid on the horn, she jumped about 5 feet in the air and got out of the way... make that an underwear transplant.

I did get to see a mall cop SUV, a mall cop cheater segway (the kind with 3 wheels), and two county cops at Burlington Coat Factory on the way out. I was hoping they'd be dragging the kidney woman out in cuffs with the taser things still stuck to her chest.

I blame the heat for being cranky.

Sunday With Lobsterman

2010-06-20T18:16:00.000-04:00

As usual, hubby went on a motorcycle ride with his "gang". I stayed at home in the air conditioning because I smooshed my finger with a sledge hammer... ok, that wouldn't have kept me from riding on the back of the bike, the 900 degree heat did have more to do with it.

Me: I see that SPF 8,000 didn't help out any today
Lobsterman: no, not really, now stop talking and spray something on this
Me: I need you to move out on the deck
Lobsterman: why the deck, its cool in here
Me: well, you're close to the smoke detector and I'm concerned your crackly skin is going to set it off
Lobsterman: shut up and spray... is that Pam, the no-stick cooking spray?
Me: well, you are medium-well, and its olive oil, its suppose to be good for the skin

Iced Latte with Lobster Bisque Man

2010-06-13T18:37:00.000-04:00

Hubby went on his usual weekend motorcycle ride today. It was only 95 degrees out, but it felt like 99 degrees, therefore it was 99 freakin degrees. I opted to stay home in the glorious air conditioning.

Instead of just being lobster man this time, thanks to the humidity he was Lobster Bisque man.

Me: Wow, I'm pretty sure you're going to glow in the dark.
Hubby: shut up, I think my nose it going to ooze off
Me: I have something for that
Hubby: is it NOT going to hurt like the time you poured alcohol on that open wound I had?
Me: probably
Hubby: stay away from me
Me: come on, that was like 20 years ago, and why do you still have that bandaid on where you got a tetnus shot three days ago
Hubby: because it'll hurt if I pull it off, so I'm just going to let it come off naturally

It was at that time that 2 monks and a hippy walked into a Starbucks... no seriously, they really did. How can you carry on a band-aid conversation with that going on.

Memorable Workplace Moments

2010-06-10T19:30:00.000-04:00

So this morning I was outside of work talking to some co-workers about something and I kept feeling a bug crawling on my arm. It was very annoying, even though I kept trying to brush it off my arm on my shirt and pants, the stupid thing seemed to flit back on my arm. I tried to swat it a few times with my hand as I kept talking, but it just kept coming back.

For some reason, as I swatted and swiped my arm against my shirt and pants, my co-workers were getting these strange looks on their faces, so I looked down at my arm and realized that a scab from a small puncture I had gotten from Meeshka during one of her storm freak outs had started bleeding all over the place. Why is it that the smallest little wounds just gush blood.

I just pretended like spontaneous bleeding was absolutely normal, and so did they, but I'm guessing they'll probably avoid me... like everyone else.

Rolling Thunder

2010-05-31T10:33:00.001-04:00

Hubby and I participated yesterday in Rolling Thunder. Although touted by the media as a "tribute to all veterans", the actual function of Rolling Thunder is to bring full accountability for POWs and MIAs of all wars, and reminding the government, the Media and the public that "We Will Not Forget".

We started our adventure at our chapter: Old Glory Harley Davidson where we volunteered to carry a flag (Washington State, since that's where hubby is from), and then sat around and waiting for the procession to begin. We would have a full police motorcycle escort from Old Glory down to the Pentagon, which is totally freakin cool. Anyone that has ever driven on 295 South knows what a nightmare it is, well, not with a police escort it isn't. All entrances to 295 were blocked for us by the various motorcycle police officers to ensure we had the whole road to ourselves. To those of you who were inconvenienced by this... suck it up.

We arrived at the Pentagon around 8:45 am, parked in one of the MASSIVE almost full parking lots there, and then proceeded to wait, and wait, and wait. The procession doesn't start until noon, so there was a lot of waiting, but to bide the time, there were also a lot of good vendors, relief agencies, educational booths, free water and crackers, vendors selling food (tasty foods), selling commemorative t-shirts and patches and all sorts of stuff. Plus, there was the camaraderie of a lot of good and decent people, with common interests, common beliefs, and good stories to pass the time. THANKFULLY there was also plenty of sunscreen, but sunscreen can only do so much. I have to say that the highlight of the waiting was the misting booths that the fire departments had set up, where you could walk into a tent and get gloriously cold mist sprayed on your entire body. AAAAH!

Go here for some pictures of the event and the actual ride.

There is also a great video out there that shows all stages of the ride.

Anyhoo, so we waited and waited and waited, and finally, around 2pm, it was our turn to head out into the streets of DC. Seeing the crowds of people lined up to watch, waving American flags, cheering, waving was awe inspiring and brought a tear to the eye. People on the sides would hold out their hands and riders would low five them (as the passenger, we did some of that, swooping in close enough to reach hands). Seeing the Army soldier and Marine standing in the middle of the road saluting is very touching as well. They stand there the entire time (the parade takes about 4 hours before all bikes make it through). The whole thing just flies by in a blur and much too soon, its over.

Most of the bikers parked in designated fields to stay and watch concerts or walk through the city. We bailed and headed back home as the pups had been locked up for longer than they normally are. Once we got some rest and sprayed sunburn relief stuff all over us, we went out to Rita's for some soothing custard.

It was very refreshing.

Why Companies Don't Really Suck

2010-05-30T22:02:00.001-04:00

Remember, companies are run by people, not mindless automatons that were programmed by aliens to rule the world by making you work late on fridays.

They don't REALLY try to kill their employees, frankly they kinda try to avoid that, not because there aren't plenty of others out there to take your place, but there's all that nasty HR paperwork to deal with.

BP oil is doing everything they know how to do. Its not like they WANT gazillions of gallons of oil (that they could sell at $3.00 per gallon) spewing into the ocean. Frankly, if ANYONE else in the world knew how to stop this... wouldn't they be the total ass hats for not stepping up weeks ago and saying "um, excuse me..." Our Government is just proving that they can't actually DO anything. They could write a nice law forbidding the pipe to spew any more oil into the ocean or else they will fine the pipe and perhaps give it a jail sentence. They could also mark today as "no oil spewing in the ocean from a broken pipe" day, but neither of these things will actually stop the oil from spewing out of the ocean.

Oil spews from the ocean floor all the time... granted not THIS much, but it does, and yet people make it sound like BP is manufacturing the oil and dumping it into the ocean. Its like punching that little straw into a Capri Sun drink (Capri Sonne in every other country). The sticky, sweet juice-like substance comes spewing out and there's really no stopping it once its going, until eventually the little container is dry... which is probably when the oil from this broken pipe will stop. Using the same analogy, Capri Sun is also like a volcano, in that you have to hold the flimsy plastic container tightly in order to jab the straw in the tiny little hole, and thereby causing an eruption of sticky sweet juice-like substance that usually lands in your lap, which nobody believes when you tell them you didn't pee yourself, and no, nobody is going to taste it so you can prove it is a juice-like substance.

How many times are you going to make BP say that they'll pay for the clean up? Seriously? 50, 100, 1,000 times? By asking them each day or by saying each day "BP is paying for the clean up" are you trying to make sure they don't say "you know what, yesterday we said we'd pay for it, but today, not so much". Frankly if you keep asking them, I wouldn't blame them for saying "F you, just F you if you don't believe us, then fine, go F yourself".

Yes, they are in it for money... what else would they be in it for? Dorritos? Do you think companies exist for the greater good of man and nobody makes any money from it? Um, no, that's the whole reason for having a company: TO MAKE MONEY. Why else would anyone start a company if they weren't going to get anything out of it? Feeding all of mankind and curing all manner of disease are great and noble goals, but you can only do that for so long before you don't have any money and then you need someone to feed you. If there's no profit in feeding people then there's no grocery stores, no truckers, no harvesters, no farms, no FDA (although they're probably snorting meth and watching porn with the rest of the government oversight agencies), there's no nothing and no people because most people live in apartments and those "topsy turvey tomatoes only last so long, besides, eating too many raw tomatoes gives mouth sores and since curing all manner of disease is long past profitable and all pharmaceutical CEOs were burned at the stake, you'll be sitting in your apartment with painful tomato mouth sores until you die of starvation.

So, everyone vowing to boycott BP on your facebook page (and yet gassing up your car to cruise for the latest DVD that's also made from petroleum products, and watching that DVD on your petroleum product flat screen, while you kick up the petroleum product air conditioner that runs probably on some sort of percentage of petroleum product) are just a bunch of pansie wannabes. You want to boycott BP? Then give all of your belongings to charity and live under a bridge naked. You're "pledge" on Facebook is stupid... that is, those of you that are left on Facebook after all of the people who whine and bitch about the privacy settings of a FREE service leave. Oh whiney whine, I don't like this and will hold my breath until they change it even though I don't give one thin dime to the operating costs but somehow feel as though my opinion of their business model should be followed. SHUT UP and leave. Go whine about how twitter is free now.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

North Korea Sinks South Korean Ship. US reacts

2010-05-21T08:55:00.000-04:00

Frappucinos with Vroomy Man

2010-05-17T17:54:00.000-04:00

A while back I met hubby at Starbucks after he went on a long, relaxing motorcycle ride, leaving me home to cook, clean, and clear 40 acres with a paring knife. Ok, fine, I was napping, shut up.

I was cruising through twitter and saw the news that Bret Michaels, front-man for the '80's group Poison, was on death's door and not expected to live. I would just like to say that I have no idea how the guy signs his name to things. My name is long enough, but I can't imagine trying to fit: Bret Michaels front man for the '80's group Poison on everything.

Anyhoo, I found an article that explains why BMFMFT80GP was on death's door.

Me: That lead singer for Poison is on death's door.
Vroomy Man: I thought he was dead already.
Me: no, not unless by dead already you meant like 15 minutes ago, which may be the case because this news item is an hour old.
Vroomy Man: no, like years ago
Me: you must have been thinking about his career
Vroomy Man: yeah probably.
Me: he had a subarachnoid hemorrhage
Vroomy Man: Well, those spider bites can be dangerous
Me: um, no... he's bleeding at the base of the brain
Vroomy Man: well, I'd be more worried that the spider laid eggs there
Me:

General Rambling

2010-05-16T17:10:00.000-04:00

Listening to a Talking Heads song "Stay Up Late", David Byrne mentions "cute as a button". I wondered where that came from and just what the hell does it mean.

So, I looked it up on the inter webs. WikiAnswers thinks it came from some moron that was talking about a button quail, and then showed me a picture of a penis. Ok, it didn't, but apparently the Wiki is having all sorts of issues where contributors (meaning anyone with half a brain, or no brain at all) can provide content that other people (meaning anyone with no brain) actually take as gospel. You can go look that whole fiasco up on your own, as the iPad blogger interface I have is incapable of allowing me to link interesting stuff in my post, and I'm generally way too lazy to fix it in "post production" meaning: after I hit a button and upload it. I hope they fix that soon.

Back to the whole button conundrum. Another reputable (because they said so) place said it was a saying about an actual button, because buttons are cute. Of course, their opinion may be a bit jaded as that explanation came from the button fetish site.

Since nobody really knows where it came from or what it really means, I think we should stop saying it, because it could actually be some kind of code word used to revive brain eating zombies, and the next person you say that to could leap up and rip your skull off. I'm just saying. Don't blame me if you get your skull ripped off.

There's a new iPhone application out that lets you find sex offenders for free. Thank gawd, because whenever I needed a good sex offender, I got tired of paying for the application to find them. You can never find a good sex offender when you need one.

Lastly, I don't know if you've ever seen the movie "LA Story", and if you haven't, you should. Its pretty stupid, but it mocks LA and from what I hear, it mocks it pretty well. There's a part where a traffic sign writes to Steve Martin's character and tells him things to do, once again proving that everyone can get Xanax but me.

Anyhoo, on the way to our usual Starbucks there is one of those solar powered information signs on the side of the road. I'm thinking that either its got issues, or the person typing in what it needs to say has issues because its never... really.... normal.

One day it said TERROR, then gave a 1-800 number. Just one screen that said TERROR, next screen 1-800 number. Hmm. Is it telling me that around the curve there is terror, and I should dial that number. Is it telling me that if I want some terror, I should call the 800 number, or if I see some terror to call the 800 number. I'm thinking that if I actually saw some terror I would probably dial 911, because years of constant bombardment of the number has me trained to dial it for things like terror. I couldn't possibly memorize the quickly flashing and long 800 number while I drove (let alone write it down, because if I can't dial my damn phone and drive without getting a ticket, I'm pretty sure dragging out a piece of paper and pen to write down an 800 number is right up there with a fine), but I wonder if I actually did dial 911 and reported terror, would I be told to dial the 800 number, or do they have the capability to just forward me to the 800 number. These things concern me, as I always like to be prepared for terror, and know what number to call if I see it, or want to order some.

Yesterday the sign said something different, leading me to believe that terror was gone, so I could relax. This time it said: Click it, or... highly enforced. Hmm, no clue there.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Frappucinos with Lobsterman

2010-05-14T17:02:00.000-04:00

Recently hubby went on a motorcycle ride to escort World War II veterans to the war memorial (his group does it every time there's a flight of veterans). It was hot and sunny. He didn't (as usual) put on any sun screen. We later met for Starbucks (as usual). Here is that conversation.

Me: You got a bit of sun today, I see.
Hubby: yes
Me: Probably should have put on some sun screen.
Hubby: ya think?
Me: that's gonna hurt tonight, guess I can expect you to scream like a little girl every time I roll over and bump into you.
Hubby: yes, but I don't scream like a little girl
Me: right
Me: oh crap, I've stepped in some dog poo, give me your straw so I can scrape it off
Hubby: use your own straw, its right in front of you. Besides, I'm going to use mine to dribble cold frap onto my blistering skin

Married life quality time.

Sh*t That Don't Work

2010-05-09T13:27:00.000-04:00

The kitchen sink has been around forever, like since the 1920's and are you telling me in all that time NOBODY has ever invented a freakin kitchen sink plug that actually PLUGS????

The crap plugs they come with are a joke, I mean seriously, do they actually think they can give you something that never screws in right, drains the water if its not just perfectly set in there, and by the time you get the freakin thing in there you're so pissed off especially after finding out that all that fidgeting and messing around STILL DIDN'T GET THE THING TO PLUG UP THE FREAKIN SINK!

Yeah, so apparently adding additional holes in the sink doesn't help either, but it does feel good.

Please note: no sinks were harmed in the making of this blog post, nor would I waste perfectly good ammo on a sink.

Take the Challenge

2010-05-07T08:35:00.000-04:00

I was a bit horrified when I saw the latest Activia commercial where Jamie Lee (this is the only gig I can get) Curtis is asking people to send in their videos about their experience with Activia (the poop yogurt).

The actual commercial aired one viewer's video, and thankfully it was pretty stupid. I totally expected something like this:

Chocolate and Depression

2010-05-04T19:27:00.000-04:00

I read an article that said that chocolate causes depression.

The only depression chocolate will cause is the one on your face in the shape of my fist if you try to take it away from me.

Yet Another Fond Childhood Memory

2010-04-28T21:23:00.000-04:00

It was summer, and as usual, I have no idea how old I was (some things are a blur like that, and this post should explain why).

It was a wonderful summer day in Indiana, and I was playing baseball with the neighborhood boys. Yes, amazingly enough I was a tomboy and actually taught most of the neighborhood boys how to play football.

Anyhoo, I was pitching because I was the only one that could reliably get the ball over the plate, and didn't throw like a girl.

When this happened:

Yep, a line drive straight to the face. I recall looking at the sun, then wondering if I would be blind in my remaining good eye for looking straight at the sun, then realizing that half of my face was most likely gone from getting hit by the baseball, and wondering why there were stars when the sun was out.

I managed to crawl next door to my house (clutching a bush on the way to keep myself from floating off the earth), and into the house, where I promptly told my mom what happened. She told me to put some ice on my eye.

When my dad got home, he looked at my lovely shiner and pronounced that I needed to go back out the next day and play ball, otherwise I would be afraid to play ball again. Something about falling off a horse, blah blah, where's dinner.

Next day, bright and shiny, the neighborhood baseball game started up, and there I was, black eye nearly closed from swelling, ball mitt, playing outfield. Hey, I'm not stupid, no way was I going to pitch again.

Around the 3rd pitch, one kid hit a fly ball straight up in the air. I got it, I got it, I got it... damn that sun is bright, I lost it, hands down and:

Oh yeah, that hurt. I recall being crumpled in a ball. I recall being under the bush again, I vaguely recall crawling up our back stairs, I recall my mom screaming at the nosy neighbor down the street to get off the stupid party line because nobody wanted to hear how she was sleeping around on her husband while he was at work because we already all knew she was sleeping around on her husband while he was at work and he didn't care because he was sleeping with his secretary, so get off the line so she could call the doctor for me before I died. Died? Lovely.

The doctor told my mom that I needed to stay awake or else I would likely lapse into a coma and die or become a zucchini or other vegetable that you can make into bread, and that she should watch me for vomiting, bleeding from the ears, nose, and eyes, or my brain oozing out somewhere. Ok, I totally have no idea what the doctor told her, other than when she told me: "the doctor says he should look at you".

She loaded me up in the blue van with black spots (another story) that smelled like gas fumes (urp) and hauled me to the doctor's office. Our doctor (Doc Bowser) use to have a cool old timey office on main street that had wooden floors and where I got my polio vaccine and chiclet gum, but they moved to one of those new fangly modern offices that smelled like plastic carpeting (urp).

The receptionist told us that we had to wait. So I did this:

Which amazingly opened a room for us immediately. I was diagnosed with 2 concussions in 2 days... a Goshen record that probably still stands. Nothing they could do except tell my mom to "keep an eye on me", which meant that I was forced to go with my mom to the Green Stamp redemption place the next day and lay in the van in abject nauseous misery while she stood in line to get something with the 14,000 books of stamps she had collected.

Good times!

Fond Childhood Memory: Spelling Bee Apparel

2010-04-27T20:06:00.000-04:00

Somehow I made it into the grade school spelling bee competition.

On the night of the big competition, my mom dressed me up in a stupid dress, matching tights, and told me to go put on my shoes.

I did what I was told, and came back down in my favorite, hand me down from one of my cousins, two sizes too big, black high top Chuck Taylor sneakers.

My mom looked at me disapprovingly. "Go change into your dress shoes!"

My dad looked at me and said "If that's what she wants to wear, then let her wear them."

I loved my dad.

So, off we went to the grade school for the big spelling bee.

There I was up on the stage with all of the other contestants. I made it to like the fourth round before being tossed out for some stupid long word (I have no idea which one) and frankly I was happy to be off the hot stage, standing up there while millions of parents looked at me (ok, maybe 40).

My dad thought I did very well. My mom said that she would have enjoyed it a bit more if I hadn't done this every time I spelled a word right:

Mom was always so critical.

How Not to Plan a Meeting

2010-04-25T19:04:00.000-04:00

A while back, shortly before lunch, I get an e-mail forwarded to me. I don’t know if you’ve ever been included in an e-mail that seems to have been bantered back and forth by several people for several days, yet the person forwarding you the e-mail only provides you with the last two parts of the e-mail, which is like coming into a movie half-way and then being quizzed on the first half.

The e-mail simply said: “We need to meet”. It was forwarded to me, and 5 other people, only one of whom I actually knew.

There was nothing in that simple incomplete sentence “We need to meet” that told me why we needed to meet, or when we needed to meet, or where we needed to meet. There was nothing in the two other parts of the forwarded e-mail that suggested any of these things, except that one of the people that hadn’t been on the forwarding list couldn’t make this meeting (whenever, wherever, for whatever reason).

I respond by simply saying “Why are we meeting, when are we meeting, and where are we meeting?”

Three simple questions that should have been included in the original forwarded e-mail. Frankly I think its incredibly rude for someone to just demand that “we” meet without including specifics.

The response came back: Is there a room available to meet?

While I’m sure this question wasn’t directed at me since I had admitted complete ignorance regarding this meeting, the fact that no additional information had been provided was causing my brain to bubble somewhat.

Someone responded back that there were no rooms available at his office, but perhaps there was one available at the office where I worked.

Um, excuse me, I’m pretty sure that I asked for some clarification on this whole meeting thing, so I couldn’t very well even venture to guess as to the availability of a room. Realizing the whole futility of this exercise of stupidity, I went to lunch. Upon my return someone responded that a room was available over lunch the next day. Oh, great, so I have a day and a time at least... except I’m not giving up my lunch hour to sit in a meeting that I really had no idea the subject of said meeting.

I responded promptly with the contractor’s all purpose excuse: “Unless I am told the purpose of this meeting, I will be unable to attend as I do not know if it falls within the scope of my contract”. This is actually a very valid reason not to venture into just any ol’ meeting, as my contract specifically states what I can and can’t do, and wandering into a meeting that has nothing to do with what I’m suppose to be working on is grounds for death in the contractor world. Ok, not death, but losing your contract and perhaps your firm losing the entire contract due to impropriety is pretty much the same as death.

Amazingly enough, there were no further responses, explanations or additional e-mails regarding this meeting for the rest of the day. I fully expected to in the next morning and find more chatter about the meeting, and how it was now scheduled at the most inconvenient time, place, and venue and that I would be required to attend.

If that’s the case, I’m calling in with a flesh eating bacteria issue.

Fond Childhood Memories

2010-04-25T13:10:00.002-04:00

This morning, for some reason, I was thinking about a childhood memory that I had.

I have no idea how old I was, but my family (mom, dad, sister, grandma, grandpa) and I piled into a car and drove up to Sault St. Marie, 424 miles north. I don’t know why.

It was dad driving, Grandpa in passenger seat, sister squished between them. Mom and grandma in back seat, me squished between them with my feet into my chin because of the lump.

Grandma immediately doused herself with the foul smelling perfume that my sister and I would give her every birthday and christmas. It was an easy gift, she lived in Michigan (we lived in Indiana) so we didn’t have to smell it, but now she decided to grace our presence with it, since we had given it to her. I totally think that she thought it was foul too, and was sick of getting it as a gift, therefore her evil plan was to make us smell this crap for over 400 miles so we’d get her something decent next holiday.

About 150 miles into the trip, Grandma started to freak out about her pills. She didn’t know if she packed her pills, she had to have her pills, she would literally die before our eyes if she didn’t have her pills. This meant pulling over somewhere to check the bags in the trunk to make sure she had her pills. She did.

To save time and money, we were trying the latest fad: “car-b-cue”, something my dad had heard of. Pretty much you take a hunk of beef and some veggies, wrap it in reynolds wrap and nestle it in the engine of the car. By the time you get to your destination... cooked roast and veggies, sauteed with a lovely hint of burnt oil and exhaust. It was actually tasty, but I’m not sure the tastiness was from starving to death as we drove and smelled the fumes of gas, oil, and roast, or what.

We opted to eat halfway through the trip (otherwise it would have been charcoal) so we stopped at a nicely wooded rest area somewhere, sought out the bathrooms, then dug into the food.

A note about the bathrooms: they were the true old timey outhouses that consisted of a wasp infested wooden shelter, with a wooden bench with holes in it, with large holes dug into the ground. Not the vile and disgusting plastic port-o-potties of today that are sporadically cleaned out and sanitized. These things were NEVER cleaned out, they were just moved over new holes when it got too foul.

As I ventured over to an outhouse, my grandma screeched at me (loud enough for everyone within 5 miles to hear) that I shouldn’t sit on the toilet seat because I’ll get pregnant.

I’m pretty sure that grandma didn’t have all of the facts on the morbidity of free range sperm. First of all, how on earth would sperm get on the seat in the first place? Did men randomly jerk off in outhouses for the purpose of impregnating unsuspecting travelers? Was this just the excuse used back in her day when innocent young ladies got pregnant, did they claim that it was from toilet seats? When I called back “No you can’t”, she countered with: “You can also get worms”. Everything in my grandma’s life caused either worms or pregnancy.

After our meal, where nobody (amazingly enough) died, we made it up to St. Ignace and stayed in tiny little cabins (whose bathrooms caused pregnancy or worms). We stayed there for a day or two, but for the life of me I don’t remember anything other than the trip to Mackinaw Island.

In order to get to Mackinaw Island you had to take a ferry. Its a pretty big ferry, its not like we were rowing a small boat over there ourselves, they could really pack in a lot of people. Grandma refused to go. She was convinced that the ferry would sink and we would all perish. She started crying and caterwauling and keening and yelling about how we all were sure to die if we took the ferry to Mackinaw Island. Grandpa dragged her from the dock as she screamed her final farewells and “when you are all dead you’ll say I told you so”

We went over, got some souvenirs, I pushed my sister so she’d step in horse poop, and overall it was a nice visit.

Being adventurous, and so close to the Canadian border, we took a day trip to Canada, where when asked by the Canadian Border Patrol if we had anything to declare, and did we have any drugs in the car, Grandma piped up and said she had plenty of drugs in the car, at which point we all stood by the side of the road while mounties strip searched the car only to find prescription drugs, and not a trunk full of hash... totally ruining their day.

We drove through the locks, under the locks, around the locks, all over the locks, and discovered that locks were stupid and nothing to look at, then opted to stay in Canada overnight... except Canada was full, no hotels anywhere. Each time we stopped, no rooms, stopped, no rooms, finally at the last hotel when we were told there were no rooms, Grandpa yelled “FINE, LETS GO BACK TO A REAL COUNTRY”, and we drove back into the U.S. We gagged Grandma and held her down when we were asked if we had any drugs in the car, found a hotel right across the border and ate the worlds most delicious hamburgers I’ve ever eaten.

I don’t remember the drive home. I was probably in a psychotic state at that point.

Parties Mean Cake!

2010-04-24T09:20:00.014-04:00

So, last week hubby asked if I wanted to go to a retirement party. Its at that point that I stopped listening and have no idea where, for who, or really what the party is all about, because the moment he got to “party” my brain took over and began to think of all of the usual wonderful foods served at parties, to include cake. I said yes, mainly because of the whole cake concept.

So yesterday I looked at my calendar and realized that the party was today... free cake day, oh yeah, I’m so totally there, and was thankful that the calendar invite included the address and time of the place, otherwise I’d have no idea where to go for my free cake. I vaguely recall hearing that the “dress code” for the party (where I would get free cake) was business professional. This threw a slight monkey wrench into things, as my company has a dress code of “business professional”, but I typically “forget” to follow it and usually wear whatever I feel like throwing on (aka: clean clothes in closet, versus balled up fur covered clothes in hamper) and a lot of times I don’t even match, so I had to really think back and figure out what would actually be “business professional” appropriate and match. I dug out a dress I bought at Costco, found some leggings and matching dressy shoes, and prepared myself for free cake.

It was after showering that I looked in the mirror and discovered this:

Its Godzitta, right there on my face, plain as day, and very angry. This meant the liberal application of basecoat makeup that’s also a moisturizer, which will invariable cause Godzitta to breed like feeding a Gremlin after midnight... but I would get free cake, so it was worth the risk. Note how I’m blaming the basecoat makeup and not the fact that I would be gorging myself on free cake that would be the cause of more Godzitta.

To prepare for the free cake, I decided not to eat all day. This would ensure that I would consume maximum cakeability when it was served. This also meant that by the time I left at 12:30, I was ravenously starving to death. Barely able to steer the car. To make matters worse, I was driving behind one of those Giant grocery store Pea Pod delivery trucks that had pictures of lasagna and other foodables on the back. I drooled a little on the cute dress and my stomach growled so loud I had to turn up the radio. The sign on the back of the truck announced that the driver did not carry cash, but he did carry cashews... hahaha, um, at this point the driver’s life would be threatened for said cashews, and the frozen foods he carried, screw the cash. Please note that the Dragon Dictation program correctly transcribed it when I said that I was F*cking starving... to include adding the little *, because apparently Dragon Dictation is politically correct.

I sorta, kinda knew the way to the Hotel where the party (with free cake) would be, as my company had a party there once and they served sushi. Remembering that made me drool some more. I had the GPS on just to make sure it was the same place, but right off the bat, the GPS snarky bitch wanted me to go one way, I wanted to go another way, an argument ensued, and from starvation induced psychosis, I nearly threw the GPS out the window when snarky woman voice insisted I keep turning right when I wanted to go straight. This is the same snarky woman that pompously announces that there’s “traffic ahead” after I’ve been sitting in a traffic jam for 15 minutes.

I had left early because I a.) needed gas, and b.) wanted to stop off at Starbucks for a latte to help coat my stomach and cake does go well with latte, but hubby texted me to say that he was already there. SONOFA... so I drive to the hotel (which is the one I thought it was). Parked and met hubby near the back entrance. We greeted each other with growling stomachs. He hadn’t eaten either. Unfortunately he had scouted out the area, and pronounced that while the conference on something or other in the suite next to the retirement party was having a sumptuous buffet... there was no food in sight for the retirement party.

SERIOUSLY? What about cake?

No cake to be seen.

SERIOUSLY??? gurgle

We go inside the room where the retirement shindig is suppose to be, and I’m horribly dismayed to find that its a NAVY retirement ceremony! OHMYGAH!!!!! Don’t get me wrong, I love all things military, having served in the Air Force, I respect and honor all members of the military, past, present, and future, but if there’s one thing I know, its that any ceremony that involves the military means a lot of speeches, and presentations, and honoring traditions and doing things that take for FREAKIN EVER, which means that if there was even cake at the end (and at this point there was no evidence of any cakeability) it would be hours of sitting through a ceremony before we even got any.

We spotted some ice water and glasses and headed for that, filled up a few times to take the edge off our stomachs, which were now trying to eat other organs to keep from dying. I did grab some free hotel pens, and also gazed longingly at the little tiny bottle of ketchup that was sitting next to the water. Ketchup is a vegetable, after all, but for the life of us, we couldn’t figure out why it was sitting there, nor did we want to chug it down for fear that it was some sort of important prop in the Navy Retirement tradition.

We found some seats when the ceremony was about to begin and look with dismay at the extensive and LONG ceremony schedule of events. Hubby leaned over and asked if I had any gum. I didn’t. But I did have some Zyrtec, and well, Zyrtec sorta looks like tic tacs, so I figured... why not and popped a few in my mouth. While Zyrtec may sorta look like tic tacs, they certainly don’t taste like tic tacs and I’m pretty sure you aren’t suppose to suck on a few of them, but I was desperate.

At one point the speaker was listing the possible reasons why everyone was attending the ceremony; some attending because they were family, some attending because they wanted to honor the retiring Navy guy, some attending because... and my inner monologue said “... we wanted free cake”, but from the looks I got from hubby and a few people sitting around me, sucking on zyrtec disconnected my inner monologue and I must have said it aloud... probably LOUDLY aloud. To my credit, I managed to be a lot quieter when I told hubby that I was very interested in watching the “Passing of the Flag” ceremony, as that must be not only very interesting, but potentially very painful.

Being former Air Force, I should know my ranks, but the Navy ranks always threw me off because they wear their stuff on their sleeve with little golden lines and splurgly blobs and stuff. About the only thing I knew was that if a Navy guy was wearing a white hat, you saluted. Of course, hubby, being former Marine, gets on my case about calling it a “hat” its really a “cover”, and he calls it a “head” and not a bathroom. This “head” thing always cracked me up, and at one point when he was stationed at a Marine Corps base in North Carolina I had the opportunity to go to the “Ladies Head”, and the sign on the door actually said “Ladies Head” and I further embarrassed him by shrieking with laughter and calling out to him from across the room “HOLY CRAP you actually do call it that” In my head, this is what I always thought when I had to use the “Ladies Head”.

Ok, back to the ceremony thing. It was very nice, and I got weepy a bit with the whole patriotic thing and all, but that could also be because I was now toxic on sucking Zyrtec, so something like this MAY have happened, but I’m not saying.

Then it was all over... we ran for the door, stood in line to shake the retired guy’s hand, then raced to Ruby Tuesday to gorge on all you can eat salad bar and appetizers.