Wednesday, February 29, 2012

My Git Er Done Panties

I like riding motorcycles. When I was younger I had a dirt bike and rode all the time. When Mr. Wonderful and I got together we got a motorcycle. I'm sure if you've ever read my stuff, you've heard me talk about how much it hurt my hiney but it was still fun.  On our outings, we liked to go to motorcycle rallies and look at all the different kinds of bikes that would show up. The people watching was pretty good, too.

One time we went to a rally and were perusing the booths where you can buy everything from patches for your jacket to knives to leather goods to...underwear?
Yep, you heard me - underwear. We visited a booth that sold t-shirts and hats and such and off to one side were a selection of ladies "fashion" underwear.

One thing I love the most about going to the rallies is talking to people. Heck, I'll talk to a stump if it'll talk back to me! Anyway, I always enjoy having conversations with interesting people and this particular day was no different. Now, let me preface this story with some facts about the rallies. There's usually beer drinking involved. I know, I know, drinking and driving don't mix. But people weren't drinking while driving. They were just having a cold one while walking around the site, enjoying their day. Me included, by the way. And biker rallies usually attract some fairly colorful people. And I've already told you that I'll talk to anyone so is the picture starting to become clear?

Mr. Man and I were perusing a shopping booth when a rather sloppy drunk guy started talking to us. We shared a few laughs and I thought that was it until he decided to "help" me shop. Even though Mr. Man was right beside me (looking like a really mean cop), this person honed in on the ladies "fashion" underwear and started insisting that I needed a pair. "A purtyful girl like yew needs sum of deez here pannnies!" said the dude. I tried to gracefully decline but the guy was insistent. "Aw no no no no no, yew gotta war these soze yew can be really hawt for yo man. He'll luuuuuuuve them, am I right?" as he winks at my hubby.

My beloved had already started walking away (lest he pull out his pistol and started banging it on the side of the drunk dude's head). I wasn't insulted that he walked off I was grateful! Because I didn't want to see him have to go into cop mode and start whupping ass. And he's been around me enough and knows how I'll talk to anyone and everyone (including a stump) and can wiggle my way out of a jam.

I laughed and declined the mans offer but he was relentless. Before I knew it, he had sized me up, grabbed a pair of special "fashion" underwear, threw them at the clerk and paid for them. Then he magnamimously gave them to me with a wink and a bow. He literally bowed down at the waist and sort of did the chivalrous hand swish. Then he wobbled off to another booth. Presumably to buy more gifts for other women.

So now, I am the proud owner of a pair of the finest ladies "fashion" underwear you can find in the south. What? You want to know what they look like? Ok, you asked for it.....

That's right, "Git er done" panties. Now I can be a redneck like my beloved because I have undies that have a true southern saying on them. And if I'm ever in a terrible auto accident and wind up in the emergency room and the staff removes my clothes, they'll know just what to do. Git er done! Fix me up! Yee haw dammit!

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

My Daddy says I'm the best French kisser

I got you with that title, didn't I? Ha Ha  I love to say that to unsuspecting friends and watch their reaction.

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It's not really true but he does write me love notes. He's written me many letters over the years and now that he's mastered texting, he texts me love notes.

I think that's so dang sweet. He treats my Othermother like a queen, too. It's odd to me that he's always treated me like a princess, even when I was acting like a total shit. There are many times when he should have grounded me or gotten me into trouble and he didn't.

To give you a little bit of back story, he and my Mom broke up when I was around 12 years old. He moved to a town about an hour & 1/2 away and on the weekends I used to ride the bus up to visit him. Unfortunately, I was one of those kids you never want your kid to be like. I partied and started drinking when I was around 13. I'd go to his apartment and while he was visiting with friends by the pool, I'd swim. And I'd sneak beers out of his fridge and drink them at the pool. One time I guess I wasn't being sneaky enough and he questioned what I was drinking. I lied and told him it was Dr. Pepper but he knew. All he did was tell me to go back to the apartment and wait for him. He never reamed me out like he should have. Heck, he didn't even tell me he was disappointed in me.

Another time, again at his apartment, I was on his porch sneaking a cigarette. I'm sure my Othermother knew what I was doing but nothing was ever said. I'm not sure why. I'm sure I let him down.

I've shown up at his house buzzed out of my mind and he never scolded me. Even though I was under age. One time, he and his missus were out seeing this old guy, Fred that we knew. Me and Mr. Wonderful showed up not knowing that they were there. I wasn't of the age to be dating and especially dating Mr. Wonderful and Dad never said a word.

My Mom told me that Dad used to try and get me to sit in his lap and love on me and that I'd never give him the time of day. I'm not sure why that was because I thought he was the greatest. I remember standing behind him and brushing his hair. He acted like he loved it and would let me brush as long as I would last. He made me feel like the best hairdresser in the whole world.

He's always made me feel like the most beautiful girl on the planet, who could do no wrong. That's sort of hard to swallow because I KNOW I was a terrorist, partying, smoking, drinking lowlife teenager. He's a man who was crazy enough to let me at the ripe old age of 20 or something, drive his restored vintage 1932 Ford. I didn't want to because I was sure I'd wreck it, but he had enough faith in me to let me have a go at it. When I was about 17 he let me take his Corvette and drive it for a day or two! How crazy is that??? We used to go out to bars together and hang out. How cool is that? He's a cool, overly trusting dude people!

I appreciate his love notes and I've saved every one of them. Some day when he's long gone, I'll be able to go back and read them and feel grateful that I have such a great Dad. I will remember us fishing together, and hanging out together having fun. I'm really lucky that I'm totally crazy about all 4 of my parents. Some people don't get along with their parents and I'm sorry for them. They are missing out. He's in his 70s now but we still have a good time together. I hope he lives to be 125 because we have lots more good times to have. I love you, Dad. You're da bomb!

Monday, February 27, 2012

On any given Sunday

It's Sunday and I don't have anything in particular to do. Well, there is the wall project that I haven't finished for the past month but I don't want to spend a pretty sunny day doing that. I could clean out the garage but that's work and I don't feel like working. Mr. Wonderful has gone to our little cabin in the woods and I could have gone down there but it's muddy and all of the wood is wet so I can't have a fire and if I can't do that - well, there's no reason to go.

As usual, I started out doing one thing and got sidetracked so I thought I'd give you a taste of what my day has been so far. I decided to cover my gray hairs so I colored my hair. While I was doing that I decided to work on my little fish pond. There's enough moss in there to feed an army of moss eaters and it's getting to the point where I can't see my fish, Goldiefish, Goldiefish and Spot. The pond has 2 tiers so I decided to start small and do the top area first - just in case I got sidetracked.

The water was downright gross and I'm sure my fishies were gasping for oxygen. I finally found a tube to drain it with after trying about 20 other items. I got the tube positioned in the water and got down at the other end and gave it a good suck to get the water flowing. The tube was sort of see through so I could see how close the gross water was getting to my mouth. I sucked on it ONCE and got a mouth full of scum water! Blecch!!!!! The water started flowing so I immediately did what any good redneck girl would do. I went and popped open a beer to wash my mouth out. Because you know that beer has alcohol in it and I needed some alcohol to kill the germs.

By this time, it was time to rinse the lovely color out of my hair so I tended to that for a while. Next, I decided to wax my bikini area because it was winter and I hadn't tended to things for quite a while. I have a home waxing kit so I was all set to go. There's a problem with home waxing when you have a back that won't flex and you can't get to the area that needs waxing. The directions on the box clearly state that it's important to pull the skin taut when yanking on the wax strips because bruising could occur. Well, I'm not going to show you a picture of my bikini wax bruises because I don't want your eyes to rot and fall out but I bet you can get the idea. My garden of Eden is now dark purple. And to add insult to injury, after all of the bruising and discomfort of waxing, I still have foliage that needs tending. I tell you, this girl can't catch a break.

It's only 2:00 in the afternoon and I have hours to fill my day. I'm off tomorrow because my kidlet doesn't have school so I can stay up as late as I want which will probably be 9:30 or so. Because I'm a real party animal.

As I sit here, typing my story of stupidity, I have noticed that I can see myself in the computer screen because I'm outside and it's bright.  In looking at myself I have noticed that I have 2 tiny little pimpies on my face. I tried to get rid of them by looking in the reflection of the screen and attacking them, but all I accomplished was to over-squeeze so now I have 2 bloody areas on my cheek.

I know for an absolute fact that I am a detriment to myself. If given too much free time, I'm going to do something to mar my appearance rather than improve it. If I don't do that, I'll try to "fix" something around the house and ruin it, causing more dollars in repair than if I had hired someone to do it. But you know what? I'm also laughing at myself because I'm such a dork. And laughing is good for the soul, so I guess I'll keep on doing what I do. Besides, you'd be bored and have lower self esteem if I didn't provide you with so many stories of my stupid adventures.

So enjoy, hopefully laugh at me and know that you can't pick zits successfully by looking at your reflection in a computer screen, you'll get a mouthful of scum water if you suck on a tube which is placed in a pond of scum water, and for Pete's sake - if you're needing a bikini wax....let a professional do it!

Friday, February 24, 2012

Julie and Julia

I watched the movie Julie and Julia last night. If you don't know what that is, it's a story of a girl who gives herself 365 days to cook every recipe in Julia Chiles' cookbook. I could do that! If I cooked from Julia's unpublished cookbook - Kitchen Disasters, or her book Substitutions Gone Bad. But that's not the point of my tale.

The girl in the movie - Julie started writing a blog, not knowing if anyone was reading her or not. In the movie, because it's Hollywood and everyone knows in Hollywood, everything works out for the best, Julie got tons of readership. Me\I on the other hand do not have any Hollywood magic, so I'm up to about 5 followers now. I don't care though. Oh no.

You see, 99.9% of all my images come from Google Images and by looking through those, I've managed to find some blogs that I really like. So I figure that if anyone out there in cyber world starts looking for a picture of a stick figure showing her boobies to someone, or a picture of pond scum, or a picture of cats, they might just stumble across me by accident. And then they'll become faithful followers of my blog. And I will inspire them in some way. It might be how to be organized (NOT!!!), or how to pull a prank on someone by reaching under a toilet stall and grabbing their leg. It might be how to make a huge bonfire, or how to shoot guns or inspiration of love by reading about me and Mr. Wonderful.

So really, I think I'm almost as important as say...Einstein, or Marie Curie because my drivel postings might show some poor soul the way towards true happiness. Like 6 degrees of separation or something like that.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Thursday, February 23, 2012


I've told you about my wonderful Mom. Yes, she was as strict as Hitler but I respect her like no one else on this earth. My Dad has been made fun of as being a Mr. Q-tip because he's spotless and whisks your dinner plate out from under you after you've taken the last bite. But he's a giving man with a pure heart so he makes a wonderful role model.

I don't think I've told too many stories of my brothers, other than the one of two of them crashing into one another in the middle of a field with nothing around them. Or the story of my younger brother and the Dataman game. I have 3 brothers. In the scheme of things, two are older, one is younger.

The oldest one I'll call Dr. Jekyll (he's the dude in the white shirt). He is the most giving, positive, happy spirited dude I've ever known. In the face of great adversity, he always manages to put on a happy face and find the good in everything. He's a bonsai artist and anyone who ever goes to his house is roped into trimming on plants to create true beauty. He loves to cook and every one of his 4 children are accomplished cooks because he made them get in the kitchen and help him. Heck, I can't get my own kids to cook with me but they're always helping him. When we were in high school, he was always kind to me. He took me shopping and bought me treats and even took me with him on some of his dates. The only thing I can remember that he did to me that I didn't like was to beat on my stuffed animals and when I'd cry, he'd mock me. It used to piss me off so much. I'd chase him, hoping to kill him but he was always faster then me.

The next brother (the shortest dude) was the one who had the same statement for me for the entire time we were growing up. "I hate you, I wish you would die." I heard that 50 thousand times if I heard it once. He didn't want to be seen with me, he didn't want to talk to me - I really believe he wanted me dead. He didn't get nice until he went away to college. And even then, he's kept his distance. He's a super cool guy with a great personality and I would like nothing better than to be able to hang out with him but for some reason, he still keeps his distance.

My youngest brother (the HUGE dude) started out living across the street from us when we were little. My Mom and his Dad got married and then we were brother and sister. He and I got along pretty well. He's a major brainiac so most of the time when he's talking to me, I have no clue what he's saying. I always have to remind him to "dumb it down" for me. He went back to college after retiring from the Army not too long ago, and I don't know what he's going to be. Probably a nuclear physicist or brain surgeon or an Einstein. Whatever he chooses, he'll be at the top of his field.

On the rare times that I get together with all 3 of my brothers it's fun, mayhem. The world better watch out because our 4 minds combined we could cause total destruction. It's so dang fun. Our respective spouses don't stand a chance. They will end up hanging out together because they can't get a word in edgewise with us.

I consider myself a very lucky girl to have such great guys around me. I wish I could see them all lots more. Sometimes I wonder if they'll miss me when I'm dead and gone. My oldest brother will have lost a beer drinking buddy. My youngest brother will have lost...I don't know but he might be sad. My middle brother might miss me a little - I just don't know. All I know is that I love them more than anything and I'm terribly proud of them. If anyone were to mess with them, I'd fight them to the death - me probably being the first one killed. I'd give them a kidney or my eyes or even my heart. But then again, they already have my heart.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Kiss Me!!!

I'm a hugger and a kisser. I loooooove hugging my friends, family, the mailman...whoever will let me hug them. One of my favorite tricks to pull on guys is to go towards them for a hug and tell them "gimme a kiss, too!" Then I lick my licks until I'm good and slobbery and watch them try to get away from me.

I did this to a young co-worker at a happy hour the other day. He was so cute...first his face turned really red then he slowly started backing away then he just burst into laughter. He was in on the joke.

Try it some time, it's funny. Just make sure to lick way outside of your lips and practically have the spit running down your chin to make it look really gross. Then watch your target try to figure out if you're serious and how they can get away from you.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

The Vulture

My family is goofy. All of us. My parents, my siblings, my kids. That's why I call my blog About 1/2 a bubble off. My nephew (whose dad is a carpenter) loves to tell me how goofy I am and one time, he told me that I was about 1/2 a bubble off from center. I thought that was the absolute perfect description and I've used it ever since.

Now that I'm way off subject, let me try to get back to the point. My Dad and OtherMother are good church going folk and they seem to always be visiting someone in the hospital. Many moons ago, they found a stuffed vulture and decided to make it the official sick person mascot. They take the vulture to the hospital and hang it somewhere near the person's bed. The goal is for the person to get better, otherwise the vulture will be there to clean up the mess. Sorta gross some may say, but I think it's funny.

The hospital staff usually always sees the humor in the vulture. I think that hospital workers have some of the grossest senses of humor of all. Cops are right behind that. I have had the vulture in my hospital room as has my daughter and it always gave us a chuckle. I think that the vulture may have gone missing so I'm going on a search to find one of my own. I've found some online but they don't have fuzzy feathers around their neck, and that's what makes me laugh. Who says being in the hospital has to be a sad thing? You can get a chuckle there, too.

Try it some time...find a gross little something or another and the next time you visit a friend in the hospital take your toy with you. Make up some absurd story about it and I bet you'll have people laughing with you.

Get well soon! Squalk Squalk!

Monday, February 20, 2012

I made the mistake of going with Manchild to.....

I'm sure I've said it before and I'll say it again, Manchild likes to have a scowly face. He looks like a cop enough anyway that he doesn't have to put on his mean face but I think he actually likes looking like an asshole meanie. I've learned that he's all bark and not bite, at least when it comes to me and the girls.

I have been riding him for over a month to get my daughter added to our phone plan and he's been putting it off. He tried to get me to do it (don't most husbands do that?) but I'm not authorized to change our plan so the onus was on him. One fine Saturday we were tooling around town and I was driving so he was my hostage. I drove right over to the phone store so we could get it taken care of once and for all.

This is how he views the phone company:

He thinks they're all out to screw us and I'll admit, they have us by the short hairs for sure. The cheap phone companies work fine around the big city but they don't have coverage around our little cabin in the woods so we're stuck using Mr. Big Bad Nazi Conglomerate Phone Company.

We entered the store and Mr. Man was immediately mad because the store was crowded. We found a service lady and I proceeded to tell her what we were trying to do. The lady was probably about 23 or 24 years old and when she saw Mr. Man and his big ugly scowling face, she sort of shrunk behind the counter. Besides needing to add a line to our service, we were also due for an upgrade so Mr. Man barks to the lady that he wants to see the free phones.

She pointed out the selection of "free" phones (all 3 of them)


and calmly explained that there were more "free" phones online - that their store didn't carry many and boy oh boy...that got him grumbling. I had finally had enough so I barked at him and told him not to take it out on the nice sales lady and that it wasn't her fault. Thankfully he backed off some. I dealt with the lady about the new phone line and then the next horror occurred. We were told that there would be a one time activation fee to add the new line.

Of course, my man was incensed since all we wanted to do was add a line to service that was already connected. I agreed that it sucked but what were we to do? I reminded him again, that it was not the poor little girl's fault. It was Big Brother Stick It To You And Yank Your Shorthair's fault. For once, Manchild's ranting paid off. He stated that he had been an excellent customer in good standing for many years and that he had never been late on a payment and it wasn't fair that he had to pay the fee. The lady offered to try and get it waived and immediately, Mr. Man calmed right down. He spoke to her in a respectable tone that it would be fantastic if she could do that.

As it turned out, the lady was able to get the charges waived and Mr. Man was happy. We completed our transaction and all went back to normal as if ranting and raving and scowling had never happened. I was very relieved to be done with that chore!

A day or so later, I wrote the nice lady an e-mail. Here's how it went...

I wanted to tell you thank you for all of your help when my husband (the grumpy guy in the orange t-shirt) and I came in to add a line to our service. He had been putting that task off for some time because he hates dealing with that kind of stuff and as you probably noticed...he was being a royal jerk-o-rama. You were so nice and calm and didn't seem to take offense. You made his day when you got the connection fee waived!

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for your great attitude and customer service.


And here is her reply:
No problem at all! I was very happy to help! It was wonderful working with you, I completely understand how the activation fee sounds like a lot of money to pay and you guys have been great customers so I was happy to take care of the fee. Again just check in on the credit on the next bill to make sure it went through if not just drop me a line and I’ll take care of it.

If ya’ll have any more questions or any concerns feel free to contact me!

Have a great day!


I guess she's had to deal with scary guys before and knows not to panic. All I know is that I was really embarrassed.

Friday, February 17, 2012

I sound like a Grackle!

Tis the season for everyone throughout the office to have some form of the crud. It might be sniffles and sneezing or coughing or both, but everyone seems to have it. Me included. I don't feel bad, I just sound that way. ("I'm not bad...I'm just drawn that way." - Jessica Rabbit).

If you live in the south, you'll know what a Grackle sounds like. The dictionary describes the sound as "Common Grackles make a variety of squeaks, whistles, and croaks. The typical song, made by both males and females, is a guttural readle-eak accompanied by high-pitched, clear whistles. It lasts just less than a second and is often described as sounding like a rusty gate. This bird's song is particularly harsh, especially when these birds, in a flock, are calling. Songs vary from, year round "Chewink Chewink" to a more complex breeding season "Ooo whew,whew,whew,whew,whew" call that gets faster and faster and ends with a loud "Crewhewwhew!"Rusted gate is right! The dictionary failed to mention the emphysemic wheeze that they do right before the clearing of phlegm or at least something that sounds like it, then the squawk. The wheeze isn't always noticed by people because it's much quieter than the rest of their song but I noticed it. Because I sort of sound like that right now.

Here's a lovely example of the Grackle song:

Don't you wish you could sound like that?

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Bad Hair

Short hair the way it should look

Still short but growing out
I have a love/hate relationship with my hair. It's super fine and straight so I can't pull off the full body, curled mane like the pretty girls can. Mine might start out that way but it usually takes about .03586 seconds for it to fall flat.

Getting sorta gnarly
Some time ago I decided to cut it off short and wear it spiky on the top. That's all well and good except that in order to keep it looking good, I need to have it cut every three weeks. A decent hair cut is usually about $45 or so and friends, I'm not made of money. The money tree in my back yard hasn't borne fruit for...ever. I have tried places like Super Cuts, Discount Dos, Joe's Broke Bowl Cuts, Elmer's Barbershop and at those places I always end up looking rather mannish.

My niece was going to beauty school so I could get a haircut from her for $9 (right up my alley!) but she graduated and now that she's a professional, the price has risen. She'd give me a discount but I still couldn't afford to have her do it every 3 weeks.

The pictures you see are a progression of my mop from short to medium to downright skanky. I've thrown in a couple for your viewing pleasure of alternative styles.

I could go for the cone head style if I could get my cranium stretched up and out. Then, I'd have a beautiful swan-like neck instead of the short, turkey waddle one I have now. Then, I got the great idea to maybe sport a hot pink mohawk. The company I work for uses the color pink in everything so I'd fit right in.

What do you think?

Cone head beauty

Mohawk madness!!!

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

What are those idiots thinking?!?

Because I work in an industry where we have to keep up with current trends, I get to see a lot of magazines. It's sort of nice perk of the job...getting to read magazines while at work and not get into trouble. I keep track of and stock our magazine room which entire room filled with various magazines from floor to about 8 feet up. Of course, we get all the girlie magazines like Vogue, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Elle, Vanity Fair, InStyle and many others.

The thing I've noticed that just drives me insane is that the magazines feature stuff that the average working girl can't afford! I don't have $350.00 to buy a cute little skirt to wear on weekends! I don't spend hundreds for slacks or hundreds for shoes or thousands for nice suits. I shop at Jacques Pennay (JCPenney), Tarjay, Ross, TJ Maxx, DSW, PAY LESS SHOES. Affordable places.

I will admit that I am very fashion challenged. I can't throw together cute little skirts with cool tops and complimenting cardigans with adorable little scarves. Hell, I'm doing good to make my shoes match my outfit! I'm from the old school way of thinking my socks have to match my shirt. If I wear brown pants, I'll wear brown shoes. You get the drift? So besides being cheap frugal, I'm clothes challenged.

Right now, things are really bad because I'm overweight and none of my regular clothes fit. I have a black pair of slacks and a brown pair that fit. Period. I have 2-3 skirts to choose from but I'm lacking the cute item to put on top that will hide my tummy. Since my back surgery, lower heels have to do because to wear the high ones are like sticking a knife in my back. I don't have but 2 cute pairs of low heels.

Colors are cool but I don't have clothes like these.

I don't have enough snow to fill these cones!

This is NOT me.

I'm not sure what this is!

My child support has stopped for I don't know how long, so my money is being stretched even further. And I haven't checked recently but I don't think that they've started paying cops a three figure salary just yet so I can't count on that. Boo hoo and pity me people! No, really...I'm not looking for pity, I'm looking for a shopping assistant who has a sense of style and who can master Ross Dress For Less like a ninja warrior. Nordstrom has personal shopping assistants! Neiman Marcus has them! Why not Ross? I think if Ross or any place like it could pay a person based on the amount of items the customer picked based on the assistant's suggestion and they'd be rolling in dough! I'd buy!

I went to H&M yesterday and my daughter helped me pick something out thank goodness. I'll wear the exact outfit she put together for the rest of my life, or until she changes it up. I won't deviate from her plan. Because I'm too challenged to put together something so cute. That's why mannequins in stores are dressed up, right? I wear the exact outfit the mannequin wears.

I see all kinds of fashion blogs and admire the ladies who can mix things up. I wish I had "it". But I don't. So, if you see a girl walking through a store who is dressed exactly like the mannequin it's probably me. Only, I'm not quite as stiff as the mannequin.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

I love...

I love my Mom because she’s strong, fair, kind, loving, generous and wonderful.

I love my Dad because he’s always made me feel like a princess. Even when I was being a toad.

I love my Step Mom because she’s fair, understanding, laid back, generous and very, very kind.

I love my Step Dad because he’s always positive, caring, a true gentleman, helpful and easy going.

I love my girl Kat because she’s strong, fearless, smart, caring and is very comfortable in her own skin.

I love my girl Zoe because she’s spirited, funny, very unique, extremely loving and gentle.

I love my husband because he’s strong, unafraid of anything, gentle, softhearted, loves animals, and isn’t afraid to show his feelings for me.

I love my ex-husband because he’s a good provider and a wonderful father.

I love my friends because they are genuine, supportive, are good sounding boards and would help me whenever I needed it.

I love my life because I’m fortunate enough to have all of these wonderful people around me, I have a good job, a warm, safe home, a strong family and because I am alive.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Scatterbrain....what? A butterfly?

I've mentioned before that I can't go from point A to point B without getting really distracted but the other day I really pulled a good one. Every morning I make myself a cup of coffee but on one particular morning I astounded myself. I prepared the coffee grounds, and I added the water then I turned on the coffee maker. I left for a few minutes and when I walked back into the kitchen, I heard a strange sizzling sound. I walked up to the coffee maker and O...M...G...what did I do?!?!?!? I did everything correctly with the exception of one tiny little thing. I neglected to put the pot under the dripper thing. Four cups of coffee percolated to perfection were waiting in the ground-holder-thingy, and all in the hot plate and all over the counter top.

Burning coffee grounds don't smell too good.

It takes quite a while to mop up hot coffee after it's spread out over 13 acres of counter top.

I wanted a cup of my stomach - not everywhere else.

Dang, I'm scatterbrained! What's next?

Sunday, February 12, 2012

I went to the gun show with Mr. Man

Mr. Wonderful and I don't go together like peas and carrots, we're more like Ren and Stimpy.

Lloyd Christmas and Harry Dunne.

Cousin Eddie and Catherine

I'm such a city girl and he's such a country boy. I like art and concerts and going out to clubs. Manchild likes gun shows. Which leads to my story.

Yesterday, I had a full day planned of goofing off, watching TV, eating bon bons and drinking champagne Bud Light, but Mr. Man asked me to go with him to the gun show. Because he asked me to go I abso-freakin-lutely agreed. I've been to some shows with him previously and they were usually painfully boring.

When we got to the one we went to yesterday, I figured it would be the same way but this one turned out differently. I admit, for the first five aisles we fought our way through crowded aisles. I'm talking really crowded! Tons of men pushing and wedging, attempting to find the perfect gun (I guess). At these shows, there's always someone selling various kinds of jerky. Apparently, 99% of the guys ate some because every 10 seconds I got a face-full of jerky burp. Also, guys don't care if they fart and stink up their immediate personal space because there was plenty of that going on, too. I wish I would have had some of that stuff coroners rub under their nose to block the smell of death because there was plenty of stink going on.

I've told boyo before that to me, gun shows look like 250 tables of the same thing over and over. There's pistols, rifles, flashlights, stun guns, holsters, knives and...wait a Oh, hell yeah!!! Somethin' for da ladies!!! A few gun shows ago I found the lone jewelry table and got a smokin' cool amber ring. FOR CHEAP! This time I didn't find any jewelry because I wasn't feeling the turquoise cuffs that looked like something Wonder Woman would wear, or the ring that was 3.5" long.

This time I found a picture for sale at an ammo booth and it took my breath away. At first I thought it was an abstract print so I stood off to the side, studying it for a while. The vendor dude saw me and called me over to look at it. Turns out, it was a picture from the wildfires in Bastrop, TX which occurred over this past summer. Out of something very sad and devastating came a picture I thought was extremely beautiful.

I was so excited! The more the vendor told me about the picture, the more it spoke to me. It had 2 of my favorite things! Fire and cows! I've never been a wheeler dealer but this time I worked on getting him to come down on the price and he did! I felt like I got a great deal and I think Mr. C. Smith was happy I was so happy. So now, I have one of 11 prints made of that scene. I was told that right after that picture was taken, firefighters cut the fence and got the cows into a trailer and hauled to safety and sadly, the entire property was reduced to cinders. Like I said, out of tragedy came a bit of incredible joy.

I imagine I'll keep going to stinky, crowded gun shows with Mr. Wonderful if he asks me but I won't mind. Maybe I'll find another treasure. Try it some time. It's a real experience.

Friday, February 10, 2012


I've boasted before about how I'm not a very good cook. I don't follow directions to a tee and if I don't have the main ingredient, I substitute. I'm the girl who put cinnamon in lima beans for flavor. Hey, I was 10 or 11 - I didn't know any better. Anyway, the other night I decided to go all fancy-fied on the fam-damily and I made something with a fancy name - baked cod thermidore. Doesn't that sound fancy?

Doesn't that look fancy? Well, mine looked nothing like it. The fish I used wasn't cod (of course) and the fillets were bigger and a little firmer so they didn't roll up very prettily. They tasted good - just looked yucky. Now, one reason I picked something with thermidore sauce was because that's such a fancy name for sauce. Turns out it's just butter, flower, cheese and juices from the cooked fish and I think a little wine. But I didn't have wine. All I had was some spiked tea stuff so I added that. It was pretty dang good! Also it called for cheddar cheese and all I had was extra sharp cheddar but again, I thought it tasted pretty good.

I also made Au-gratin potatoes which were killer good. They looked like a burned mess but they tasted great. So all in all, everything was good, but it looked a hot mess. The family wasn't too impressed but then again, Mr. Wonderful eats Dinty Moore beef stew and thinks it's good so I'm not going by his palate.

No, there weren't any fires thankfully but pictures like this could be very typical of my cooking prowess/luck. Although, I did try to thaw a package of meat in the microwave and didn't realize that there were 2 rather hefty metal clamps on each end of the tube and it made the microwave hum really loudly and I saw some cool sparks.

I know I've used some of these pictures before (thanks, Google images) but they're just so appropriate, I couldn't resist.

I'll keep updating about the funny/stupid stuff I ruin in my kitchen because, well, it's funny. Speaking of funny, the picture of the gooey hands came from a very funny story about disasters. Here's the link - you should check it out...

Have fun laughing at me and I'll keep providing material because I'm sure that my thermidore disaster won't be the last.

Bon appetit!

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Who the HELL wants white carpet??

When I bought my house I felt confident that it had been well maintained and cared for. The neighbors raved about how good the man of the house was at fixing up things. Well, I beg to differ.

I've installed a few light fixtures since I moved in and let me tell ya, it was scary how the previous ones were wired. Most didn't have junction boxes or support systems. They were just crammed into the sheet rock with bare wires twisted together. Can you say fire hazard???

The other thing that has turned out to be the bane of my existence is the damn, f%#*&ing WHITE carpet that covers the main area of the house. WHO IN THE HOLY FREAKIN' HELL PICKS WHITE CARPET????? Any time a flea farts, there's a stain on the carpet! I have two large oak trees in front of my home and let me tell you, it doesn't matter what time of year it is, there are going to be leaves strewn around over the damn WHITE carpet.

One of my kitties, Pork Chop, throws up a lot. Not sure why but she does. Anyway, she upchucks at least once a week and she has managed to totally ruin the carpet in my den because her upchuck is sorta red colored and it leaves a "lovely" pink stain in my freakin' stupid WHITE carpet.

The people before me had kids. Granted, they were in their late teens but still...they should have known that picking WHITE carpet was a really stupid idea. Hell, my 18 year old tracks in all kinds of shit. She tries to be careful but between her and her friends (all 200 of them that cycle through here during the day) they've trashed the path that leads from the front door to her room.

In my office someone wore shoes that had grease on them so now, I have black stains that won't wash out. I'm telling you, I want to pull my hair out! This is the first ever HUGE purchase I've made on my own. Manchild in no way contributes to the cost of this home. It's all on ME. No one helps me. This is MY home. My first. And I'm damn proud of it, even if it does have shitty wiring. I'd love to rip out the dang stinkin' stupid ass WHITE carpet but I don't have enough clams to put something else down in it's place. Every single cent of my money goes towards my kids or my home expenses. I might be lucky to have $100 left over for extras each month.

Now, I have to admit that my ex passed along the steam carpet cleaner to me since he doesn't have carpet any more. I've steamed the holy hell out of the carpet but the stains remain. It's freaking WHITE carpet for cripes sake!!! In about a month we managed to have that carpet looking like crap and that bugs me. I'm not claiming to be a great housekeeper but DANG! No matter how much I clean, that carpet isn't going to look good.

I think I'm going to take up a fund. I'll charge my oldest kidlet's friends a dollar every time they come over and walk through the house. And I'll have a lemonade stand and a garage sale and maybe stand on the ledge of a tall building and threaten to jump unless someone rips the stupid WHITE carpet out of my house. If any of you know a carpet dude who has something for really cheap let me know, will you? Because if you don't you'll probably see me on the side of the road dancing in a costume. Only, I won't be advertising a business, I'll be advertising the raffle of the stupidest piece of WHITE carpet there ever was.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Poor baby snip snip

This is Schwayze. He's such a good boy. His fur is as soft as the softest bunny rabbit you ever touched. He's the cat that likes to sleep on top of my head but I don't mind because he's so dang sweet. I think he thinks I'm his mama.

Schwayze is about a year old now and he's starting to display some traits of a testosterone filled teenager. He's started spraying his awful smelling scent stuff everywhere. I can handle it if it's outside, but he's progressed to doing it in the house and that's just not acceptable. So today I took him to a place called "Cat Snip" and they're going to neuter him.

Sorry Schwayze but it's for your own good. I know they're not really going to use a pair of scissors on him. It was just a graphic to keep your interest up. Did it work?

The good thing is that they'll dope him up so much, he won't care. I wish I got off of work earlier because I'd like to see him all drugged up. Drugged animals are funny. I hope he isn't mad at us for getting him fixed but I figured that was better than having to clean up cat-stink all the time. Plus, hopefully he'll be more of a lover and not a fighter.

I know I'm doing the right thing but I still feel sort of bad for him. Just like it is with kids, I'll probably worry all day long and when I pick him up, he'll feel fine and be just like he always is. I will have worried and gnashed my teeth and pulled my hair out for nothing. It's the way I am. I'm a worrier. Oh well, I'll go think about my pansy boy now. Yall have a nice day.