Kelly's Kvetch of the Day

IN WHICH THE TELEVISION GODS CONSPIRE AGAINST ME

2012-01-29T15:16:00.000-08:00

For reasons beyond my ken, the television Gods are conspiring against me this fine Winter Sunday where it's 80 degrees in my neck of the woods and remind me again that Global Warming is a myth, will ya?

WHY are the television Gods conspiring against me, you ask?

I'll tell you.

For starters, I had set my DVR to record several programs today. Several IMPORTANT programs.

The first sign of trouble was when the first program, AMA Supercross, wasn't shown when CBS said it would be shown which makes them big, fat, hairy liars. Instead of the scheduled Supercross, it was some stupid political show with Michelle "Crazy Eyes and a Closeted Husband" Bachmann and some other people yammering on about who is the "True Conservative" in the current crop of GOP Presidential wannabes.

And because my DVR and Verizon Fios programming still insisted it was CBS Sports Spectacular (Spectacular FAIL!), my DVR recorded said political show.

Isn't that swell?

If you are friends with me on Facebook, you got to witness a serious fit being pitched about the CBS Supercross Switch. The was much gnashing of teeth, rending of garments, tearing of hair and screams of rage.

We take our motorcycle racing serious in this house.

So then a mad scramble ensued to find out exactly WHEN CBS would be showing last night's Supercross and ALLEGEDLY, it will be shown here in the LA area at 4:00pm but we shall see and I'm not holding my breath.

But it gets better.

The Supercross Lites race was scheduled to be shown on SpeedTV and I had made sure to set my DVR to record that.

But when I checked my DVR "Scheduled" page, the Lites race was not showing up in the scheduler.

So I check the channel and the Series Manager and yes, it's got the little check box thingamajig that tells me it's a Series that will be recorded.

But guess what?

It would not record. It would not record. IT WOULD NOT RECORD!!!!!

So then I decide I'll just delete the recording from the scheduler and record it manually. Sounds easy, right?

WRONG.

I could not make a single change to that particular program. It wouldn't record but it wouldn't let me delete or change anything. I tried and I tried and I tried and my DVR and Verizon Fios programming just LAUGHED at me and my feeble attempts to take control.

Finally I just flung the remote across the room and let out a wail of anguish that brought the dogs running to my assistance and caused Thing 2 to roll her eyes and to tell me to take a chill pill.

I think there were daggers shooting from my eye sockets at THAT. Thing 2 has zero interest in anything motorcycle. Obviously, she's a Changeling left by the Gypsies.

I was finally able to record the Lites race but on the non-HD channel. Which is like recording something in black and white on a color TV.

It's just wrong.

The CBS and its programmers are WRONG!!!

Bastards.

But on a positive note, NBCSports did nothing to screw up the NHL All Star game.

CBS would have.

Because THEY DON'T CARE.

Bastards.

Point, Counter(top) point

2012-01-28T14:49:00.000-08:00

Well, TheManTheMyth and I nearly dropped the gloves because of our %&^#! countertops.

You'd think it would be easy peasy to decide on a color for concrete countertops but if you thought that, you'd be wrong, Mister.

This is kind of what I had in mind when TMTM suggested we do concrete countertops:

But then he started talking about staining the concrete to be any color I wanted and that's when it all went wrong.

Oh, sure, how hard is it to pick a friggin' color, you may be asking yourself about now. Well I'll tell you, IT'S FRIGGIN' HARD!!

And because I need to SEE something live and in person before making a decision that I'll have to live with FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE (not really; I'm just being dramatic to which you're thinking, "No shit, Sherlock!") we (meaning, *I*) have changed my our minds way too many times.

This morning, we took a field trip to a concrete place because TMTM said the concrete floor of this joint was divided into all sorts of different colors and this way I could SEE for myself what a color would look like and it'd make it much easier to decide.

And guess what we found when we got there?

They had ground all the color off their concrete floors.

And I'm all, "Really?"

Of course.

So we finally chose yet ANOTHER color (to compliment our walnut butcher block island countertop) and TMTM is hard at work sanding, grinding and whatever else he needs to do to get the countertops DONE.

After all this, there is still the chance that it'll have to be shitcanned, especially when it comes time to move this heavy ass piece of concrete out of the garage and into the house and then we'll be back to square one.

Because that's how we roll.

THE HONEYMOON IS STILL GOING STRONG

2012-01-20T16:58:00.000-08:00

It's been almost a whole week since George came into my life and the honeymoon is still in full swing.

The simpering.

The giggling.

The cooing.

The anxiety when we are separated.

The fondling. Oh yes, the fondling.

I know it's weird to love a cellphone THAT MUCH but I do.

I've had more fun this week playing with George and downloading apps and choosing ringtones and notification tones and wallpaper and oh! I love George!

What's so fabulous about George is that he delivers e-mails RIGHT AWAY!! And I can actually send a response!

I know!

Who'd a thought? Ain't technology wunnerful?

There is one problem, though, with George.

Unlike the real George Parros, iPhone George is quite the delicate thing. Seriously, I'm terrified I'm going to drop him. I honestly did not expect this phone to be so slick and slippery and glassy.

In all the years I've owned a cellphone device, I have never dropped or broken my phone.

So when the guy at the Apple store asked me if I wanted to shell out the extra $100 for the Apple Care for iPhone plan, I hesitated because see previous sentence. But as soon as I picked up George out of the box, I said, "Sign me up!"

I've ordered me an Otterbox to keep George safe but it's going to be a few days until it arrives and until then, I have to be extra gentle with George.

But I don't mind because we love each other! And George doesn't mind that my wallpaper is of Jonas Hiller (whom I also love, that hot Swiss Mister!) instead of a picture of George Parros himself.

Because George the phone is that awesome. And understands my obsession for hockey players.

Unlike Siri and her "I'm sorry, I can't help you" when I asked her to help me find some hockey players.

I'll remember that, Siri. Trying to keep me from my intended targets.

Anyway, I have found my Soul Mate of a cellphone

And yes, I know I am weird.

But happy!

With George!

SIX WORDS

2012-01-19T15:16:00.000-08:00

I was reading the latest issue of The Oprah Magazine (Don't you judge me) and there was a feature called, "You in Six Words" where you describe your life in...wait for it... six words.

Some of the contributions were funny and some were sad. Some were Deep and some were shallow.

So I thought about it and thought about it and wondered how I would describe my life in six words because it's not as if I've lived a fabulous life but I haven't exactly lived a humdrum BORING life, either. Dead Head, Head Banger, Floozy, Headbangin' Floozy, etc. are just some of the things I've experienced/done/been.

I haven't traveled around the world or even to countries that aren't part of North America.

I haven't had a really horrible (paying) job or one that made me excited and/or inspired.

I loved. I've lost. I've won (Isn't that oh-so deep?).

However, that's not my Six Word description.

No, after really thinking about the things I've done in my, wait, how old am I again? Oh, that's right, 48-1/2 years. Jeez.

Anyway, after really thinking about the things I've done in my 48-1/2 years, the best Six Word description I can come up with is this:

Some Questionable Choices But No Regrets.

Because I've made some questionable decisions/choices, some of which were beyond questionable, some were painful and some were just plain stupid. But I don't regret any of them because they were experiences that made me who I am today.

Older and (somewhat) wiser.

So how would you describe your life in six words?

I WILL HUG IT AND SQUEEZE IT AND LOVE IT AND KISS IT AND I WILL CALL IT "GEORGE"

2012-01-17T13:35:00.000-08:00

Guess what I got? Guess what I got? Guess what I got?

No, not George Parros (dammit)

Nor did I get a restraining order from George Parros.

Although the day isn't over yet.

No, I got an iPhone 4S!!!!

I KNOW!!!!

And can I just say that I love this phone as much as I love George?

Because I do.

Which is why I have named it "George."

Oh, and SPEAKING of my iPhone 4S and George Parros, guess what was the first thing I asked Siri?

Go on, guess.

Give up?

The first thing I asked Siri was, "Where can I find hockey players?"

And Siri's response?

"I'm sorry. I can't help you with that."

Wow, Siri. Low blow.

Somehow, Siri found out about my *thing* for ~~stalking~~ hockey players and is trying to protect her/its own ass from any future legal repercussions.

WhatEVER, Siri. I don't NEED your help.

Except when I need to find a good defense attorney.

Bad news, Good News

2012-01-14T14:37:00.000-08:00

So this morning, I get in my car and head to the Crack House (don't judge; I've lost 12lbs since November 1st. I can afford to treat myself now and then). Although I have XM Radio, which I LOVE and can't/don't want to live without, I do listen to my iPod in my car.

So I'm driving and I go to switch from XM to my iPod and it doesn't switch over. I keep hitting the switch on the steering wheel and it just goes from XM to AM to FM to AUX but not to "Kelly's iPod."

"Hmmmm," I think to myself. So I open the console between the seats to see if maybe my iPod, which is a Red Nano with my name engraved on the back, had come unplugged.

And yes, you could say that it had, indeed, become unplugged. In fact, it was gone.

Along with my Shell gas card.

Fuck.

And then I think that maybe Thing 1 borrowed my gas card so he could put gas in Big Red and took my iPod because he needed the cord for HIS iPod.

So I ask him and nope, he doesn't have it.

I ask everyone in the family if they have my gas card and my iPod and the answer is No.

Which means that someone stole my iPod and my gas card.

But left a couple of dollars and a boatload of change. Go figure.

And no, my car was not locked. I know, I know. Here's your sign.

But at least my wallet wasn't in my car. Not that there was any money in it but still.

I've already called Shell and reported my card stolen and it will take a week for a new one to get here. Luckily, I had just filled my tank the day before so I'm good there.

However, there IS a bright side to all this:

I GET TO GO AND GET A NEW iPHONE 4S!!!

I KNOW!!

Thing 1 is going to pitch a fit but he can go out and do something to EARN his own iPhone. And pay the monthly bill.

Yeah, shut HIM up.

And before anyone says, "But Kelly, what do YOU do to earn an iPhone?" let me just say that at this time of year, every year, I EARN MY KEEP and TheManTheMyth acknowledges it.

And by "earning my keep" I mean I take care of all the paperwork, of which there is buttloads, for our motorcycle race. Including doing the results, which I finished in less than two days (which is a record) because I'm THAT GOOD.

As soon as TMTM gave me the go-ahead for the new phone, I skedaddled to my local Apple store.

Only to discover they were sold out of the 16GB phone.

Yeah.

So, I'll continue to use my piece of poo Droid for a little while longer and I dug out my ancient iPod Shuffle, the one that looks like a pack of Wrigley's Spearmint gum, loaded it up with a couple of songs and I'm good.

For now.

The Car? Or Debbie?

2012-01-12T11:21:00.000-08:00

I am on the horns of a dilemma here, people.

A decision needs to be made.

A choice must be made.

I must use my Freedom of Choice but not about a dog in Ancient Rome who had 2 bones and picked up one and licked the other and now I'm off on a Devo song tangent.

But that's how my mind works.

So, back to my dilemma, my choice, my decision that needs to be made.

Let me start by talking about my cellphone.

I know, excitement city.

Since I've had my current cellphone, the Motorola Droid, it has been a great phone. Unless I want to send or receive e-mails. Then it sucks big, fat donkey dicks.

And since I receive, on the average, 50+ e-mails a day, this is A Problem.

For reasons unknown to me, my phone likes to withhold my e-mails until IT decides when and if I should receive them. And how often I should receive them. There's been many a time that e-mails will arrive a good 48 hours AFTER they've been sent.

Another issue is that my Droid will re-send the same e-mails as many as 5 times. And when you get 50+ e-mails being resent 5 times, it's A Problem.

And another issue is that e-mails won't load so I can't open them.

And yet ANOTHER ISSUE is that I am unable to send e-mails using my primary account. Every time I attempt it, I'm asked for my password and then told my password is incorrect and sucks to be you, doesn't it?

My phone. Disrespecting me since 2010.

So OBVIOUSLY I need a new phone. One that doesn't give me attitude and does what I pay for it to do.

And since I am a diehard fan of the Fruit Company, the phone I want is the Apple iPhone.

And if I'm going to get an iPhone, it makes sense to get the 4S and not the 4.

Now, I'm going to move from talking about my stupid phone to talking about my undergarments.

My bras, to be exact.

I don't wear cheap bras. I can't. My bras work hard for the money keeping my massive mammaries supported and a cheap bra just doesn't offer the love and support my F-Troops require.

So spending nearly $100 on a single bra is something that Has to Be Done.

And this week, one of my expensive yet hardworking bras finally threw in the towel, rolled over and died. The underwire snapped in two and poked right through the material, practically impaling me in the rib cage.

As I've said, those poor bras work hard for the money.

So this means I need to buy new bras, which is actually something I HATE to do because it takes hours to find one that fits right and feels right and even if it's the same bra I've worn, you have to try on every.single.bra because they all fit differently.

Plus, you spend A LOT of money for something that isn't something you can play Words With Friends on and that makes me cross.

Which leads me to My Dilemma.

Funds are more than a little tight this time of year, what with paying for Christmas and an offroad motorcycle race and a kid who just had surgery on his knee and all those pesky doctors and hospitals and physical therapists and MRI people want to be paid.

Which means that I have to decide: Do I get my new iPhone or do I buy some new Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders?

Both will see A LOT of use, both are very much needed.

The iPhone?

The bras?

What do I do? Which do I choose?

And if you're wondering what the title has to do with anything, watch "Bachelor Party" with Tom Hanks.

HEY KIDS, WHAT DAY IS IT??

2011-12-31T12:49:00.000-08:00

It's the day when every blogger blogs about what went on in their lives throughout the year.

Why?

Because it's the last day of the year, that's why!

But guess what?

CHICKEN BUTT!!!

That never gets old.

*I* am not going to do a 2011 retrospective because frankly, not a whole helluva lot went on during 2011 that merits reminiscing about. I went to Lake Tahoe for a couple of days in August. That's about it.

Because who lives an exciting life?

Not this gal.

And I'm okay with that.

Once upon a time, I did Fun and Exciting Things to ring in the New Year.

In 1983, I was dating a guy who was the singer in a rock band. I KNOW, right? Every girl should go out with a guy in a rock band at least once in their lives and then? Box checked.

Anyway, he had a house party gig on New Year's Eve and I was all excited, so excited in fact that I neglected to actually eat anything in the hours leading up to the party, where I would be starring in the role of "Lead Singer's Girlfriend."

And because it was New Year's Eve and I was the Lead Singer's Girlfriend, which was not as glamorous as it sounds, I was a-drinking and a-partying, all on an empty stomach.

So by the time midnight rolled around, guess who was rolling around in the bushes, puking her guts out? Oh, I was a LOT of fun that night, lemme tell you. And The Boyfriend? Was NOT sympathetic. Or concerned. Or attentive. But what he DID do, was find someone else to kiss at midnight, nice guy that he was.

New Year's Eve 1986 was a good one. I went and saw the Grateful Dead play one of their famous/infamous New Year's Eve shows. I went with my boyfriend, The DeadHead, and while the rest of the DeadHeads camped out in the local park, we roughed it at the Marriott in Berkeley.

Surprisingly, I made it through the entire show without ever once indulging in the recreational chemicals that are plentiful at Dead concerts. I don't remember why.

Since I've been married to TheManTheMyth, we've spent most of our NYE camping out in the desert with our motorcycle club. For years, we would cook a gigantic prime rib for the everybody and drink martinis and champagne and set off fireworks, which would scare the crap out of everyone's dogs and there was always drama of some sort including the guy who rolled his truck 1/4 mile from camp and then spent the next few hours wandering through the desert in a daze like Moses if Moses had been drunk and rolled his truck, a few fistfights breaking out amongst long-time friends and guess who decided she's kind of done "celebrating" in that manner?

Which is why I'm saying Farewell 2011, Hello 2012 here at home with Thing 2 and Gracie Lou while TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 are carrying on tradition in the desert.

I will watch my beloved Anaheim Ducks probably get beaten by the Colorado Avalanche because the Ducks are sucking big time this year but I still love them.

And I will wake up in 2012, without a hangover and I will think about what I can do to make 2012 a little more interesting than 2011 in a way that doesn't involve NHL players filing restraining orders. Again.

PANDEMONIUM

2011-12-15T12:52:00.000-08:00

Last week I went to IKEA to return something AND to stock up on bags of their Swedish Meatballs and Sauce Mix (because YUMMY!) and I figured while I was there, I really should look at their cookware because I was in serious need of a new frying pan and besides, there's always tons of swell stuff at IKEA along with Real Housewives of the OC all pushing strollers filled with screaming toddlers because, in case you didn't know, IKEA is the hot ticket to go for Mommy & Me outings because not only is there a little Drop-the-Rugrats-Off-Here-While-You-Shop daycare/play area, the cafe serves good food and dirt cheap prices and if I lived closer to an IKEA, I'd eat every meal there and wow this is one helluva long run-on sentence.

Deep breath.

So anyway, I'm browsing in the cookware section and there's all kinds of pots and pans and I finally choose a big-ass heavy duty frying pan, pay for it and haul it home.

You guys. It's the most awesome pan in the world.

Everything that I've cooked on it has come out perfect.

It's beautiful.

We're in love, my pan and I.

Or is it "my pan and me?" Grammar police? What say you?

Anyway.

I'm thinking of giving my pan a name because we have a Relationship going on now so what's a good name for it?

Oh. Duh. Peter. Get it? Peter PAN??

Work with me, people!

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Peter:

Isn't he GORGEOUS??

Yes, he weighs a ton and has to be washed by hand instead of just tossing him the dishwasher but I DON'T CARE, I LOVE HIM AND WE'RE GOING TO BE TOGETHER 4EVR!!

Kelly

Peter

4 EVr

And filed under "Weird Stuff" (not like me being in love with a frying pan is weird or anything), Thing 1 went to change the oil in Big Red and found this tied to the undercarriage:

There's only one obvious explanation for this:

MORE COWBELL!!

CONTAIN YOURSELF, WOMAN!!

2011-12-08T12:35:00.000-08:00

Despite all evidence to the contrary (have you SEEN my office?), I have a "thing" for organizational stuff. I buy books that tell me how to declutter and simplify my life.

Never mind that those books have become part of the clutter that has taken over my office, my Special Place, my Sanctuary. Yeah, it's a mess but I LOVE my office. Although I would love to shitcan my desk because it's huge and ugly massive and takes up way too much room because it's so huge and massive and ugly and it really doesn't have much storage which is why EVERYTHING ends up ON it instead of put away nice and neat IN it.

Anyway.

I love anything that helps you to Get Organized and today, I visited the Mecca of the Organizational World.

The Container Store.

Whose motto should be, "A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place and this is the Place to Get a Place for Everything!"

When I walked in, I thought I had died and gone to Organizational Heaven.

And, I think I gave a squeal AND a heavy sigh.

I walked up and down every. single. aisle and made sure I checked out the end-caps to see what sort of gadgetry called out to me and let me tell you, EVERYTHING called out to me.

I easily could have spent hundreds, no, THOUSANDS of dollars I don't have on stuff I'm positive I need to turn my office into a Thing of Organized Beauty.

Cabinets! Bins! Shelving! Racks! Holders! Gadgets!

I wandered into the kitchen section and there were Cabinets! Bins! Shelving! Racks! Holders! Gadgets that you didn't know even existed but you know you Must Have!

Everything to keep your kitchen all tidy and organized!

The Laundry/Utility Section! Bins! Cabinets! Shelving! Holders for mops, brooms, buckets! Gadgets!!

Oh, it was Organizational overload! There were bins to hold bins! It was like the Matroyshka Dolls of storage!

I needed to contain myself (get it? Who cracks herself up? This gal!) before I exploded so I headed out the door.

But not before purchasing two items to help me in my organizational needs: A rubber pet hair removal brush thingamajig (it works!) and lids for dog food cans.

Who's Miss Organized now?

Not this gal.

WHY?

2011-11-28T10:07:00.000-08:00

1. Why did I wake up feeling semi-okay despite an utter lack of sleep because TheManTheMyth kept smacking me because I was ALLEGEDLY snoring yet how can I be snoring if I wasn't even asleep and so I fought against sleep so that I wouldn't get smacked but now I have a raging headache and feel like total poo? Oh. Yeah. LACK OF SLEEP.

2. Why do people walk alongside their carts while at the supermarket instead of pushing them like normal people? Do they not realize that they are taking up the entire aisle when they do this?

3. Why do people choose to go grocery shopping with the entire family and by "entire family" I mean Mom, Dad and multiple ill-behaved yard apes who are all having meltdowns because they want candy and Ding Dongs and Jolt Cola. And these are also the people who walk alongside their carts. The whole damn family. Nobody pushes the cart. They all hang on to the sides and mow down anyone in their way.

4. Why is it I don't mind doing laundry but I hate folding it and putting it away?

5. Why am I actually semi-excited for Christmas this year? I'm usually of the "Bah Humbug" mind set.

6. Why do I suck so badly at "Words With Friends?"

A DEEPLY PROFOUND KIND OF, WELL, PROFUNDITY. AND HOW KELLY GOT SCHOOLED AT THE DMV

2011-11-23T12:13:00.000-08:00

Let me state right up front that when it comes to my religious/spiritual beliefs, I'm about as Christian as, well, Moses. Or Pharaoh.

In other words, I'm NOT. A Christian, that is.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

It's a Choice. A Lifestyle, if you will.

Anyway.

Bible Thumpers annoy me. I can't recall the last time a Muslim, Jew or Buddhist knocked on my door wanting to save my soul from eternal damnation.

Because it's never happened.

Today, however, I had an experience at the Department of Motor Vehicles (of all places) that gave me pause.

For starters, every time I have to go to this particular DMV, I always, ALWAYS get lost. I turn right off the freeway when I should have turned left, I turn left on the street where its located instead of turning right and by the time I figure out where I screwed up, I've taken the Ho Chi Minh Trail.

All I needed to do was renew the registration on my ATV, which expired back in 2004. Yes, I'm a little late. My excuse is that I never received a renewal notice. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So the lovely Woman of Color is doing my paperwork and suddenly she leans forward and beckons me in like she's going to tell me a secret.

I lean in real close and she whispers, "Do you read the Bible?" And I'm thinking, "Crap. All I want is my OHV sticker and instead another well-meaning Bible Thumper wants to save my soul. At the DMV. Great, just great" but instead I just pleasantly say, "Some times." Which is not really a lie.

She then tells me that there's a verse that says, "Be Still and Know that I am God" and I nod and smile and I don't say anything.

Then she tells me that when it gets all chaotic and crazy, which, at the DMV happens on a regular basis, she takes a deep breath and sits still for a moment and whispers that verse to herself. Then, she said, she is reminded of a Greater Power and can continue to do her job without going postal.

I just continued to nod and smile and I took my items and wished her a wonderful Thanksgiving and started to toddle off when I stopped and turned back and said, "Thank you for sharing that."

And she just smiled and said, "Your welcome."

The whole way home (I didn't get lost LEAVING the DMV) I just kept hearing that lady whisper, "Be Still and Know that I am God."

And the lesson I learned today was that in times of chaos, just take a moment to be still and focus on a Positive.

This will come in handy during the chaotic holidays.

Class dismissed.

CHECK, 1, 2. CHECK, CHECK

2011-11-21T12:43:00.000-08:00

TheManTheMyth is kicking his family out of the house over the Thanksgiving weekend. We've all been told to find someplace else to go.

Why, you ask, and I just typed, "aks" and since when do I speak Ebonics?

Anyhoo, the reason we have been asked to leave our place of residence is so that TMTM can re-finish our hardwood floors. I have no idea where he is planning on sleeping unless he climbs in and out of the bedroom window. Which is what he did the last time we refinished the floors several years ago.

Why are we refinishing our hardwood floors if we just did them a few years ago? I'll tell you.

As I may have mentioned a time or two, we're remodeling the kitchen and dining room and the floor of the new section of the dining room is hardwood and the existing floors in the dining room, living room, entry and hallways have taken quite a beating and if we want everything to match, those areas all have to be redone.

So, there's your answer.

And now you're probably asking what refinishing hardwood floors have to do with the title of this post.

I'll tell you.

We have to move everything out of the dining room and living room and put them on our upper, covered patio and also in my office. And in my never-ending attempts to de-clutter, I'm going through some old file cabinets so I toss that shit out.

And I found an old file box filled with bank statements and cancelled checks from the early 1990's. And some from my days as a Spinster.

So I've been sitting here feeding checks and bank statements into my little desktop shredder and while I've been doing that, I've been taking a walk down memory lane.

It's been interesting to see checks written to department stores that are no longer in business: May Company, Circuit City, Mervyns, The Broadway, MonkeyWard, Robinson's. I bought records at the Wherehouse and Sam Goody. There were regular checks made out to Crown Books and Waldenbooks. I wrote my sister a check for $50.00 for Christmas. The memo line on that was, "Merry Christmas, Darling!" I purchased hosiery at Park Lane Hosiery.

I just now found a check made out to King Neptunes, which is a little seafood and bar joint. A real dive. I remember that night. I went there after work to meet my sister and some friends and my sister impressed the bar crowd by putting her leg behind her head while fitting her fist in her mouth. Some old seadog sitting nearby drunkenly asked her if she was single after that display of talent.

After my cash ran out and I still wanted to continue the shenanigans, I jokingly asked the bartender if I could cash a check and darned if he didn't say "Yes."

Something else that I remember about that night. The TV in the bar was on and everyone went silent when President George H. Bush came on and announced that "The Liberation of Kuwait has begun" which became known as "Desert Storm."

There are mortgage payments for our first house and our former vacation home on the Colorado River. I also found a 17 year old check for $405.00 we got back from the escrow company when we sold the vacation house and for some reason, we never cashed it. And that was at a time when we really were hurting for money. I showed it to TheManTheMyth and he was all, "What the hell?" How did we miss THAT?"

I found the final payment made on the very first car (truck, actually) I ever bought. It was a 1985 Nissan pickup and all I could afford at the time was what was known as the Stripper Edition. It basically came with a seat and a steering wheel. No radio, no A/C, no power steering, no passenger mirror, no back bumper. And I loved that truck. Every birthday and Christmas, my family would buy something for it. My grandma bought the stereo cassette player, my dad bought the back bumper and for my birthday the first year we were together, TheManTheMyth had A/C installed. Seriously, that was the best material gift I've ever received.

And because shit happens this way, about 3 months after I made that final payment and had the pink slip in hand, my beloved truck was destroyed in a fire. And to clarify, it didn't catch on fire; it was IN a fire.

Which is story in itself that I'll have to save for another time.

Among other things found in that file box o' bank statements are TMTM's divorce papers from his first marriage (I married a used husband, ladies). I'm hanging on to those to remind him that he married Up.

I also found a 1971 Eisenhower Uncirculated Silver Dollar, still in its Official packaging. That sucker is solid silver. No idea what its worth is, though.

My poor little shredder is getting so much use that the motor keeps overheating and I have to shut it down for 15 minute increments.

Okay, back to shredding. And reminiscing.

DIARY OF A GIMPY KID. ACTUALLY, THE GIMPY KID'S MOM

2011-11-11T12:38:00.000-08:00

So, Thing 1 survived his surgery on Wednesday. But man, what a long-ass day!

He was originally scheduled for surgery at noon. Then they told him to come in a 1:00pm. And of course he can't eat or drink anything after midnight so by the time 1:00pm rolls around, he's ready to gnaw on his arm.

We check in, he gets all prepped and put in his cute little hospital gown, booties and a dapper chapeau:

He gets hooked up to his IV and then...we wait. And wait. And we wait some more. At 3:00pm, he gets wheeled to the pre-op waiting area and talks with his doctor and the anesthesiologist. He gets a shot of something and is off to LaLa Land. Which was good because he was a nervous wreck this time.

FINALLY, at 4:00pm, which, if you do the math, is a whopping FOUR HOURS later than the original surgery time, they tell me to wave goodbye to my little boy and off he goes to surgery, to go Under the Knife.

By this time, I'M around ready to chew my arm off so I figure I'll walk somewhere (I didn't want to lose my parking spot) and get a bite to eat. And I look in my wallet and there's a whole two bucks in there. Which would be enough for a bottle of Two Buck Chuck (if I drank wine...which I don't) but not enough for a meal.

Of course I would arrive at the hospital for my kid's surgery without any money. Especially since I knew I would be there for hours. So why bring money? Especially since the cafeteria is right next to the lobby/waiting area and smells of food would waft out every time someone opened the door.

Which meant, if I wanted food, I had to go somewhere that took plastic. Which narrowed my choice to MickeyD's. Yay.

To make this day go even better, my phone decided to be a dick. I could not get internet, even with the hospital's free WiFi, which meant I could not amuse myself on Facebook or even play Words With Friends (if anyone wants to play, I'm "Another Kelly" and I'm terrible at WWF so it'd be an easy win for you. Just sayin'). After sending and receiving a couple of texts, the battery decided to roll over and play dead. All in the space of about 3 hours. Which is ANOTHER reason why I hate my phone and am counting the days until January 2, 2012 when I can upgrade.

Nothing like going off on a tangent about my stupid phone. Again.

Back to Thing 1.

An hour and a half after he went Under the Knife, his doctor comes out and tells me everything went well, the screws and wire holding his kneecap together were removed and repairs were made to damaged cartilage and ligaments and someone would come and get me in about 45 minutes.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Thank God I had my Kindle since I couldn't play WWF. And in the time I sat waiting for someone to come and get me, I read 75% of a book before my eye began to twitch and the room, to pitch.

An hour and a half later, I went up to the desk and asked if I could see my kid. He was finally brought in and we spent the next hour and half waiting for painkillers and also for him to pee because they wouldn't release him until he peed. Both boxes were finally checked and he was wheeled out to the car.

By the time we got him in the car, the painkillers were in full effect and I believe his exact words were, "I'm higher than a kite." And his next words were, "I think I'm gonna puke."

Yay.

I got him home without incident and put him to bed.

And to give you an idea of just how high he was, he invited his sister, Thing 2, to sit and watch the Country Music Awards with him.

I know!!

And they kept up a conversation the whole time without a single, "No, I hate YOU!"

I know!!!

Of course, that sibling love faded as soon as the meds wore off and things were back to normal.

Well, as normal as it gets when your teenage son is literally crying because the pain in his knee was so bad and the painkillers had as much of an effect as baby aspirin?

So guess who had to call the doctor and get a new prescription for The Good Drugs?

And his doctor, bless his heart, included a prescription for a little something to keep the plumbing working, to keep things movin' and a-shakin', to make sure he doesn't plug up, if you get my drift.

And I'm sure he'd be just thrilled to know I included that part.

Thing 1 is ensconced in bed with his TV remote, his XBox 360, his iPod, his laptop, his cellphone AND a big empty jug. And I'm sure he'd be just thrilled to know I mentioned that last item.

And with all that stuff at his fingertips, the hard part will now be getting him up and moving.

And a-shakin'.

LIKE THE PEARL JAM SONG SAYS, "I'M STILL ALIVE."

2011-11-09T12:03:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since my last post and I'm sure my 1 or 2 followers have decided I'm never coming back and have transferred their blogging affections to someone else.

Well guess what, people?? I'm back.

There's been a lot of stuff going on and it's kind of taken precedence over having witty and pithy observations for your viewing/reading pleasure.

There's been some good things and some bad things that have kept me a bit preoccupied.

A beloved member of our racing community was brutally murdered last week and we're all still reeling from the shock.

A few weeks earlier, we learned that a guy I worked with and who just did a job for us was THIS guy. That was a bit of a shocker, too.

Let's see, what else?

Oh. Thing 1 goes Under the Knife this afternoon for his knee. They're taking out the screws and other flotsam and jetsam and he'll be Hopalong Cassidy for the next 6 to 8 weeks. And driving us (read: ME) crazy. I'm the lucky one who gets to sit in the hospital waiting room while he's sliced open. The real fun part will be getting him into the car to bring him home and then getting him out of the car when we get home. Then up the steps and into his bed. And bets are on that Gracie Lou will run and jump right onto his knee in her excitement to see him. Because that's what she does. Just ask my sister.

The kitchen remodel is coming along. TheManTheMyth is hard at work as we speak (okay, as I type this) building the island. He's such a handy guy. Useful as well as ornamental.

We picked out floor tile, which is supposed to arrive some time today. The new hardwood section of the dining room is installed but doesn't have the finish on it. One of these days, I WILL take a picture of how the kitchen looks so far.

A big decision was made this morning by TheManTheMyth and me. The palm trees along our backyard fence will have to come down. I know, I know. But they've grown just a bit too big and one of them is on the verge of breaking the fence. They just got too massive and we weren't expecting them to get THAT big. The one on the left has a HUGE base and it's only going to get bigger so, they must go.

And yes, it's a clear, sunny day with winds so dry my skin is cracking and my sinuses are screaming. Gotta love them Santa Ana winds. However, our weather will change yet again, with rain coming our way in a couple of days.

In other, more serious news, was anyone shocked that Kim Kardashian's marriage didn't even make it 3 months? No? Didn't think so. What a twit she is. But what can you expect from someone who became famous because she was filmed letting some guy pee on her during sex.

And is anyone shocked that Michelle Duggar and her clown car of a vagina is knocked up with Baby #20? Because all the Duggar kids have names starting with the letter "J" I suggest that Duggar Baby #20 be named, "Jeez Louise." Even if the baby is a boy.

And speaking of babies, I'm having a hard time believing that Justin Bieber is that gal's BabyDaddy. But if she is, in fact, telling the truth and the Bieb IS the BabyDaddy, well, I, for one, will be shocked. And could I use any more commas in that sentence?

So that's what's going on in my world. Now I have to take Gimpy the Kid to the hospital. Wish us luck.

THE FACE IN THE WINDOW

2011-10-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

I've written about the strange shenanigans we've experienced in our house. For a while, my Grandma was making regular appearances.

Which is all well and good because this WAS/IS her house. Except that she's been dead since 1995.

We've heard the footsteps in the middle of the night, walking from the kitchen to her bedroom, which is now Thing 1's bedroom.

We've heard voices. I've seen Shadow People flitting by out of the corners of my eye.

Overnight guests have woken up in the middle of the night and have seen a figure standing in the kitchen.

Even my dead dog, Lucy, showed up, which I will admit made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

But it's been pretty quiet lately. Unless you count the noise Thing 1 makes when he comes home in the wee small hours of the morning from wherever it is he's been.

I mean, I KNOW where he's been and with whom; I'm just not allowed to say where and with whom.

WhatEVER.

ANYWAY.

Things had been quiet on the Paranormal Front. Until we started our kitchen remodel, which is coming along nicely and someday I'll post pictures of the kitchen. But don't hold your breath.

So, during our kitchen remodel, things turned up but nothing really unusual happened.

And then something Unusual Happened.

Something that scared the ever-lovin' crap out of me when I saw it for the first time.

I had walked into the kitchen and when I turned on the light, I saw It. The Face in the Window.

But it was not someone on the front porch, staring in at me.

It was a Face. In the window. Not in front of the window. IN the window.

And the Face was of someone screaming in terror. Or horror. I'm not sure which.

And when I saw The Face in the Window, I screamed too. In terror. AND horror. And I may have peed a little. But that might be because I really need to do my Kegel exercises.

But what was kind of weird about The Face in the Window was when I discovered you could not see it from outside and you couldn't see it when the kitchen light was off.

It could only be seen at night when the kitchen light was on.

I was not the only member of the family to see the Face in the Window. We all saw it.

We wondered, what did it want? What had terrified it so? Was it trying to tell us something? Did it not approve of our kitchen remodel?

You could only see The Face in the Window at night with the kitchen light on.

One night, I was able to capture the Face in the Window with my cellphone camera and am sharing it with you.

It's pretty scary and not for the Faint of Heart. So don't say you've been warned.

Happy Halloween!

MY WHORES ARE MOANING AND MY MENS ARE O'PAUSING

2011-10-24T10:08:00.000-07:00

You want to see my head spin around and pea soup shoot out of my mouth? Ask me why I did something one way and not another way.

Or make a "funny" comment about my weight when I stepped on the cracked floorboard and it broke. Which is a totally valid, "Your Honor, he needed killin'!" defense.

Or constantly interrupt me when I'm trying to say something and refuse to let me get to the point and then laugh when I explode in frustration.

And then say, "Why are you flipping out?"

Why? I'LL EFFING TELL YOU WHY YOU %&*$@! LITTLE PECKERHEAD!!!!!

It's called "menopause," son, and your mother is suffering from it which means EVERYBODY in this here household suffers.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Oh my God, this weekend was a barrel of laughs around here, let me tell you.

I have the patience of, well, not a Saint and my emotional state is about as stable as, well, pick any country in the Middle East and there ya have it.

Oh, I'm a joy to be around.

And then there's my hair.

My hair has gone circus-freak crazy. Seriously. It's got the texture and appearance of rusty steel wool and seems to have doubled in volume.

If I use a flat iron, it looks like flattened steel wool. If I blow dry it, it's BIG steel wool. If I use a curling iron, it's curled steel wool. I can't catch a break with my hair.

I supposed things could be worse; I could be having hot flashes but so far, I've been lucky to avoid them.

And I probably just jinxed myself.

Fuck.

FUCKITY FUCK FUCK!!!

Oh. There I go again.

EVERYTHING AND THE KITCHEN SINK

2011-10-17T10:40:00.000-07:00

Things have been a little chaotic here at Chez Kvetch, which is one of the reasons I haven't posted anything in a day or two. Or six. Whatever.

The kitchen remodel is coming along. I can't say that's it's coming along nicely because once again, I do not have a working kitchen. And it sucks.

Last week, TheManTheMyth started working on the section where the sink was located. Key word: WAS.

The dishwasher was removed and is now blocking the new finished pantry and I cannot show you how fabulous it looks because there's a dishwasher blocking it. However, you CAN see the finished upper cabinets in the above photo.

Anyhoo.

As TheManTheMyth removed the dishwasher (and used it to block access to the pantry), whatever was holding the sink in place gave out and the oh-so heavy (and ugly) cast iron sink came crashing down and lemme tell you, that's one helluva loud sound. The whole house shook.

So TMTM drags the old sink out and proceeds to remove the cabinet. Which will have to be completely rebuilt because it was pretty rotted out. Goody. This will delay our progress. But it's okay because on Friday, we realized we had completely forgotten to order the new sink to go into the new sink cabinet. The new sink will arrive in about 10 days.

As TMTM removed the old cabinet, a couple of things were discovered: The floor under the sink cabinet and dishwasher were pretty much rotten due to plumbing leaks

and so that section of floor had to be torn out

and the plumbing had to be completely redone. We also found a swell rat's nest under the cabinet:

but luckily, the occupant was not present. And we found access holes in the walls from when the old plumbing was done and the plumber didn't bother to fill in the holes thus giving the little rat-bastards easy access. Fuckers.

So currently, my dishwasher is blocking my pantry, the refrigerator is sitting in the middle of the room, I don't have a sink and have to wash dishes in the bathroom sink, there's tools and assorted flotsam and jetsam covering my dining room table and it's just such a mess I can't stand it. I also no longer have countertops.

But on the bright side, my fabulous new stove was delivered on Friday but since we can't install it at this time (and God only knows WHEN it can be installed) it just sits in the middle of the floor and has become another flat surface to pile crap on:

Unable to cook, unable to wash dishes, unable to get into my gorgeous new pantry.

Just another day in Paradise.

SOME EARTH SHATTERING OBSERVATIONS

2011-10-11T15:56:00.000-07:00

1. Why are bargain-brand, no-name loaves of bread already stale the moment you buy them, even if they've just been delivered? For the record, *I* don't purchase these loaves of bread (see first sentence) but TheManTheMyth does when he and Thing 1 head out to the races and of course they eat a grand total of 4 slices (2 sandwiches total) which means they bring back an almost full loaf of stale bread. I feel guilty if I toss it because it's such a waste and I feel guilty if I take it to the park to feed the squirrels, ducks and geese because there's all these signs BEGGING you not to feed the wildlife even though the squirrels, ducks and geese at my local park haven't had to forage for food in decades. They get 3 hots and a cot from the local senior citizens who deliver meals twice a day and no, I'm not kidding. So if I were to take my stale loaf of bread to the park, it would probably be laughed at by the squirrels and fowl who are used to much better vittles than the stale loaf of bargain bread I'd be flinging at them. Yeah, it's a tough life for critters at El Dorado Regional Park.

2. In this day and age, just about every car manufacturer offers various models of hybrids. You can get hybrid SUV's, hybrid luxury sedans, hybrid compact cars. Yet out of all the hybrids out there, only one model seems to cause its driver to drive in a manner all but guaranteed to annoy, irritate and pretty much piss off everyone else who encounters one on the road.

I'm talking about the Prius. Or, as my friend Sandy pronounces it, the "PrEYEus." Because Sandy is a card. A Joker.

I'll be driving along and all of a sudden, traffic slows waaaay down and cars start swerving into the next lane and then back with hand gestures a-flailing and lo and behold, the reason becomes clear: Someone in a Prius is driving along, under the speed limit, usually in the fast lane or carpool lane and completely unconcerned that they're causing a bottleneck. They don't care, they don't have to. They drive a Prius.

You don't see the drivers of Altima Hybrids or Ford Fusion hybrids or even Camry hybrids driving like geriatrics with cataracts. No, they drive like NORMAL people even though they're driving hybrids. So what's the deal, Prius drivers? Huh? Huh?

3. My internet connection has decided to play hard-to-get over the last couple of days. One minute I'll be happily web surfing away and the next, there's no connection and my networks isn't even listed on the little icon thingamajig up at the top of my screen.

4. "I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really, want! So, tell me what you want, what you really, really want! I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want! So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!"

Yes, folks, I've got "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls stuck in my head. Special thanks go out to Thing 2 for planting that seed. She'll pay for that.

Yes, I downloaded it to my iTunes.

Yes, I'm ashamed that I did.

5. I don't know what it is about hardware stores but I seriously can spend HOURS in them. Not so much the Home Depots and Lowe's but the Harbor Freight, Ace and True Value stores. There are so many gadgets and jing-tinglers and all sorts of fun things to see. I had to go to my local hardware store this morning to buy 6 dozen screws (I ended up just buying a box of 100. It was cheaper that way) and if TheManTheMyth hadn't needed them RIGHT NOW, I'd probably still be there browsing to my heart's content.

I was at Harbor Freight the other day and I swear I was the youngest person in there. Octogenarian men as far as the eye could see. Well, MY eye. I don't think the oldsters could see all that good. They kept asking me to read stuff to them. "Young lady, can you tell me what it says on this drill box?" "Um, that's a stapler." "What? What's that you say? A stapler? I don't need a dad-gum stapler! Where are the drills?"

Gotta love 'em.

And then I watched as they got into their Delta 88s, Buick Park Avenues or Chrysler New Yorkers and drove off, sideswiping a slow-moving Prius.

Of course.

Gotta love 'em.

YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE

2011-09-29T10:02:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I was finally able to get my hands on something I have wanted, nay, coveted for a long time and now, it's finally mine, Mine, ALL MINE!!!!

It all started a couple of years ago in Palm Springs.

My Brother in law and I decided to check out an estate sale near the house. However, this estate sale was pretty much a bust. Unless you were looking for old Corelle dishes and 8 track tapes of Vicki Carr.

There was really nothing of value until we went into the bedroom and saw It.

We stood there, completely enthralled and I said, "You HAVE to buy it, it's THAT awesome!"

We arrived back at the house with our fabulous purchase and presented it with a flourish.

We knew we had found something really, really special and Our Find was placed in the living room for all to admire.

But instead of accolades over our fabulous find, we heard things such as, "Are you out of your freakin' mind?" and "You have got to be kidding" and "This is a joke, right?"

We were stunned.

How could everyone overlook the spectacular awesomeness of our purchase?

How could they say it was hideous and Must Go?

BIL and I defended Our Find and tried to convince everyone that this was a Great Thing.

But they laughed at us.

Finally, my sister rolled her eyes and allowed Our Find to be placed in the Living Room for all to see and comment on.

And comment they did.

And not in a good way.

But for about a year, Our Find was present in the living room and then one day, it was quietly replaced by something less "stylish" and awesome. Our Find was banished to the garage and there it sat, unloved and neglected and slowly covered in a layer of dust.

And every time we went to Palm Springs, BIL and I would lament about our poor unloved and unwanted Find and how nobody appreciated its awesomeness and its beauty.

I couldn't stand the thought of that magnificent object being so neglected so finally I offered to take it off their hands and give it the loving home it so richly deserved.

My sister couldn't hand it over fast enough.

I brought it home, cleaned off the layers of dust it had acquired from its banishment and placed it in its new home.

The reactions of my family were varied.

TheManTheMyth stared, shook his head and headed out to the garage to continue refinishing the kitchen cabinets.

Thing 1 laughed and said, "You are such a Gypsy!"

Thing 2 walked in, stopped and stared in disbelief. "WHAT is that...that...THING doing here?" she asked. "Isn't that supposed to be in Palm Springs? WHY IS IT HERE??"

I ignored them all.

Nobody, except for my BIL, "gets" how fabulous Our Find is. They just don't understand.

Once I finished cleaning the layers of dust off and polishing the parts that needed polishing, I flipped the switch and stood back and admired:

How awesome is that lamp? Is it not the most gaudiest thing? And that's what makes it so fabulous! It's just so over the top and big and just so...so...BAD!

Look at those prisms!!

And the pineapple leaves they're attached to. The fringed lampshade. The cut glass bowl.

The incredibly ornate base.

Not only is this lamp huge AND hugely over-the-top, it weighs a ton, too.

And is completely out of place in any room with the exception of the boudoir of a flamboyant gay man.

Liberace would have loved it.

And I love it, too.

Because it makes me laugh my fool head off.

And if you can't laugh at yourself, trust me, there are plenty of others who will.

Dude, Where's My Show?

2011-09-27T09:56:00.000-07:00

I had a totally different post for today but after watching last night's episode of what used to be one of my favorite shows, well, the original post will have to wait another day.

Because I HAVE to talk about the "new" Two and a Half Men."

I'm not saying the new version is bad but I would have walked out of last night's episode on an airplane.

THAT'S how bad it was.

Ashton Kutcher's character, "Waldon (Walden?) Schmidt" should have been named "Michael Jesse Kelso" since he's basically rehashing his character Kelso from "That 70's Show" and Jesse from the critically acclaimed, "Dude, Where's My Car?"

In other words, he's playing a dimwit dufus.

And I guess Angus T. Jones, who plays Jake Harper, has been put on recurring status since his entire appearance consisted of a 5 second scene and two words, "Hello? Dad?"

And on one hand, I wondered how a father could completely move out and forget his own son but on the other hand, my parents had a habit of driving off and forgetting to take me from the time I was an infant until I graduated from High School so I guess that's not all that far-fetched.

Another issue of bad writing/casting is seeing Walden's (Waldon's?) wife Bridget played by the same actress who played Herb's sister Myra, who Charlie dallied with when she came out for Judith & Herb's wedding.

The show went downhill right after Charlie Sheen's marital meltdown and he pretty much just phoned in his performances, leaving Jon Cryer to carry the show with ridiculous slapstick antics.

I can see in the episodes to come, Waldon (Walden?) will continue to make childish attempts to reconcile with Aunt Myra, I mean his wife Bridget, and sleeping with a bevy of beauties in between reconciliation attempts.

On one hand, I should be curious where Alan will be sleeping now that Berta has moved in as live-in housekeeper but on the other hand, it's just not worth it to care in more.

I know I can't be the only one who expects a future episode to include a leather jacket, a pair of waterskis, a ramp and a shark to be jumped over.
Am I right?

I'm right and you know it.

Out With the Old, In With the New(er)

2011-09-24T08:38:00.000-07:00

When Thing 1 turned 16, he received his Inheritance from his paternal Grandfather, The Red Rocket

A 1990 (which makes it older than Thing 1) Chevy 3/4 ton 4x4 pick up truck (duh, it's pretty obvious from the photo) that sucks gas like a crack whore sucks...well, let's just say it gets REALLY lousy gas mileage. We're talking single digits for City MPG and very low teens for Highway MPG. And the A/C doesn't work.

But the truck was free and the insurance is cheap since Thing 1 maintains a 3.0 GPA and we only got Liability Insurance. Which I have to remind Thing 1 whenever he talks about going "Barging" and "Mobbing" in the Rocket.

The Rocket became something of a Legend in these here parts of the woods. People have even shown up in the middle of the night to lovingly "gift wrap" the Rocket as a gesture of affection:

But for some time, we've been wanting to get something that is a little more reliable and gets better gas mileage but since the money tree in the backyard is just not blooming, it's been a moot point.

Until yesterday.

Meet the New Red Rocket, or Red Rocket 2.0 as we like to call it:

It's a 1994 Dodge Ram 2500 with the Cummins Diesel. Which means it'll last forever AND gets twice the mileage as the Old Red Rocket. It was owned by a diesel mechanic who was meticulous about mechanical maintenance (say that 3 times fast) and kept very detailed records.

The best thing about it, other than the fact that my car will NOT need a trailer hitch, was the dirt cheap price. When Thing 1's Best Crony (and our Favorite) told us about the truck and the asking price, we kept saying, "What's the catch?" Other than some minor cosmetic issues and a lack of a stereo in it, there was no catch. The seller needed the money (divorce).

There was no way we could pass it up. And the seller even knocked $100 off the already ridiculously low price because of the missing stereo.

We're all excited about the new Red Rocket. Thing 1 because it has working A/C and now he can legitimately hang with "The Cummins Crew" as many of his cronies all have the same truck. TheManTheMyth is happy because he now has a back up reliable work truck and a new desert mobile and I'm beyond thrilled because my new car will not need to have a hitch put on it so the guys can hitch up a small motorcycle trailer and take that to their races instead of driving The Big Truck or the Old Red Rocket. Thing 2, well, she just shrugged as said, "Whatever" and disappeared back into The Cave.

We asked Thing 2 if she wanted Red Rocket 1.0 for herself but she just looked at us and said, "Uh, NO."

So, Red Rocket 1.0 is For Sale. $2500.00. Spread the word. Tell your friends.

Flea Market Fun

2011-09-19T13:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, folks, it's that time once again where I spent a Sunday at the Long Beach Antique Flea Market (held the 3rd Sunday each month), which is ALWAYS good for blog fodder.

This time, I went with my faithful reader (but rare commenter) and sidekick, Queen Stella. Or, as I like to call her, "Bubbles."

For reasons beyond me, every time I go to the Flea Market, it doesn't matter if the weather forecast calls for blizzards and sub-zero temps, as soon as I walk through the gates at the Flea Market, it's blazing hot and temps reach "Swelter" range and yesterday was no exception.

One of the things I enjoy about the Flea Market is all the interesting items people are selling.

When I saw this, my first response was "What. The. Fuck?" and my second response was to whip out my phone and take a picture:

Seriously, this was some sick shit right here. A limbless mannequin that had the nipples cut off and was gutted to show an assortment of fishing lures inside.

Oh. My. God. I just took a closer look at that photo and the tits of this thing were NOT cut off but were made into open-mouth fish. See the eyes?

Dude. What. The. Fuck?

Okay, I'm even more creeped out now than I was when I saw it yesterday.

Cute little plaid cooler for a stand, though.

Moving along, I saw a swell bed. Sheet metal flames.

Handcuffs not included.

Several times, we saw dolls for sale and since dolls are one of the things that gives Bubbles a serious case of the creeps and since I am a caring friend, I made sure to point the dolls out to her and then use my Exorcist voice to further irritate her. "Stella. Look at me. Look into my creepy doll eyes. LOOK AT ME!!!!!"

Yeah, I'm a riot.

And then there was the picture of Mae West that someone tried to 3D by adding feathers and stuff.

Loverly.

If any of you read The Bloggess (and if you don't, you're missing out on some real genius), then you know about Beyonce and I don't mean the singer. Go read it RIGHT NOW so you'll understand.

Someone was selling a Beyonce!!! Unfortunately, they wanted $250, otherwise I'd have my very own Beyonce knocking on MY front door.

Unfortunately, also, I didn't take a picture of Flea Market Beyonce.

I also didn't take a picture of the one thing I wanted more than anything else I saw at the Flea Market.

It was a wrought iron full size cart that had a surrey-type of roof and it had wheels and everything about it screamed, "GYPSY CART!!!" and I wanted it so effing bad. As Bubbles said, it could be blinged out with crystals and ribbons and jing-tinglers and it would have looked PERFECT in my backyard and there was just one problem. Okay, two problems:

1) It was $325.00 although the vendor said they would entertain any and all offers but I figured offering them $75 would be just a bit insulting and I was not going to pay a penny more because, well, that's all I had.

2) It was a full size cart, about the size of a street vendor hot dog cart and my car is a Chevy Cruze so getting it home had they accepted my $75 offer would have been a bit of a challenge.

So no Gypsy Cart for me and I'm STILL upset about it. I told TheManTheMyth about it and he did ask how much but shook his head when I told him the price. But I bet he would have been okay if it was $75. If that vendor and cart are still there next month, I just might have to do some wheeling and dealing. Because I WANT THAT CART!

All righty then.

We also saw a plant vendor who had a cute and unique method of displaying his plants:

A swingset for plants! These particular plants were in these ginormous snail shells (ewww) but how cute would a swingset for plants look in your backyard? WAY cute is what I'm saying.

While Bubbles and I were walking along, I was telling her about a vendor that I used to see every month. This particular vendor specialized in, how shall I say, "funeraria." I don't know if that's even a word but he sold all sorts of funeral-related items. Including old caskets. But Funerary Vendor hasn't been around in a couple of years.

And as I'm telling her about this, we both stopped dead in our tracks (no pun intended) and I'm all, "Do you see what I see?" And she's all, "Uh, yeah" and I'm all, "No way!" and she's all "Way!"

And of course we have to hightail it over because how often do you see THIS at the Flea Market:

I KNOW!!! Hockey sticks!!! AND a crosscut saw!

I made a whole two purchases:

This will go in my backyard and be decorative. Or something.

My other purchase was one of those folding old-lady shopping carts because I had brought my little Lawn Buddy that doubles as a wagon for any loot I purchased:

but those plastic wheels were noisier than shit on the asphalt and that got REAL old REAL fast. Plus, the shopping cars were only $25 and I'll be able to use it over and over.

I also hit a couple of garage/yard sales this weekend and you know what just irritates the ever-lovin' crap outta me? When I follow the jillion signs that all say, "HUGE YARD/GARAGE SALE" and when I get to said "huge" sale, there's nothing but a bunch of clothes scattered on a blanket along with old recalled baby items.

It's enough to sic that gutted mannequin on their asses.

A LITTLE BIT OF THIS, A LITTLE BIT OF THAT

2011-09-16T13:50:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling like crap today.

Squishy AND warm. Except I can't seem to get warm.

But seriously, I've got a funky headache and my shoulder blades ache and that usually means a fever is on the way.

Goody.

I'd like to blame Thing 2, or as I like to call her, "Typhoid Kaylyn" because she's been a petri dish full of germs all week and she believes in Sharing the Wealth.

Unless we're talking monetary wealth. She don't share that shit.

So thank you my darling daughter. You Giver, you.

So, the kitchen remodel is moving right along. I guess. The latest installment was the installation of the new pantry:

Which is unfinished, in case you were wondering. But we had to get it into the house and wasn't THAT an adventure. It involved three people, a hand-truck/dolly thingamajig AND a Fusion Scooter

for that Professional Furniture Mover touch. And once we got it in the house and raised it in place, we discovered that it was just a teensy-weensy bit too tall. So TheManTheMyth made some adjustments of some sort using some kind of tools (I was playing Solitaire on the computer so don't ask me what kind of adjustments or tools he used, 'kay?) it was installed and bolted to the wall and ceiling so that it won't come crashing down in the middle of an earthquake.

So the next step was to get the microwave off the counter and into its niche.

And it didn't fit.

Of course.

Just a teensy-weensy bit too tall.

Oh, you wanna hear something weird?

Of course you do.

You know how the other day I mentioned that there were swarms of flies in my office and in the kitchen a la "Amityville Horror?"

Well, the very next day they were all gone. JUST LIKE THAT!! They weren't smashed with a flyswatter or sprayed with Raid Flying Insects bug spray. They were just...Gone. With the Wind.

Oh yeah, I have to make a correction about something. In THIS post, I referred to Someone as Thing 1's "Girlfriend" and Someone got their panties in a twist because of that, because she is NOT his "girlfriend" any longer so pardon me. My error.
Oh my God, Oh my God! Teemu Selanne is not retiring and will play another year with the Anaheim Ducks!

Oh, I'm a Happy Camper. And am anxiously awaiting for the puck to drop on October 6.

Three more weeks. Three more weeks.

HEY TARGET!! KITTY FOREMAN'S LIVING ROOM CALLED...

2011-09-14T10:10:00.000-07:00

Did you see that the demand for the limited Missoni for Target stuff caused Target's website to crash?

Now I may not be a Fashionista in any way, shape or form, but I DO know what Ugly looks like and well, that's what that Missoni stuff is, Ugly.

When I saw Missoni's trademark Zig-Zag design, all I could think of was A) we used to have an afghan in that exact same pattern and 2) Kitty Foreman's living room called and wants its decor back.

Seriously.

That look was ugly in 1974 and in 2011, it's still ugly yet people were lining up before the stores opened and then ran in an scooped up anything and everything Missoni. One guy admitted he spent almost $4000.00 (FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!) on stuff and that he would be selling it on eBay. For way more than he paid for it and anyone who pays the inflated prices deserves to look awful is what I'm saying.

I mean really, how does anyone think this stuff is even remotely attractive?

Or flattering? Unless you're an anorexic teen, horizontal stripes are NOT your friends, people!

Just looking at the zig-zag pattern gives me a headache:

I was going to show a picture of the afghan we had in our house back in the 70's but my stupid printer/scanner has been acting like a piece of poo and won't cooperate but our afghan looked like the one above except ours was in different shades of blue. So it wasn't quite as ugly as the one pictured above.

In other news, the kitchen is, well, there. The latest appliance to sit in the middle of the kitchen is my trash compactor while TheManTheMyth prepares the new pantry cabinets. And of course, he's been working this week which means work on the kitchen has slowed to a crawl but I'd rather he have work than not have work and I seriously don't expect our kitchen to be finished this year and if you think I'm joking, I'm not. Our master bathroom shower still lacks a shower door after 5 years since we remodeled the bathrooms.

In still other news, do you remember that scene in "Amityville Horror" where swarms of flies would cover the windows and attacked the priest?

If you were to come to my house right now, we could reenact that scene because swarms of flies have taken over my office and my kitchen. We experienced this last year at this time so I'm going to assume it's seasonal or weather-related and not because there's a demon pig with red eyes named "Jody" staring at us through the window. Oh, and spiders are everywhere. Only they're outside and not in the house. Although I'd rather have spiders in the house instead of the flies. Spiders don't bother me. Except when they spin their webs across my front steps at eye level and I don't see the web and I walk right into it and then I'm flailing about trying to remove sticky spider web from my face and hair.

So between my kitchen remodel and the swarms of sluggish flies, I just can't understand why I don't get more visitors.

THE SOUNDS OF SILENCE

2011-09-11T16:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, I remember where I was when the first plane hit the World Trade Center. I was asleep. What, it was 5:45am here. The phone rang and it was our friend Steve telling me that I needed to turn on the news RIGHT NOW. Don't ask questions, just turn on the news.

First there was Disbelief. I mean really, how does a plane just not happen to notice the ginormous skyscraper? Was the pilot asleep at the wheel? How sad for the people on the plane and those in the WTC who were obviously killed when the plane hit. But this was a fluke, right? An accident.

But then ANOTHER plane hit the OTHER tower and that's when it became obvious that something was very, very wrong. That this was no accident.

And then still another plane crashed into the Pentagon and another plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. And the Twin Towers came down.

Out of everything that happened that day, what I still remember the most was the Sounds of Silence in the skies.

I live in the flight path of LAX, Long Beach airport and the Joint Forces Training Base at Los Alamitos. All day, every day, there are aircraft of all kinds flying over my house. 747's, 737's, C17's, fighter jets, small single-engine private planes, even vintage DC3's that carry mail and supplies over to Catalina Island. Air Force One has even flown over my house. I'm used to hearing aircraft. And like a kid, I'll go running outside to watch the airplanes fly over. I always have.

But within hours after it was apparent our country had been attacked, the skies became eerily silent.

For a couple of days afterward, I strained to hear something, anything. And then I heard it. The sound of a small single-engine plane. I went running outside to see it.

And yes, I started to cry at the sight and sound of it.

10 years later, I still get choked up when I remember the Sounds of Silence in the Skies.

I'LL CUT A BITCH...

2011-09-08T15:54:00.000-07:00

Well, I would if I had some scissors that would actually CUT. And not just a bitch but paper as well. But I don't have scissors that will actually cut ANYTHING.

Six pairs of scissors in this here household and not a one of them will cut. Not even buttah.

And why are scissors called "pairs?" If you take them apart, they're pretty much useless to cut with. Of course, MY six pairs of scissors ARE together and yet they're pretty much useless to cut with.

Go figure.

My Grandma had a thing for scissors. Every time we'd take her shopping at Costco (one of her favorite places to shop in the world), she's always buy yet another multi-pack of scissors. When she died and we were going through her things, we found, I dunno, 5 or 6 unopened multi-packs of scissors. And heating pads. We found lots of heating pads, too. It must be an old person thing.

But I digress.

So I've had this little craft project I've wanted to work on and yes, I know you're scratching your heads because I? am not known for my crafts. No "Loving Hands at Home" come from THIS gal. I tried scrapbooking but I was really more interested in the little scrapbooking gadgets than in actually USING them to make scrapbooks. I'd go on Scrapbook Retreats up in the mountains with friends and while everyone else was hard at work on their scrapbooks, I'd be shuffling photos around and making it look like I was working hard. But in all honesty, I was really just there for the gossip and to get the hell away from the kids for the weekend.

But I digress.

I've wanted to work on this little project for quite a while and have slowly been going about getting the materials together and today, I was ready to get this party started and to start, I needed to start cutting some, well, stuff. I can't tell you what it is because I'm not going to tell you what my little project is until it is finished and you can see for yourself and I'll explain then the whole point of this project.

Anyway. I get the scissors and attempt to start cutting and the frickin' scissors would not cut. My FINGERS would have cut better than these scissors. So I go in search of another pair. Which would not cut. And another pair. Which would not cut.

Six pairs later, I have accomplished diddly squat except take a photo of the six pairs of absolutely useless scissors we have in this here household:

As you can see, these scissors are pretty battered since TheManTheMyth and Things 1 and 2 like to use them to cut through bone, sheet metal, concrete, drywall and anything else that will make the blades duller than a Southern Baptist wedding reception.

I'm pretty sure that at least 2 of those scissors are from my Grandma's collection and she's been gone for 16 years so, yeah.

I'd better head on over to the Zhay and buy some scissors. And I will HIDE them and not let anyone know that there actually are scissors in this here household that will actually cut.

It'll be our little secret.

HEY GOOD LOOKIN' WHAT YOU GOT COOKIN'?

2011-09-07T11:10:00.000-07:00

Guess what? Guess what? Guess what?

Last night, I COOKED DINNER!!! And when I say "cooked" I don't mean I heated something up in the microwave. This meal involved an honest-to-goodness stove and pots and pans and stirring and seasoning and oh, it was wonderful.

Now I'm not a gourmet chef or anything but I sure missed eating "real" food, cooked here at home.

TheManTheMyth moved our old stove back into the kitchen and hooked it up in the new spot, where it looks pretty ridiculous but hey, it works and I can cook:

And how it looks from the other side:

Admit it, you're all jealous of my fancy kitchen. And are wondering why we'd want to get rid of that Fab Harvest Gold and Brown tile on the counters and floor. Call us crazy. And why yes, I DO watch A LOT of HGTV. The TV is pretty much set to HGTV. Until TMTM comes home from work. He can only take so much of the "Decorate Your Home to Sell and Go House Hunting!" shows.

Anyway.

My spaghetti was delicious and there were sighs of happiness when empty plates were pushed back. And Thing 2 actually said, "It's so nice eating REAL food again!" as she ate her SpaghettiO's (uh, "real food?") because she prefers that to MY spaghetti, the Philistine.

Of course I had to wash the pots and pans BEFORE I could use them because of the amount of debris that had found its way into the cookware cabinet. I tell you, it's amazing the places I've been finding debris and drywall dust from this remodel.

I was so happy at having some semblance of normalcy that I promptly cleaned the kitchen. Well, as best I can clean a torn apart kitchen that is missing the upper cabinets and my dishes have to put into packing boxes located in my office after they're washed.

But I can deal with that because I can cook again!

OH, WHERE DO I START?

2011-09-06T10:24:00.000-07:00

I survived another Labor Day weekend and when I say, "survived" I don't mean that I partied like it was 1999. I mean I got through another weekend of Kitchen Remodeling Fun.

On Saturday, TheManTheMyth sanded the new ceiling and because it tends to be a bit messy, which is a HUGE understatement, he recommended that it would probably be a good idea for everyone to not be home while he does this. I believe his exact words were, "You guys need to get the hell out of here."

Subtle yet to the point.

So Thing 2 and I headed over to sister Bippy's house and hung out for a couple of hours. Thing 1 was out with Someone and Gracie Lou was hiding under the bed because she got a spanking from her Daddy for peeing on the floor for the 3rd night in a row.

And then Thing 1 informs me via text that he's volunteered to dog sit a dog that his friend is dog sitting for someone else but because she had a soccer game out of town, a back-up dog sitter was needed. He swore this dog wouldn't be any trouble and he'd keep it in his room and he would be returned in the morning.

And I'm all, "Kevin. No. Our house is torn apart, it's a mess, Gracie is being all weird and the last thing we need is to have another dog around." And I figured that was that.

Several hours later, I deem it safe to return home and we pretty much walked into a Winter Wonderland. Every single surface was covered in a thick layer of fine white dust despite the plastic sheeting curtains everywhere to prevent this sort of thing. It so didn't work.

I spent hours vacuuming floors, walls, surfaces, furniture, ceilings and it still looks and feels as if someone broke open a bag of flour and swung it around in a circle.

Then I hear Thing 1 call to me from his room. I open the door and, well, I fell in love with the cutest, sweetest little dog:

Oh, he was the most precious little boy. He was so well-behaved, unlike our own Gracie Lou, and gentle and HOUSEBROKEN and happy-go-lucky and I just adored him.

Gracie Lou, however, did not think little Luke was all that and a bag of chips and showed her displeasure over the fact that we allowed another dog in the house by leaving a nice steaming pile on the floor. And then she hid under the bed and sulked for the remainder of Luke's visit.

Gracie Lou might be a sweet and loving girl but Girlfriend has more issues than People Magazine.

Moving along.

During this remodeling, cooking has been a major issue. We're all so sick of having take-out and/or microwave meals. So yesterday I decided I was going to make a Crock-pot pot roast for dinner. I've done this before and it always came out perfect.

But because my 22 year old Crock Pot is pretty small, I decide to borrow my sister's much larger one with the removable crock.

So I head to the store and buy a nice chuck roast, some potatoes and the rest of the ingredients and I throw everything in the crock, plug it in out on the patio (due to a lack of working outlets in the kitchen) and go back to my endless vacuuming.

About 15 minutes later, I ask TheManTheMyth if he smells something burning, like an electrical fire. Or like someone is welding some metal nearby. He nods and we start looking for the source.

It's the Crock-pot.

But nothing seems to be amiss, it's not sparking or smoking and the burning metal smell eventually goes away so we continue to go about our business and for the rest of the day, the wonderful smell of pot roast fills the air.

It's now dinner time and I get ready to dish up some delicious pot roast with potatoes and mushrooms and gravy and I spear the hunk of meat and the fork bounces back.

And I'm all, "Uh, what the heck?" and I try to stab the meat again and again, the fork bounces back.

I get the meat out of the crock and onto a cutting board and instead of fall-apart tender meat, I'm looking at a large hunk of shoe leather. And it was a funny charcoal color. And the potatoes that were still uncooked despite being added to the pot at the same time as the meat.

I'm staring at this massive meal FAIL and I want to cry because I'm so sick of not being able to have a decent meal and TheManTheMyth says, "I guess we're having pizza for dinner. Again."

But wait! It gets better!

While we're eating our pizza (again), I ask him what is wrong with the barbecue. And do you know what he said? Do you?

He says, "Nothing is wrong with the barbecue; it works just fine."

Exsqueeze me?

Baking powder?

And I yell, "THEN WHY DID YOU TELL ME THE BARBECUE WASN'T WORKING?????"

And he says, "When did I say this?" and we go back and forth and he insists that he never said the barbecue wasn't working and I ask him why, when every single night I ask "what do you want for dinner" did he not once say, "Go get a couple of steaks and we'll barbecue" instead of having yet more fast food?

And his reply was, "I dunno."

All this time, we could have been grilling steaks, chops, sausages, chicken, fish, vegetables but nooooooooooo, we've been eating crap instead.

The only reason he's not dead is because I don't want to be stuck with an unfinished kitchen.

So now the big question is, "What's for dinner tonight?"

I CAN'T THINK OF A TITLE TODAY SO, WHATEVER

2011-09-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

Okay for starters here, I have to give a big ol' shout out to an old friend who confessed he reads my little blog so "Hi, Tommy Salami!!"

That's not his real last name.

So, yesterday I was reading the local weekly rag and there was a letter to the editor that I thought was absolutely brilliant. It was in rebuttal to a letter the previous week written by a woman who had her panties in a twist over a cartoon of Michelle Bachmann and how the commie liberal hommasexshuls are ruining the world for God-fearing Christian Conservatives.

And I don't know about you but isn't "commie liberal" an oxymoron? Because if there's anything the Communist regimes are known for, it's their liberal policies especially toward human rights. Or, Not.

Anyway, here is the response:

"Dear (Name),
After reading your rant of August 25, a rational person might believe you to be an ultra-conservative bigot but most people can see that deep down, you are."

LOVE IT!!

*
After being late for school her first day because of her propensity to dawdle, Thing 2 did much better her second day of school. We left 10 minutes earlier and arrived at the Designated Drop Off Location (Sizzler parking lot) in 7 minutes. Which meant I got to listen to her whine about what she was going to do for 20 minutes until the bell rang. I told her to saunter more slowly than usual and to get her butt outta the car.

Well today, she decided to dawdle yet again. I'm sitting out in the car, honking the horn because it's late and she comes sauntering out the gate and gets in the car. We're halfway to school when she suddenly says, "Oh crap." And of course I say, "What now?" and she informs me she forgot her lunch. The lunch that I pack for her every morning and place it in a visible place that she can't overlook.

But she did.

And I tell her, "Sucks for you" and I keep driving. And of course I lecture her once again on her Time Management skills and lack thereof.

So our kitchen remodel is coming along nicely. I think. We've got the old microwave plopped on the counter so I'm able to make microwave meals. Look how massive this thing is:

It's the kind that goes over your range and doubles as a range hood and I never noticed its massive size until we plopped it on the counter. But it works and that's the important thing here.

The mess from this remodel has been an issue so yesterday was "Clean up Day." We went from this:

to this:

It's nice being able to walk from the back gate into the house without feeling like I'm on an obstacle course. Although we still have Hillbilly Hardscape (old appliances) sitting there.

I really must stick "For Sale" signs on them and put them in the driveway this weekend. I gotta get rid of them.

So Labor Day is this weekend which means I don't have to get up at 6:00am for the next 3 days. Woo-hoo!

Back in the day, Labor Day meant heading to the Colorado River for 3 days of debauchery but now, sleeping in is so much better.

Who knows how to party? Obviously not this gal any more.

SCHOOL DAZE

2011-08-31T11:57:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day of school for Thing 2. She's a Junior now. Where in the HELL did time go, is what I ask myself. Never mind that Thing 1 is now a sophomore in college. My little Princess is a Junior. That means next year she'll be a Senior and graduating from High School and my gray hairs are popping out left and right.

Anyway.

This morning marked the first in yet another series of trying to drag her lazy teenage butt out of bed at the unGodly hour of 6:45. In the morning. And anyone who knows Thing 2 knows that she and "morning" do not get along all that great. A Morning Person she is most assuredly is Not.

The sight of her wrapped in a blanket and lurching down the hallway towards daylight and her breakfast of Eggo Chocolate Chip waffles is always something that can only be seen to be believed. And don't try to talk to her; you'll get whines and moans and "Why are you talking to me? You KNOW I'm not awake yet! GOD!!" which only makes me chatter like a magpie just to drive her nuts.

Because it's fun to do that.

School starts at the head-scratching time of 7:47am. Not 7:45. Not even 7:50. 7:47. Which I so don't get.

And we live 2.5 miles from school.

So guess who was late to school on her first day?

Why was she late to school on her first day, you ask?

I'll tell you.

SOMEONE has really lousy Time Management Skills and that Someone is NOT me. There's a reason we call her "The Dawdler." It takes her 15 minutes to brush her teeth, although sometimes I doubt she's actually brushed them. Then she has to read Google News, answer any texts that may have come while she was (not) brushing her teeth, watch "Saved by the Bell," slooooowly get dressed and slooooooowly brush her hair.

At 7:15 I start saying, "Come ON! It's time to go!"

At 7:20 I pound on her door and yell, "LET'S GO!"

At 7:25 I yell, "GODDAMMIT KAYLYN, NOW!!"

At 7:30 she finally moseys out to the car and tells me, "Chill, Mom. It doesn't take that long to get there."

Oh, but it does.

It took 20 minutes to drive the 2.5 miles to the Unofficial Drop Off location, which is the industrial/business center one block west of the school. If I would have actually dropped her off AT school, it would have added another 10 to 15 minutes to the trip because of the amount of traffic in that one block area and the fact that there is only a single entrance into the school. Which is why I don't drop her off at the school.

Had we left the house at 7:15, it would have taken about 5 minutes to make the drive.

But for every 5 minutes later we leave, traffic starts backing up and it adds another 5 minutes of drive time. Which is why leaving at 7:30 took 20 minutes to drive 2.5 miles, thanks to 4 intersections in a 1/4 mile stretch, which includes a freeway off-ramp with its own traffic signal and a freeway on-ramp with its own traffic signal which is about 150' from the off-ramp traffic signal. Which is why we sat at one intersection for 4 green light rotations and never moved an inch.

Which is why we arrived at the Drop Off spot at 7:50 and she still had to walk a block to the school.

Which is why we'll be leaving just a tad earlier tomorrow.

I'll still have to yell at her to move her ass, though.

Because she is The Dawdler.

2011-08-30T12:01:00.000-07:00

Jeez, I leave town for a quick vacation with my sisters and their families to Lake Tahoe, where I had an absolutely lovely time hiking a STEEP 1 mile trail down to Emerald Bay

for a tour of Vikingsholm, which was beautiful until I realized that it was another STEEP 1 mile hike back UP to the highway and who was ready to pay a Sherpa to carry her fat ass back up the hill? THIS fat ass!

But I trudged and trudged, stopping at every forest waterfall and pool so that I could kill some time and catch my breath

But I finally made it back to the top and guess who slept like a baby that night in her cozy private cabin that she had all to her self and didn't have to worry about being shoved and told, "You're snoring!"

The lake was gorgeous, the water wasn't as cold as I expected and a lovely time was had by all

And then I got home. And saw what TheManTheMyth had done on our kitchen remodel in my absence.

When I had left for Tahoe, I had a fully functioning kitchen, including a ceiling. When I returned after four days, I did Not.

My old stove was sitting out in the backyard along with the microwave and my old washer and dryer. The contents of my cabinets were tossed willy-nilly into packing boxes and stashed in the backyard:

In my office:

And God Knows where else. Every day it's another round of "Find the Whatever" which is always a barrel of giggles.

We can't cook because of, well, no stove and the barbecue is Not Functioning at this time. Our old vent-hood microwave is sitting on top of the old washing machine in the backyard and we have to run an extension cord to it from the garage if we want to make popcorn:

Our meals have mostly consisted of whatever does not require A) cooking and 2) dishes, which leaves sandwiches, salads and cereal. And of course every day, Thing 1 asks, "What's for dinner?" And doesn't he get all huffy AND puffy when I tell him, "Would you like fries with that?"

We ALL miss my fabulous cooking.

Which is a bit of a joke.

However, the remodel is coming along at a good pace, since TheManTheMyth is once again between jobs.

This past weekend the drywall was installed:

And it's looking so much better:

The cabinets still need to be stripped, sanded and painted. The old island is coming out and the new island will need to be built. We've decided on flooring and the tile for the backsplash but I STILL cannot decide on the color of the counter tops. We're going with concrete counter tops but do I want natural-colored concrete? A dark stain? A light stain? Do I want a design or solid color? Oh, these are MAJOR decisions here, people.

Okay, I'm hungry. I guess I'll make a PBJ.

If I can find the bread. I think I saw it under the bathroom sink.

Or maybe the coat closet.

Sigh.

"Cuz I'm leaving on a jet plane"

2011-08-17T12:53:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning, at the buttcrack o' dawn, I am leaving my snuggle bed and heading to that Delight of Delights, Los Angeles International Airport, or LAX as we locals like to call it.

And it's pronounced, "El Lay Ex" and not "lax" as if you're lax on your travel details (keep reading).

After arriving a LAX, I will then catch a plane (I've got my catcher's mitt handy) (that was a joke) and fly up to Reno. I think. Or am I flying into Lake Tahoe? And I don't mean crashing into the lake but landing at the Lake Tahoe airport. Is there an airport in Lake Tahoe?

Beats the heck out of me. I'll know when I get there.

Oh, and I don't even know what airline I'm taking.

All I know is I'm getting on a plane to SOMEWHERE but I do not know which or where.

This is what we call, "Good Planning."

At one point tomorrow, after landing WHEREVER, I will arrive at my destination, which is a house in Crystal Bay on Lake Tahoe for 4 Fun-filled days with my sisters and their families and Thing 2 and assorted other friends and extended family.

It's going to be great and I'm so excited.

TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 will NOT be joining us (my side of the family can be a little overwhelming and my menfolk can only take them in small doses) so before I leave, I must make sure that TMTM and T1 will be able to function in my absence with the least amount of stress as possible because despite their claims that I "don't do anything" when I'm not here to "not do anything" they kind of flail around.

This means all the dishes must be washed because they will NOT wash a single dish while I'm gone as I'm the only person in this house who seems to know how to operate the dishwasher.

Clothes must be washed, dried and put away because see above and exchange "Washer and Dryer" for "dishwasher."

My desk (MY desk) and other surfaces must be cleared off so that TMTM won't start throwing stuff away in my absence which he has done before, like the time he threw away LIBRARY BOOKS because "they looked old and just laying around so I thought they were trash."

Them's fightin' words.

While I'm gone, I'm hoping that more progress will have been made on the kitchen. I went out for about an hour last night and I came home to find my stove and refrigerator had switched places and my Above-The-Stove microwave/vent hood is now on the counter.

Ignore the mess. Please.

Anyway. My new washer and dryer have both just finished their sets and I know this because they played their little song so now I have to start folding clothes and packing.

Cuz I'm leaving on a jet plane. In the morning. To Somewhere.

Jinkies!

2011-08-13T12:53:00.000-07:00

You know how in Scooby Doo, the original Scooby Doo Mysteries which was the best of all the Scooby Doo cartoons before they went all "Hollywood" with D-List celebrities making guest appearances (Sandy Duncan?) in cartoon form and where was I going with this, you're asking yourselves.

Velma Eugenie Dinkley is where I'm going with this.

Velma, the Smart One.

Who was also completely blind without her glasses.

So why am I talking about Velma, you ask?

I'll tell you.

I have become Velma.

No, I haven't started wearing orange turtleneck sweaters with matching knee socks and a red skirt and shoes.

When I say I have become Velma, I mean I've started groping around for my glasses on a regular basis while saying, "Where's my glasses? I can't see a thing without my glasses!"

11 years ago I had Lasik surgery, which was the best thing I've EVER done and it was like a whole new world opened up for me because I was beyond near-sighted with a raging case of astigmatism thrown in for shits and giggles.

For 11 years I've was one of Those Who No Longer Need Glasses.

That changed this year.

So I got an eye exam for the first time in 11 years and discovered that yeah, I do need some reading glasses because growing old is a bitch on the old peepers.

At first, I would wear my glasses only when I was reading but now, now I'm Velma Dinkley constantly reaching and groping around for my glasses. Which I can never find because I carry them all over the house with me, putting them on to look at something and then taking them off and putting them down.

Every time TheManTheMyth asks me to take a look at something, he gets to hear me say, "Hang on, I need my glasses. I can't see a thing without my glasses."

And then I go on a search for my glasses.

I could always stick an old-lady chain on my glasses and have them hanging on my chest all day but I'm not quite ready for that.

Yet.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my glasses.

I can't see a thing without my glasses.

I lead the most exciting of lives

2011-08-10T11:06:00.000-07:00

Oh my God! Oh my God! You guys, I am so excited I could just plotz!

Guess what I got yesterday? Go on, guess!

I got my new washer and dryer!!!

I KNOW!!!

Oh, I'm sure you're thinking, "she's all excited about something that involves doing laundry? Doing CHORES??? Someone needs to get a life." and you'd be right.

However, when you get to be a certain age, certain things bring joy to your life and sometimes, that certain thing is called "New Appliances." Sue me.

Oh, I never thought I'd be so excited for appliances, although I did get pretty darn giddy over a vacuum that actually worked on the single rug in the house.

So, TheManTheMyth went and picked up the new washer and dryer and after we rassled the massive boxes into the house, I looked at the size of the boxes and then the size of the opening where they would be going and thought to myself, "This is so not going to work."

And since we would be stacking them instead of placing them side by side and we could barely move the box o' washer and dryer, that was another headscratcher as to HOW we were going to hoist the dryer on top of the washer and scoot them into their new location. Because these things don't "scoot."

So I was sent on a mission to purchase something called "appliance rollers."

so that we could roll our appliances into place. And I couldn't find any. 3 hardware stores AND a store that specializes in appliances and nobody carried them.

I return from my mission defeated and empty handed. TheManTheMyth looks at the washer and dryer and I could see the wheels in his brain start turning. He leaves without a word and comes back 15 minutes later with some parts and he makes his own appliance rollers, which took him maybe 5 minutes. Because he's clever like that. Like when he made The Walker.

When Thing 1 was a couple of months old, we went up to Washington for my sister's wedding. Kevin had been getting around in a walker and it was his favorite thing and obviously, we couldn't bring it with us on the plane to Washington but we were only going to be up there for a couple of days so we should be okay, right?

Wrong.

Kevin was frustrated at not being able to be mobile and a Frustrated Kevin is a cranky Kevin which means EVERYONE is suffers so we needed to get that baby in a Walker stat! The only problem was there wasn't a single Walker to be found in the small town where my mom lived.

So TheManTheMyth made one.

It was a beautiful thing. 19 years later, we still talk about The Walker. It's taken on Legendary Status.

Anyway.

TheManTheMyth made his own appliance roller and then after we (TMTM, Thing 1 and I) hoisted the dryer on top of the washer, the unit was rolled into its new home:

I'm MAD about that color! We could have got it in white but I just love that Wild Cherry. If I was going with a vintage look for my new kitchen, I would gladly pay the $$$ to have this stove:

Because that is my dream stove. You can keep your Vikings and Wolf commercial ranges. I want a vintage O'Keefe and Merritt range just like my Grandma had, although hers was white, until she "updated" her kitchen in the 1970's, complete with all Harvest Gold appliances. I wanted to weep.

Okay, back to my new washer and dryer.

TheManTheMyth gets everything all hooked up and we stand back and admire our new appliances and he tells me, "Start washing!"

And that's when I remember that it takes special laundry soap and that my regular ol' Tide ain't gonna work. A nearly FULL box of regular ol' Tide.

Off I go to the 'Zhay and buy the special laundry soap. AND the nice people at LG had included a $3 coupon for Tide HE in with the owners manual!

Suh-weet!

So I throw my very first load (towels) into the wash, start it up and yes, I pulled up a chair and sat there watching the wash like it was teevee or something.

Oh, the exciting life I lead.

P.S. Oh! I forgot to add that when the load is done, my washer and dryer both play a little tune! How cool is THAT!!

Happy sigh.

Size matters.

2011-08-08T11:37:00.000-07:00

I had intended to enthrall you all with a post about what a pain in the kerswatchy it is to do laundry during this remodel because in order to do laundry, we have to hook up the washer, do a load, unhook the washer, hook up the dryer and then dry that load which means I can't have the washer going at the same time as the dryer and it's an all day effort to do more than one load of laundry and I can NOT wait until the new washer and dryer arrive and are installed and I can do as much laundry as my little heart desires. And who would have thought I'd be saying that?

HOWEVER, something else came along that got my panties in a twist and I must rant about it. Or kvetch, if you will.

I was reading the latest issue of "O" magazine ("The MAKEOVER ISSUE!") and one of the features had me asking, "Who are you trying to kid?"

It was about 5 women who had each lost over 100lbs and while I say "Bravo!" to them losing the weight, I also have to say "You're out of your fucking mind!" to their so-called new clothing sizes.

Clothing sizes today have become so ridiculous that it's not even funny. Back when I was in high school, I weighed 120lbs and was considered "skinny." And I wore a size 7. There was none of this Size 0 and Size 00 bullshit.

But according to "O", we're supposed to believe that someone who weighs almost 180lbs is a size 8 and someone who weighs 139lbs is also a size 8. And the woman who weighs 155lbs is a size 4.

Please. I weigh about the same as one of the women (and no, I'm not saying which one so don't ask) and there is no fucking way I can fit into a size 8. Or 10. Or 12. Even if I wore Spanx.

And yes, I know that people are built differently which is why, allegedly, someone who is 180lbs can "fit" into a size 8 and yes, I know muscle weighs more than fat but at least one of the "I'm a Size 8!" women still looks pretty "Plus Sized" to me.

I hate shopping for clothes these days because of the sizing issue. A size X at one store is a size Z at another.

I know these sizes are meant to appeal to our vanity so that someone who is 5'4 and weighs 180lbs can claim she wears a Size 8.

The blurb on the cover of "O" states, "How 5 Women Lost 676 lbs and what you can gain from their stories."

What I gained is disbelief in clothing sizes for women today.

EDIT: Several years ago I did Weight Watchers, which focused on, well, WEIGHT loss (hence the name) and I was exercising regularly, I wasn't losing weight and, in fact, GAINED weight but I WAS losing inches and therefore, my clothing size went down and I developed a penchant for using lots of commas in a single sentence.

However, I'm still not buying the sizes that many people are claiming they wear. And I wish that magazines would stop emphasizing size in their articles because I'm just not buying some of the size claims.

And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

What's in YOUR Wall?

2011-08-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

Okay, that title is a play on that Capitol One commercial, "What's in YOUR Wallet?" Get it?

Well, *I* thought it was clever.

Anyway.

We've been tearing out walls and pulling up flooring and my, haven't we found some interesting things. We discovered a bird's nest built around the plumbing pipes of the washing machine.

When we removed the subfloor, we discovered another nest. A large nest. Only this wasn't a bird's nest and I know this because the occupant, deceased I might add and Thank GOD for that, was still in the nest. And I took one look at that dead rat and ran screaming like a girl. And no, I did NOT take a picture.

That piece of subfloor was tossed into the backyard and has kept Gracie absolutely enthralled because she can SMELL the rat but she can't SEE the rat. So she will sit and stare at the piece of subfloor, then she'll sniff it, then she'll bark at it. Then she'll come running in the house to tell us to come check it out with her and then she'll go running back out and sit, stare, sniff and bark. This continues for hours on end.

TheManTheMyth put in the new subfloor and then we were able to move the old washer and dryer back in the room temporarily so I could do some desperately needed laundry.

We move the washer back in, hook it up and I prepare to start my first load of laundry. Something sparkling caught me eye and I look down and sitting on top of the washer was this:

An hour earlier, this had not been present and I asked TMTM where he found it and his reply? "Never seen it before."

Huh.

My Grandma collected rosaries. And we're remodeling the kitchen of what used to be her house. Hmmmm.

Hi Grandma!

But wait. It gets better.

I'm cleaning out the pots and pans cabinet. There's 2 drawers in that cabinet and after removing the stuff, I go to push the drawers back in and something was preventing me from pushing the drawers in all the way.

So I get down on my hands and knees and look in and there's some papers stuffed at the back of the cabinet. I drag them out and find a user's manual for a microwave I don't remember ever having, a user's manual for a ceiling fan, a receipt from a long-gone video rental store, an old Boy Scout patch and one newspaper clipping. A very old newspaper clipping.

If you click on it and read all the way to the end, the last victim is my dad. I wasn't even BORN when this happened!

How weird is this? I wonder how long that clipping had been stuffed back there. Oh, and what's even more strange? Every other piece of paper had been nibbled on by bugs (or something else I don't want to think about) Except this clipping!

I KNOW!!

Hi Dad! Hi Grandma!

A Remodel Remuddle

2011-08-01T11:18:00.000-07:00

This past Friday, TheManTheMyth and I headed over to a certain appliance center that was having a Big Sale and looked at, well, appliances. We've been discussing (remember that word) a much-needed kitchen remodel and in the last 3 weeks that he's been between jobs, he even designed the new kitchen and laundry.

Everyone knows our kitchen is in desperate need of SOMETHING. It went from this:

to this:

Loverly, isn't it? The fridge was moved from the main kitchen into the laundry room/pantry, which was originally just a service porch that held a massive cast-iron sink which is where my Grandma did laundry on an old-fashioned washboard and hung it on the clothesline to dry. Hand to God. Despite being relatively comfortably well-off, my Grandparents were not in a big rush to buy new-fangled appliances such as washing machines. It was THE EARLY SEVENTIES before they bought a washing machine. Although when they did remodel the kitchen in the mid-70's, they actually got a trash compactor. And never used it. Instead, they put a wastebasket in FRONT of the trash compactor and if someone had the audacity to actually PUT something into the trash compactor, they would leap out of their chair and take it out and place it in the wastebasket.

Go figure.

ANYWAY.

Clearly, it's time to bring our kitchen into the 21st Century.

I figured we would do this on a budget, which meant painting the cabinets and adding hardware (our cabinets don't have pulls and it drives me nuts), a new floor, counter tops, sink and stove. Basic stuff.

TheManTheMyth, however, had a completely different idea. An idea that included demolition of the laundry room/pantry and removing the wall between the laundry room and the dining/living room making one big open Great Room. Which I fought against because really, who wants to look at the piles of laundry that are always strewn on the floor.

But TMTM showed me his design and then I understood what he was talking about and agreed it would look good and since we would be using our existing cabinets (they'll be freshened up) and keeping the general footprint of the kitchen although we'd be adding an island for the new stove.

So off we went to take advantage of the Big Sale at the Appliance Center. And purchased a new washer and dryer, stove and stove hood.

Even if we did the basic Facelift I originally envisioned, we'd have nice new appliances and a much prettier kitchen.

So the next morning, I got up and took my shower. By the time I got out of the shower, SOMEONE had already started one of his most favorite things in the world: DEMOLITION.

I guess the purchase of the new appliances was his cue to start dismantling the laundry room and pantry.

You know, why waste time?

Of course.

So this is my laundry room Before:

Yeah, it's a mess. The cabinets on the left is my pantry. 3 6' tall cabinets with more storage up top.

The utility closets were on the other side of that piece of wall that sticks out. In a matter of oh, an hour, this is what happened:

From this:

to this:

Where, you ask, is my washer, dryer and refrigerator?

Yeah.

But wait! It gets better! After being off work for the better part of a month which would have given him plenty of time to work on our house, TMTM starts a new job tomorrow.

Pray for me.

WE'VE GOT EXCITEMENT RIGHT HERE IN RIVER CITY!!

2011-07-29T14:12:00.000-07:00

I've been on pins and needles all week, waiting with breathless antici...PATION for either the mailman, the UPS guy or the FedEx guy to arrive on my doorstep.

Since I had no idea what carrier would be carrying my anxiously awaited package to me, any time I heard a Big Delivery Truck approaching, I'd go rushing to the door the way a 6 year old does when they hear the ice cream truck.

And then yesterday, I heard the sounds of a cardboard box being deposited on my front porch and then the sound of the mail slot, which really could use some WD-40 because it squeaks so badly but on the other hand, that squeak lets me know when I have mail the same way a "voop Voop VOOP!" sound effect told the Addams Family the mail was in. So maybe I won't use some WD-40.

ANYWAY.

My package was here! My package was here! I went tearing out the door and grabbed the box, screeching a "Thank you!" to the mailman and ran inside to open up the box.

I slit the tape, flung back the flaps, yanked out the inflated packing stuffing that looks like water wings and then I peered into the box.

And there they were. In all their glory.

I KNOW!!!! Couldn't you just DIE with envy?

But seriously, folks. When TheManTheMyth "surprised" me with that stupid Kirby vacuum that requires stupid vacuum bags and not just any vacuum bags but vacuum bags that will ONLY fit a Kirby which means I couldn't just make a quick trip to the 'Zhay because Kirby vacuum bags are "special" and must be purchased ONLY from "Authorized Kirby retailers" or some stupid thing and there were only 3 vacuum bags included with the purchase of the Stupid Kirby and once they're filled to the "full" line, which happens to be in the middle of the stupid bag so half the bag goes to waste, the stupid vacuum doesn't suck very good which means the stupid vacuum SUCKS in the bad sense of the word and can this sentence be any longer?

Of course we went through the original three bags pretty darn quick and found out that a pack of 3 bags of the stupid Special Kirby Vacuum Bags are over $40 and bend over and grab your ankles is what I'm saying.

So, about 2, 3 months ago, I ran out of bags and since the bag in the stupid Kirby was full, I couldn't use my vacuum and instead had to use the Dirt Devil, which works great on the carpet but just so-so on the hardwood floors and the attachment part of the DD isn't all that spectacular.

I didn't feel like driving the 20 miles to the nearest Authorized Kirby Retailer and spend $40 on THREE vacuum bags and quite frankly I didn't want to bother with the Official Kirby Website so instead, I went on Amazon. Because you can find pretty much anything on Amazon.

And for a total of $48.01 I got 18 vacuum bags. EIGHTEEN!!!!

I KNOW!!!

Don't be hating on me for my exciting, glamorous life.

WELL, SHEET!!

2011-07-25T11:05:00.000-07:00

When I get out of bed each morning, the first thing I do is make my bed.

Yes, I'm serious.

No, I'm not joking.

And I'm pretty sure my mom is clutching at her heart in stunned disbelief because I have never been known for my neat-and-tidy boudoir. Ask anyone. They'll tell you. When TheManTheMyth and I were selling our first house, I naively thought we'd be ~~warned~~ notified BEFORE any showings and I was a bit lax in the housekeeping department. So imagine what prospective buyers got to see when they came to look at our house while we were at work. Yet it still sold. And I have to tell you this story about it:

It was a Sunday morning, around 10:00am. We were lazing around in bathrobes, reading the paper when the front door opened. In walks 2 men, a woman and a small boy. It was a realtor showing the house. On a Sunday morning. With absolutely no prior warning. Hello. And of course the house was a bit of a mess. Shocking, I know.

So we scramble around, getting dressed and straightening up and while we did not leave, we tried to stay out of the way.

The people are looking around our messy house and after about 15, 20 minutes they leave. I'm sure they were just as embarrassed as we were. Or not.

As soon as they left our messy house on that Sunday morning, TheManTheMyth looks at me and says, "Great. We sure made a great impression." And I said to him, "They're the people who will buy our house." TMTM snorted and said, "Right." About two hours later, our realtor calls to tell us they had made an offer on the house.

SOLD!!

Okay, back to my bed.

I make my bed every morning. But lately, something strange has been happening. I'll go into my bedroom for something and my bed has become unmade.

But only on my side of the bed. The ManTheMyth's side is always untouched.

I'll remake it and go about my business. Later, I'll go back and once again, my side of the bed is unmade:

And then the other night, I got into bed and the bottom sheet, the fitted sheet was in shreds. It looked like someone had taken a knife and sliced a 12" slice and then ripped it back further.

And I'm all, "WHAT THE HELL?!?!?" Especially since it was a brand new sheet. And this was not the first time I've discovered my bottom sheet all shredded up.

And do you know it's almost impossible to find sheets sold separately these days? You used to be able to buy sheets separately but now they're sold in sets. Well, I have 50 gazillion flat sheets and pillowcases but only two fitted sheets, thanks to the sheet shredder.

Meet the Sheet Shredder:

Miss Gracie Lou likes to jump up on the bed, pull down my side of the covers and dig at the bottom sheet prior to snuggling down with her head on my pillow for a nice nap. I caught her red-handed.

My seester Bippy passed on a tip on where to find individual sheets. Target (dot) com. Yep, the 'Zhay seels individual sheets on their website. 100% cotton, too. Which is good because I do not allow man-made fibers on my bed. True, these aren't the highest quality sheets but as long as they're 100% cotton, I'm good.

So I ordered three California King fitted sheets and they should be here by the end of the week. And if I were smart, I'd make this a monthly order until I have enough fitted sheets to last me a long time.

Because I never know when the Sheet Shredder will strike again.

What a Gyp!

2011-07-21T07:48:00.000-07:00

Because I'm all about "My Big, Fat Gypsy Wedding" which is/was (who knows if there will be a Season 2) the best show EVER, I found a book on Amazon that was a Must-Have.

"Will and Kate's Big Fat Gypsy Wedding."

Combining Will & Kate's, excuse me, William and Catherine's wedding with the fabulousness of MBFGW was a win-win for me and I couldn't wait until the book arrived.

And yesterday, I got a package from Amazon. And WHAT THE HELL, Amazon!!!!

Here is the box Amazon sent:

And I'm all, "ooooh, this is gonna be good!" So I open the box and see all this crumpled up paper.

Okay. So I fling the paper aside and peer into the box. Which was a pretty large box, by the way. And there at the bottom of the box is my book.

And I'm all, "Really? REALLY?" This big, enormous box just to send this itsy-bitsy book? Here I'm thinking this is going to be a coffee table sized book because of the size of the box but nope, it's a 5" x 7" book. That required a huge box for shipping it to me.

Look at the size of the box. Look at the size of the book. Look at my reading glasses next to the book.

Can you say, "Excess packaging?" A padded shipping ENVELOPE would have sufficed. I'm surprised this book didn't come in a wooden shipping crate that required a forklift to bring it in my house.

But wait. It gets better. Or worse.

So I sit down to read my brand new book and well, to use a derogatory expression, I was totally Gypped.

33 pages. 33 pages of very poor quality pictures that have the members of the Royal Family & Friends superimposed on them. And when I say "superimposed" I am not talking about PhotoShop. No, these look as if someone took some nail scissors, cut out the faces of the Royals from magazines and then got themselves a glue stick, stuck the faces on existing fuzzy out of focus pictures that were obtained by taking a picture of the television during a broadcast of "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding" and THAT is how BAD this "book" is.

I'm not going to say how much I paid for this book okay it was $12.95 and yeah, What a Gyp!

Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and write a SCATHING review of this for Amazon.

THE RHYTHM IS GONNA GET YOU. OR NOT.

2011-07-19T12:47:00.000-07:00

So last week, my friend Ramona, convinced me to do try a Zumba class with her. And I, being so on top of what's Hot and Now in the Fitness World (or not), had to ask, "What's a Zumba?"
And if you're like me who didn't know what a Zumba is, well for starters, it's not A Zumba; it's just Zumba, and as TheManTheMyth described it, it's like Jazzercise set to Latin/Brazilian/Salsa/ music and you will sweat even more than you do with The Oldies. You can also Google it and/or YouTube it to see what the heck I'm talking about.

So seeing as I could stand to lose a pound or so and seeing as how I'm going to be in Lake Tahoe next month with a bunch of people who can easily hike uphill in the snow both ways in 100' weather and seeing as how there is such a hike scheduled in our List of Things To Do While in Tahoe and I don't want to be the one who has to be airlifted off the mountain, I told Ramona, "Sure. I'll give it a shot" to attend last night's class, thinking to myself that when yesterday rolled around she would have forgotten about me.

I thought wrong.

I received a reminder text from her and despite my attempts at feigning ignorance with replies along the lines of, "Who is this? I think you have the wrong number!" she didn't fall for it and commanded my presence at the local ~~torture chamber~~ dance studio.

Fine.

As soon as the music started, I was itching to get my groove on. Except there was one big, huge, painfully obvious problem.

White Girl Can't Dance.

I looked like such a spaz, flailing around, going left when everyone was going right. Moving forward while everyone else was moving backward and failing miserably at any sort of rhythm that came even the tiniest bit close to what the instructor was doing. My feet would not move correctly, my hips DO lie as in "Oh SURE you can shake your hips like Shakira! Would WE lie to you?" And the answer to that is, Yes. Yes you do lie. Squidward and his Interpretive Dance has more rhythm than I do.

So, I pretty much just flailed around and fought like hell to keep from collapsing in a puddle of flop sweat. And lemme tell you, I was sweating like you wouldn't believe. So that would be one big-ass puddle of flop sweat. To go with my big ass.

Oh, and another thing? The full length of wall mirror? Was not my friend.

Yes, I had to frequently stop and pant like I was going into labor and guzzle water because I? Have the stamina of a sloth. A dead sloth. I did get a bit lightheaded whenever I stopped to pant and heave and the instructor instructed me to KEEP MOVING so that I wouldn't pass out. And I didn't. Pass out, I mean. So, yay me!

However, I made it the full hour and when we were done, I was completely drenched in sweat and my heart rate was a ~~lot~~ bit higher than normal.

I didn't stop sweating even after a cool shower and an icy cold beverage after I got home (I earned that cocktail, dammit!). I haven't sweated like that in years! Possibly even decades.

Will I do it again? Yes. It was fun, if you can call having a coronary while sweating and flailing to music "Fun." As long as none of the other people point and laugh at my flailings, I'm good.

And God knows I need to sweat some of the Del Taco out of my system. Which, by the way, I went without this morning. The Del Taco, not my system. I need my system.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go practice some moves so I don't look quite so stupid next time.

SOMEONE GET ME A FISHING POLE

2011-07-15T12:05:00.000-07:00

No, I am not planning on going fishing because quite frankly, I just don't get the "a lure" (get it?) of standing there flinging a hook at the end of some line into the water in the hopes of a fish flinging itself upon said hook. No thanks, I'll pass.

So I'm sure you're wondering why, if I have no intention of going fishing, would I ask for a fishing pole? I'll tell you.

I need to reel in TheManTheMyth before he gets carried away.

Carried away with what, you ask.

Insert heavy sigh here.

TheManTheMyth has gotten a bee in his bonnet that we need to do some remodeling here and by remodeling, I mean he's talking about adding a family room AND a second story in addition to enlarging the kitchen.

Last night, he had his tape measure out and he'd come in the house, take some measurements and then head back out to his drafting table.

I was sitting at me desk when he came in and measured a section of the wall. I watched him and then said, "Okay, I'll bite. Why are you measuring that section of wall as if you're measuring for a door?"

And wasn't I surprised when he told me that there was a doorway already framed in, leading out to the patio although it's currently covered up by the wall.

So again, I'll bite. "Why is there a doorway in that wall leading out to the patio when we already HAVE a door leading to the patio?"

He gave some explanation about how it's time to add a closet so we can turn my office into the 4th bedroom and I'm all, "Whutchoo talkin' about, Willis?" and then he goes on to say something about adding the second floor because when he built my office and the covered patio, he did the footings and grade beams or whatever so that it would simple (simple, he says) to just add a second floor and we'll be pushing the kitchen out about 4 feet and he's doing all the measurements because it's time to do the remodeling.

Yes, because we have oodles of cash laying around that will pay for said remodeling of various additions that we need like a hole in the head. Oh. Wait. We DON'T. On either count.

And I ask him what he is planning on using this new wonderful second story for because I have no interest in having our master bedroom upstairs because *I* have no interest in climbing stairs and he should remember that sometimes it's an issue for him to lift his knees to climb the 2 steps of the porch and he just brushed my words aside as if they were those pesky gnats that buzz around.

And our big covered patio? That's to be the new family room. Uh huh. And while he's at it, he's going to knock out the wall between the dining area and the laundry room/pantry to make it one great big open Great Room. Uh huh.

And where, I ask, will the pantry go and what about the laundry?

At which point he accused me of having no vision and being happy to stay in my little world of no imagination and then he flounced off.

Our house is not large. It's about 1600 square feet, give or take a few feet. Three bedrooms plus an office/4th bedroom and 2 bathrooms plus an indoor laundry room off the kitchen.

The ONLY thing that needs to be remodeled is the kitchen. It's circa 1976 because that's when my Grandparents "updated" it from its original 1954 charm of knotty pine cabinets with hammered iron hardware, Formica counters and an O'Keefe & Merritt range and copper range hood that I would KILL to have back.

So my Grandparents went with a "Harvest Gold and Brown" look for their floors, countertops and sink that was ugly then and it's even uglier now.

The only thing we've done to the kitchen in the 16 years we've lived here is cover up the paneling, get rid of the ghastly dropped T-bar ceiling and get new appliances. So yeah, the kitchen can stand a facelift.

However, I feel painting the cabinets, new countertops (I'd like concrete, which TheManTheMyth can easily do seeing as he's a concrete contractor), new floor (make it either hardwood to match the rest of the house or slate) and a new stove and it'll look like a whole new kitchen. All very affordable and doable.

But no. TheManTheMyth wants to completely demo the entire kitchen, push it out about 4 feet and do it all New and Improved.

Again, see above for the "Oodles of Cash" remark.

So yeah, if someone can bring me a fishing pole so I can reel him and his grandiose ideas, I'd appreciate it.

RAINDROPS ON ROSES AND WHISKERS ON KITTENS

2011-07-14T07:49:00.000-07:00

A scalp massage:

Hugs from my kids. Without me having to ask first.

Sublime Ice cream sandwiches from Trader Joe's:

Clear, cold, crisp mornings in the park.

100% cotton sheets on my bed.

Passed out Puppies:

The Turtle Soup from Commander's Palace in New Orleans:

Hockey and hockey players:

My Tiffany watch:

Reading the first page of a book and realizing it's going to be fabulous.

Bacon & Egg Quesadilla from Del Taco:

The smell of the desert after a rainstorm.

Satellite Radio:

These are a few of my favorite things.

This is NOT how I planned to spend my day

2011-07-13T10:35:00.000-07:00

Here is what I had planned for my day today:

- Get out of bed.
- Read the newspaper.
- Get dressed and brush teeth.
- Go downtown and look for a job.
- Hang out in front of the drugstore.
(10 points for anyone who gets that reference).
- Take Gracie to the park for our morning walk.
- Return home and eat breakfast.
- Head to the computer to spend a delightful hour checking e-mails, Facebook, investigate Google+, read the various message boards and blogs I follow.
- Post something on my own blog, which is something I've been quite lacking in lately.
- Do some housework.

You know, the Usual.

Who leads an uber-exciting life? Not I. And I'm fine with that.

Unfortunately, TheManTheMyth had OTHER ideas on how I will spend my day.

According to him, today is Chore Day.

Fuck.

Today is the day baseboards get scrubbed. Crown molding gets wiped down. The furnace and A/C filter gets scrubbed. Floors get vacuumed THEN scrubbed. Clutter gets tossed. Anything not in its proper place will be tossed. That includes personal belongings.

Right now as I type this, TheManTheMyth is outside scrubbing the exterior of our house.

And I'm having to type this on the fly. If TMTM sees me sitting on my ass in front of the computer instead of doing my chores, shit will hit the fan.

Fuck.

One of us may not survive Chore Day.

Pray for me.

You don't bring me flowers. Thank you for that.

2011-07-07T14:06:00.000-07:00

Over at The Pie, where the Faithful Followers switch topics the way a television switches channels, the topic of flowers came up.

As in, receiving flowers.

From a Gentleman.

Now I love me some flowers. I love roses, lilies, peonies, sweet peas, daisies, etc. Except for Gardenias. I hate the smell of Gardenias. Oh, and daisies reminds me of a joke:

When is a Vase a Vahz? When it is filled with Dahzies.

Bahhahahahaha! I hate it when people pronounce "vase" as "vahz." So pretentious. Like pronouncing "endive" as "ondeeve." Please.

Anyway. I love flowers. I love having fresh flowers in a lovely vase (not vahz) on my tables and/or mantels.

But as for RECEIVING flowers from a gentleman, well, I'd rather not received them.

Not because I'm some sort of militant feminist who doesn't need a damn man to buy her flowers because she can buy her own damn flowers but because I don't have a good track record when it comes to receiving flowers from Gentlemen.

A few examples:

Back in my wild misspent youth (read: single slutty days): I arrived at work one morning after an alcohol soaked evening that ended with a walk of shame (if you get my drift) and there on my desk was a massive bouquet of roses, a couple dozen of them, along with a Magnum of Champagne. My one-night-stand had sent them. I must have shown him quite a good time (if you get my drift) and he wanted to show his appreciation. Me? I wanted to forget the night (and him) had ever happened (parts were big blanks so I guess I did. Kind of). He? Wanted to bring me home to Meet his Mom. I guess I was That Good.

I reacted by never taking his calls and avoiding him like the plague. Because I'm mature like that.

Example #2: I had this friend. Bob was his name. He was funny and cute and we were Best Friends. Partners in Crime. Cronies. Sidekicks. It was strictly a Platonic Friendship. At least on MY part. But one day we did the Grownup. I was bored, is my only excuse. Immediately I realized it was a mistake and figured we go back to being just Friends. Without Benefits.

He, on the other hand, thought differently. As I found out when a couple of days later he brought me roses, professed his love and told me he thought his family's big Christmas get-together would be the perfect time to announce our engagement.

Huh wha?

Sadly, our friendship, not to mention our "romance" came to a screeching halt as I reacted to his proposal in a very mature manner: I ran away and avoided him like the plague. Because I'm mature like that.

Cut me some slack, I was 21. This Girl just wanted to have Fun. Not marry a guy who was, shall we say, "underwhelming" in the sack (if you get my drift).

Example #3: I had made the decision to end a long relationship because I had lost that lovin' feelin'. It happens. I was going to meet with him after work and ~~dump his ass~~ give him the "it's not you, I need my space, we can still be friends" speech. Right before lunch, I look up and there he is, walking toward me with a big bouquet of roses and an expression of such love on his face as my coworkers, who all absolutely ADORED him, applauded and cooed.

And I'm all, "Fuuuuuuuuck."

It was another six months before I was finally able to Officially end the relationship because he must have sensed my feelings and switched into overdrive with the romantic gestures and it made me feel guilty.

So I reacted by cheating on him every chance I got. Because I'm mature like that.

Fast forward to when TheManTheMyth and I had been married for about a year or so.

It's my birthday. TheManTheMyth presents me with a beautiful bouquet of roses. Obviously to soften the blow of my actual birthday present. Which was a transmission for the Baja Bug he had given me for Christmas. Which was something I never asked for nor wanted.

THIS is a Baja Bug:

And they say Romance is Dead.

But wait! There's more!

One day, TheManTheMyth comes walking in the door with a dozen red roses and a stupid grin on his face. Instantly my guard is up.

A moment later, my mother-in-law walks in with her little slapdog Tinkerbell (I HATED that dog.) and a suitcase.

And TMTM tells me that MIL will be staying with us for a couple of weeks and you don't mind do you honey and did I mention that I'm leaving in a few minutes for a Boys Trip and I'll be gone about the entire duration of my mom's stay and look here are some lovely flowers for you because I love you so much because you're the Best Wife in the World and oh look, my ride is here I gotta go.

And THAT is why I'd rather not receive flowers from a Gentleman.

I survived 4th of July and why I would be a TERRIBLE juror

2011-07-05T13:35:00.000-07:00

Let me begin by saying I survived 4th of July 2011. It was a tough job but someone had to do it.

Actually, it was a piece of cake because ya wanna know what I did to celebrate our Glorious Nation's Independence Day?

Nuthin'. I did nuthin'.

Oh, I don't mean I sat in a trance-like state for hours and hours on end. I mean I did nothing special or celebratory. No BBQing with friends and mass quantities of alcohol, no lighting of fireworks, no waving of sparklers, no battling traffic to get to the beach, no driving anywhere so I could see spectacular displays of pyrotechnics.

Because who knows how to party?

Not this gal. At least, not any more.

I used to, though. There used to be a time where it wasn't considered a successful July 4th unless July 5th was spent suffering from epic hangovers, various burns and mystery bruises. Among other things. Things that may or may not have included the words, "Uh, Who are you?" or, "What the hell did I DO last night?" or "Dude, where's my car?"

Good times.

Nope, them days are gone for me. And I don't miss them because I have become a cranky old lady who does not find enjoyment in drunken shenanigans any more.

So I spent the 4th doing housework, taking Gracie Lou for walks and watching the "BBQ Pitmasters" marathon on TV. Which was a stupid thing to do because I was STARVING when I was watching.

"Never watch food shows when you're hungry" is a rule to go along with "Never go the the supermarket when you're hungry or you will come home with Scooterpies, Bugles and Soda." Don't ask me how I know this.

I'm still craving BBQ today. So guess what's for dinner tonight? Spaghetti.

I will probably never be picked to serve on a jury. Because every time (okay, once) I've been told to report to a courtroom for selection, I've admitted that it would be 99.9% impossible to keep my piehole shut and not discuss the case. I can't keep a secret so why would I keep quiet about a criminal case? Please.

Anyway, it's probably a good thing I won't be serving on a jury any time soon, especially after being dumbfounded by the Casey Anthony verdict of Not Guilty. It would be very difficult for me to separate my personal feelings (THAT BITCH KILLED HER DAUGHTER!) from the legal aspects of "Did the defense provide Reasonable Doubt?"

And it would be difficult for me to focus on trivial things like Evidence when I'm thinking to myself, "That lawyer is a assbag douchecanoe and where did he/she get that suit and those shoes! Sheesh!" and then during boring segments keeping my mind from wandering toward things like "I hope Teemu Selanne doesn't retire" and "Pulled pork and fried dill pickles sound so good right now!" and "I hope there's another season of 'My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding!'"

Because that's how I roll.

God Bless America.

Just some random stuff

2011-07-03T13:05:00.000-07:00

For some strange reason, I have been craving onion rings and french fries. Or as Jack in the Box called them, "Frings." Oh, now I'm really hungry for JitB tacos and Frings. And my kid has my car right now. He went running off to the local "Build a Bear Workshop" to make something for his girlfriend. That boy has quite the romantic side and I have no idea where he got it. He certainly didn't get from his father. Or me.

See if you can guess what this is:

Go on. Guess.

I took this picture myself and I think it's pretty darn neat. Very abstract.

So Prince Albert of Monaco and Charlene Wittstock are married. And hell yeah I totally believe that she tried to bolt prior to the wedding. 3 times if the rumors are true.

On one hand, you know it's bad when the bride has to be forced to stay in the country by having her passport confiscated but on the other hand, she and ol' Albert, who hasn't seemed to learn that old adage, "Use a condom and you will learn, no deposit means no return," have been together for how long? She had to have known what she was getting herself into.

However, didn't Charlene look like "Dead Man Walking" during the civil service. There was no joy in Bugville there.

Oh! and Princess Stephanie. Holy crap she looks like hammered shit. Rode hard and put away wet. Like she has spent way too much time in dive bars. Like she had run off and joined the circus or something. What? Oh. Yeah. She DID run off and join the circus. I half expect to see her on "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding."

And SPEAKING of "MBFGW" how much do I love this show? I love it more than chocolate.

I am completely and utterly fascinated with this show. From the (ahem) virginal young girls dressing up (and dancing) like they were pole dancing skanks to the gargantuan wedding dresses that are too big to fit down the aisles of the church. I so want to try on one of those massive dresses that they can't seem to walk in without goosestepping. Why is it so hard to walk in those dresses? Scarlett O'Hara didn't seem to have any trouble navigating HER massive hoopskirts.

I doubt MBFGW will be back for a second season, though.

Dammit.

But speaking of a show that is coming back for another season, "Two and a Half Men" will supposedly be killing off the character of Charlie Harper to make room for Ashton Kutcher's character.

To which I say, "Bad."

This is supposed to be a COMEDY and killing off the main character is just kind of, well, a Bummer.

The writers can come up with something much more funny than killing off Charlie, which would really be a "Fuck You Dude" from Chuck Lorre to Charlie "My Cheese Slid Off My Cracker With a Vengeance" Sheen.

How's this for explaining Charlie's disappearance:

Charlie runs off to, oh let's say Monte Carlo, and then gets arrested for aiding and abetting Charlene Wittstock when she tried to run away from marrying Prince Albert and he gets thrown in jail and then Princess Stephanie breaks him out and she takes him hide out with the circus and he ends up falling for the bearded lady and he, Bearded Lady and Princess Stephanie live in a menage a' trois in a caravan.

Are you listening Chuck Lorre?

THAT'S comedy.

They call him, 'The Fidgeter"

2011-06-29T09:15:00.000-07:00

I love TheManTheMyth. Really, I do. If I didn't love him, I wouldn't have married him and made his life a living hell for these past 22 years.

But he has a Habit.

A Bad Habit.

A Habit that drives me circus-freak crazy.

You see, he fidgets.

He is completely incapable of sitting quietly. When he is working on blueprints, his foot is tapping, his knee is jiggling and he tap tap taps his pen against the table.

When he is watching the Tee Vee, he tap tap taps the clicker.

When we are eating dinner, he jiggles his foot so much that the table shakes.

As I type this, he is tap tap tapping his foot. Loudly. Incessantly. Annoyingly.

There have been many a time I have reached over and snatched whatever he is tapping right out of his hand.

I have slammed my hand down on his jiggling knee and snapped, "STOP. IT."

He does this in bed and it shakes the whole bed and I start getting motion sickness from the swaying, shaking bed.

I. Hate. It.

One day, I know I will finally snap and go postal on this infernal tapping, jiggling, fidgeting.

The worst thing?

He is completely unaware he is doing it.

God help me.

But it's a Dry Heat

2011-06-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

So I was gone this weekend to the beautiful and HOT city of Palm Springs where my seester and BIL have a beautiful house and I did not bring a computer with me so my only method of web-browsing was with my 1st Generation Motorola Droid and it just doesn't cut the mustard when it comes to catching up on the various blogs I follow. But it does work splendidly for playing Words With Friends. At which I suck. So if any of you play WWF and want an easy win, play against me. My WWF name is Another Kelly. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel. Like Wayne Gretzky playing against a team of 5 year old beginners. Like betting that Sarah Palin will say something really stupid and ignorant.

THAT easy.

Anyway.

I mentioned it was HOT. I had Thing 2 take a picture of the temperature while we were en route:

100 degrees before 10:00am. We had been watching the temperature gauge climb every mile and we bet that it would hit the Big Triple Digits before it hit 10:00am and we were right.

But it's a Dry Heat.

We spent the weekend lounging in the pool:

and I worked on my melanoma and I can now say that my legs have enough tan color that I can wear shorts and be only somewhat moderately embarrassed instead of REALLY embarrassed.

Yay me.

But the highlight of our weekend was getting to witness a baby bird take his first flight and leave the nest.

Right outside the back door of the house, a Dove had built a nest on top of one of the columns. And we think Mama Dove was more than ready for Junior to leave the nest, seeing as how she had pretty much stripped the nest of any sort of cushioning and comfort. Junior was basically sitting on a piece of grass and stucco.

Seriously, there wasn't anything left of the nest. So we observed Junior all weekend and he observed us cooing at him and on Sunday morning, he started getting up and walking around his little perch. Not once did he flap his little wings or show an indication he was going to fly the coop so we figured he was looking for Mom & Dad to bring him some breakfast.

I decided to snap a picture and about 5 minutes later, while we were watching, Junior flapped his little wings and we had lift-off. We were SO not expecting this and he didn't get very far, smacking into the next column and falling down into the bushes.

And of course we screamed and went running to make sure he was okay.

He was. Although he looked at us like, "What the hell?"

Ma & Pa Dove came fluttering down and hung out with Junior, nudging him to a more secure area and hopefully, he got the hang of this here flying thing and is off into the Wild Blue Yonder.

We would have loved to have stayed another day but some of us (Not me!) had to work the next day so we packed up our stuff and headed home.

When we were driving away, we watched the temperature gauge on my car climb to 114' in about 5 minutes.

ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN DEGREES.

But it's a Dry Heat.

Thr Rooster Crows at Midnight

2011-06-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

So Gracie and I are on our morning walk at our local park, which I love because nobody is there in the early morning hours except for a couple of fishermen and the firemen from the station right at the entrance out for their morning jogs and the cadets from the Police Academy on the north side of the park out for THEIR morning runs and do you wonder why I love this park so much?

Another reason I love my park is because of the flora and fauna I see every morning other than the hot and hunky firemen and police cadets. The flock of Canada geese and their babies, the regular "Mother Goose" type of geese and their babies, the ground squirrels who chirp a warning whenever we get near their "village" and the tree squirrels who will mug you and steal your car keys if you don't hand over some peanuts. There's also hawks, osprey, swallows, ducks, raccoons, possums, a fox once in a great while and coyotes.

And this week, there's a new resident residing at the park:

He showed up a couple of days ago and just hangs around this old, abandoned ranger station and kind of looks as if he's thinking, "How the hell did I get HERE?"

I have no idea where he came from, it's not like he was flying south and looked down and said, "Hey! Now there's a nice place to hang for the Summer!"

Unfortunately, I think his days are numbered, based on the interest shown by some of the fishermen. I think they're thinking, "DINNER!" if they can catch him.

Years ago, when the Vietnamese boat people first relocated to the area, the chickens that had roamed the parking lot at Knott's Berry Farm for decades started disappearing.

America, Land of Free Catch-Your-Own Chicken!

Great. Now I'm having a craving for Mrs. Knott's Chicken Dinner.

Anyway.

So then, I'm driving home from the park this morning and I actually hit a crow that didn't fly fast or high enough and does anyone know if that's a bad omen? I'm thinking it is because I've got a big ol' cold sore/fever blister showing up on my lip and I got bit or stung by something, I don't know what, on my sternum area and it hurts like a MoFo and it's big and swollen and bruised-looking and did I mention it HURTS? Oh, I'm REAL attractive right now. Jason Statham should be knocking on my door any minute to profess his undying love for me because I'm such a catch right now what with my herp and my bite between my boobs.

But on the Good News Front, Thing 1 was notified that he is the proud recipient of a couple of grants that will cover all his tuition and books for his entire sophomore year AND the first semester of his junior year. How ~~relieved~~ proud are we?

Okay, I gotta go put medicine on my Herp.

Beauty, eh?

I have a new Gypsy Wagon!

2011-06-17T07:00:00.000-07:00

No, I don't mean that I have a REAL Gypsy Wagon:

Although I would LOVE one of these because how cool is this thing? If I lived on a large property, meaning just a bit more than the 6,000 square foot lot my house in the 'burbs sits on now, I would have one of these and use it as either a guest room or my own little sanctuary. A place I could just chill out in and maybe read some taro cards or peer into my crystal ball and yes, I really do have a crystal ball. Quartz crystal, not lead. Although I don't actually have any taro cards. Yet. Sorry.

Anyway.

In case you're wondering, my family calls me, "Gypsy" and my car is the Gypsy Wagon.

Clever.

And Original.

Anyway.

As you may have read previously, I've been going through a bit of a car saga. My old Gypsy Wagon, a leased 2008 Saturn Vue is getting returned and TheManTheMyth and I had different ideas for a new Gypsy Wagon. He says "Used" and I said, "New."

And since he's the Breadwinner of the Family, he gets his way.

So I found an acceptable "previously owned" vehicle and yesterday we went to purchase said vehicle. Which was at a dealership. Because they offered better interest rates than the bank would if we did a private sale/purchase.

Anyway.

TheManTheMyth looked at the car I had found and thought it was acceptable.

Then he took it for a test drive.

And was Not That Impressed.

But since this was to be MY Gypsy Wagon, he shrugged and said, "Well, if you're okay with it..." and while it wasn't my first choice for a car and did not have my beloved satellite radio, I could live with it.

So while our Sales Guy was running my credit report, we wandered around the lot, looking at the New Cars to pass the time.

New cars. Which TheManTheMyth had said a big, fat "NO!" to. And do you like how I ended that sentence in a preposition?

Anyway.

We're looking at the new cars and TMTM says, "Why didn't you look at these? These are nicer!" as he points to a certain car.

And I remind him of his "We aren't getting a new car! You don't need a new car!" vow.

And he says, "But this is better than THAT car, it has way more room inside. And more headroom. This is better."

And I say (while hoping against hope), "But you told me we aren't getting a new car!"

And he looks at me, then looks at the New Car and says, "But these are better." And for a split second, I thought he was going to say, "But these go to Eleven" and 10 points for anyone who gets that.

We looked at the sticker price then looked at each other and then looked at the sticker price again.

And then our Sales Guy comes out with my credit report (which was excellent, thank you very much) and says, "Let's go do the paperwork on (used vehicle)."

And TMTM points to the new car and says, "We want this one instead."

Behold! The New Gypsy Wagon!

Okay, so it's not a real wagon; it's a Chevy. And pay no attention to the fat broad making the sweeping gesture. It was a long day and I was tired when my sister took this picture and my hair looks like crap.

But my new Gypsy Wagon has satellite radio, which the used car did not, Bluetooth, which the used car did not, the LoJack system, which neither the used car nor my Saturn did not and it gets kick-ass gas mileage, which my Saturn most assuredly Did Not. And it came with a full tank of gas, which is always appreciated and I am absolutely giddy at the though of not having to fill up on a weekly basis.

How did I not see that I'd get a new car. I have a crystal ball. I should have seen this coming.

Random stuff because I'm awake at 5:30am

2011-06-15T06:31:00.000-07:00

So today is the first day of Summer Vacation, which means I don't have to get up at 6:00am for the next few months.

Which is why I've been wide awake since Dark:00am. Because the goddamn yapdog next door has been yapping it's high pitch, shrill yap since 4:30am and Ima go and punt that thing if it doesn't shut the fuck up. Why yes, it IS a Chihuahua, how did you know?

So I'm laying there, listening to this non-stop yapping, asking myself, "WHY ME, LORD?" and TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 leave for work after making as much noise as possible and turning on as many lights as possible and I'm all, "I can go back to sleep now" but no, Petunia (of COURSE that's the name of the dog. Which is a male. Go figure) continues to yap and yap and yap and yap and this whole time, Gracie Lou is comatose on her back in the middle of the bed, completely oblivious to the yapping dog next door and I finally threw in the towel and got out of bed.

For the last few weeks, I've been waking up at Buttcrack O' Dawn, even when I don't need to and who is getting more than a little pissed about it? This gal. I don't know if it's a menopause thing, a "too much on my mind" thing or a goddamn fucking dog that won't shut the fuck up thing.

Or a combination of all 3. All I know is that there have been a few times I've been up before TMTM and he's all, "What are YOU doing up? Oh. Well, since you're up, clean the house, wash your car."

Um, no.

Instead, I'm checking my e-mails, messageboards, Facebook, Damn You Auto Correct, which is guaranteed to make whatever you're drinking come shooting out of your nose because it's THAT FUNNY and to continue to shop for a lightly-used vehicle. Because despite my massive slip of the tongue moment the night before, I made it quite clear to TMTM that we are not keeping my car and that if he wants to pay money for a gas guzzler, there are much cheaper SUVs out there because dealers are practically paying YOU to buy those these days.

And late last night, I went back to the dealer website of the car I've been looking at and saw that they just dropped the price another $1500.00 and why yes, I went and woke up TMTM to tell him that. So I'll be calling the dealer this morning to go and have a look-see. Wish me luck there.

Okay, who is absolutely glued to their seat over the Stanley Cup Finals? This has been the most exciting Stanley Cup and I love that it's come down to Game 7 except that throughout the series, the home team has won each game and tonight's game is in Vancouver and well, I'm kind of cheering for Boston. But Thing 2 is pulling for the Canucks so watching the games has been full of quaint expressions such as "SUCK ON THAT!" and "LOSER!" and "#WINNING!!" and things might get rather ugly tonight. And of course, no matter who ends up hoisting the Cup, I'll get all teary-eyed and need a tissue, which is pronounced, "tis-syew" for dramatic purposes.

Well, Petunia has stopped his infernal yapping but now there's a murder of crows outside, screeching and cawing and circling and screeching and cawing and it's times like these I wish I had a sling shot.

It's drizzling outside right now. And why did I have to include the word "outside" in that statement? It's not like it's drizzling INSIDE.

I'm going back to bed.

My Big Fat Gypsy Mouth

2011-06-14T09:28:00.000-07:00

Please tell me you've seen that show on TLC, "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding." If you haven't, you are missing something pretty...um, well...mind-boggling. And I am hooked like a fish.

Normally, I don't watch shows on the channel that inflicted the Gosselins, the Duggars and that moron attention whore from Alaska on the American People but when I saw a blurb for BFGW, I knew that this would definitely be Must See TV.

And it's been All That AND a Caravan of Chips.

The first time I had heard of Gypsy/Traveller Weddings was when someone sent me an article about a 16 year Traveller girl's wedding and it was so over the top, I was trainwreck fascinated. And knew I must learn more.

If you haven't seen the show, well, you are missing out is what I'm saying. It's like Jersey Shore without the drinking, the sex, the profanity and, well, the cast of Jersey Shore.

Instead, we get to see 16 year old girls getting married in these absolutely flabbergasting dresses

There was even a bride who had a light up dress! You can't make this shit up!

Must haves for a Gypsy teen bride include gallons of spray tan, false eyelashes, gobs of makeup and lots and lots of skin showing:

Klassy.

I love this show.

In other news, I've mentioned a time or two that the lease on my gas-guzzling 2008 Saturn Vue (15 mpg city, people) is coming to an end this Sunday and who is more excited to see the last of that car? This gal.

However, it has been a bone of contention between TheManTheMyth and myself to the point my eye has been twitching like crazy, something that only happens when I am REALLY stressed and livid.

After sending me out to test drive various new cars over the last month or two, TheManTheMyth then informed me that no, I would not be getting a new car, that I didn't NEED a new car and that we (he) would not be spending any money on a new car when a cheap old used car would be perfectly adequate.

Cheap. Old. Used. Car.

Exsqueeze me?

Baking powder?

Let's just say I had to leave not only the room but the house when he made that pronouncement because I needed to go and punch a tree instead of punching my husband, that's how pissed I was.

What *I* have in mind:

What *HE* has in mind:

So I'm fuming and seething and I vent to my sisters, who both agreed that I had every right to be upset.

But a couple of days later, I calmed down and went back into research mode and found a couple of lightly used sedans that I deemed suitable. And I printed up the information and left it sitting on my desk while I ran errands.

TheManTheMyth just *happened* to see the info sitting there on my desk and he was much more inclined towards these cars than buying a brand new car and told me to look into it, that he was good with my choices.

And I'm all, "Whew!" because I had visions of him coming home with a Brand New 1976 Tomato Red Saab and saying, "Look honey! Your new car!"

Which actually happened. My dad came home one day, in 1976, with the ugliest car in the ugliest Tomato Red color we had ever seen and presented it with a flourish while we were all, "What the hell is THAT?"

Anyway.

We're talking about the price of these cars I had picked out and whether or not we could get an even better price because one of the cars is at a dealership where I could turn in my leased Saturn and we're talking and I'm thinking, "Yay, I'm actually going to get a car I won't cringe at every time I have to get behind the wheel" when I had to open my Big Fat Gypsy Mouth and everything came to a screeching halt.

Me and my Big Fat Gypsy Mouth just HAD to mention the buy-out price of my Saturn, which is $3,000 less than the cars I put forth for his consideration. And even as the words were coming out of my Big Fat Gypsy Mouth, the voice in my head was screaming, "Shut up. Shut. Up. SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!"

Did I listen to that voice telling me to shut the fuck up?

That would be "No."

And TMTM says, "If it's only that much, then we'll just keep your car" and I'm all, "No no no nononononononononono. NO!!" at the same time I'm asking myself, "When will you learn to keep your Big Fat Gypsy Mouth shut, ya dipshit!"

And I sputtered and said stoutly, "We are NOT KEEPING MY CAR! It gets TERRIBLE gas mileage! I go through a tank of gas a week!" and TMTM says, "Well, you don't drive anywhere and it's probably a small tank" and I show him proof that a) I do drive enough to go through a tank of gas a week and 2) it's got a 19 gallon tank and he says, "Well, just don't drive so much" and that, Your Honor, is why he needed killing.

Miss Otis Regrets

2011-06-07T10:32:00.000-07:00

Over at the Pie, today's topic is regrets, based on this article about the Top 5 things people wish while on their deathbeds. And no, wishing they weren't on their deathbeds is not one of them.

So June asked us, her Faithful Followers, what would be our biggest regret or wish we had while on our deathbeds.

I've done some really stupid things in my life, made some really stupid choices in my life but ya know what? There's not too much I regret doing.

Okay, I DO regret bleaching my hair and cutting it to look like Rod Steward during his "Blondes Have More Fun" phase because really, I'm SO not a blonde and it really was an awful look for me but just like all the other questionable choices I've made, it was a learning experience.

I've done things that even as I was making the decision to do them, I knew it was going to be a train wreck of epic proportions that could only end badly yet I plunged recklessly ahead and yeah, it was as big a train wreck as I had feared.

But do I regret doing those things? Nope. Again, I learned from my mistakes (Cowboy boots with shorts? Really?) and moved forward, a little older, a little wiser (I hope).

While I don't regret the things I've done, there's a few things I regret NOT doing:

I regret not learning to play the piano. I begged my parents for piano lessons when I was a kid. BEGGED. And was denied. I always wanted to be able to sit down at a piano and play beautiful music. I'd go to people's homes who had pianos and I would sit at the keyboard and literally ache to be able to play. Yes, I know I could take lessons now but I don't think my arthritic fingers would cooperate.

I regret not taking education more serious and going to college. I honestly can't recall either of my parents ever discussing the importance of a college education with my sisters and me. In fact, the only thing my dad ever really said about college was that it was a big waste to spend that kind of money for girls who would only get married and become housewives. I honestly can't remember anyone, parents, high school counselor, etc, ever talking to me about my future. To this day, I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

I regret not being more assertive.

I regret always feeling not quite pretty enough, smart enough, good enough.

Pity, Party of One Your Table is Ready

2011-06-06T12:46:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I'm about to whine and throw myself one big-ass pity party so feel free to move along. Fair warning.

So Saturday was my birthday. It was not observed in any particular way although Thing 1 did give me a lovely bouquet of flowers and Thing 1's GF gave me a gift card to California Pizza Kitchen (Hello Thai Crunch salad!).

Oh, and the traditional phone call from each of my sisters doing their best Marilyn Monroe breathy rendition of "Happy Birthday." These singing phone calls are mandatory and are eagerly awaited.

TheManTheMyth, who had been out of town racing, gets home yesterday afternoon and completely ignores the bouquet on the table. Takes no notice of it, makes no comment whatsoever.

This morning (Monday), TheManTheMyth's bidness partner comes over and the first thing he says is, "What pretty flowers! Is it your birthday? Happy Birthday!"

TheManTheMyth says nothing.

The two of them go into my office to look at some blueprints and I hear Bidness Partner ask TMTMif he did anything special for my birthday. Dinner? Card? Flowers?

TheManTheMyth's reply?

"I didn't know it was her birthday."

And that was the sole acknowledgement of my birthday from The~~Dead~~Man~~Walking~~TheMyth.

Why do you think they call it "Dope?"

2011-05-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I've had this cough for several days now. I'll go for hours without coughing and then BAM! That incredibly annoying tickle in the back of my throat starts up and all hell breaks loose.

When I went to bed last night, I was feeling much better and decided to forgo my nightly cough syrup.

And woke up at 2:00am coughing my fool head off. I coughed and coughed and coughed and I knew this was going to be bad so I got out of bed and headed to the medicine cabinet.

While I was waiting for the OTC cough syrup to take effect, I sat at my computer and played Solitaire while cough cough coughing.

30 minutes later, I'm still coughing and losing at Solitaire and TheManTheMyth comes into the office holding the bottle of the "Good" cough syrup, the stuff with codeine in it and says, "I think you need to take this."

I'm not a "pill person." If I'm in pain, have cramps or what have you, I take ibuprofen. Anything that requires a doctor's prescription and advises you against operating any kind of heavy machinery while under the influence of said prescription is the kind of stuff I like to avoid.

In other words, I don't medicate. When I messed up my foot in an ATV accident a couple of years ago,

I turned down the doctor's offer of "Good" pain meds. Which seemed to upset quite a few people who told me that if *I* didn't want those pills, they knew plenty of other people who did and I could have got some extra spending money.

Anyway.

So I'm coughing and hacking and gasping and coughing and trying to tell TMTM that I don't want to take that stuff and he shoves the bottle at me and barks, "DRINK!"

So I do.

The Good News is it worked. I slept the rest of the night without nary a cough.

The Bad News is, I feel like the Living Dead. Right now, it's 12:30pm PST and I am OUT OF IT. Everything sounds like I'm hearing it from under water, my head feels like it weighs 20 lbs and wants to tip over. There's a weird buzzing noise and I'm all jittery and jangly and this is why I don't take this stuff.

But at least my cough has stopped.

There goes an eye!

2011-05-26T15:49:00.000-07:00

Have you ever coughed so hard you almost throw up plus every time you cough your head throbs and your eyes kind of bulge out of their sockets?

I hate it when that happens. And it's been happening all frickin' day today. Which was a real treat for the car salesman to witness, let me tell you.

No, I do not have a new car to tell you all about. Instead you get to read about my hacking up a lung and possibly maybe even an ovary.

As you read previously, I've been a bit under the weather. Well, my head cold/sinus infection has left the building but left a dry hacking cough with the non-stop tickle in the throat behind to keep me company. Bastard.

And thanks to this lovely cough, my voice now sounds like a combination of Brenda Vaccaro and Froggy from the Our Gang series. Which gives you an indication of my age if you know who those people are.

If you don't know who those people are and want to know how my voice sounds, um, let's see. Oh! I sound like someone who has been smoking unfiltered Camels since I was 10 along with a pint of bourbon as a chaser.

Oh, I'm a real catch right now. Why there's not a line of men pounding on my door right now is one of the great Unanswered Miracles.

So. This weekend is Memorial Weekend and if you're looking to buy a new car, this is the weekend to do it because everyone is offering sale prices and incentives and specials and low, low interest rates and hell, they're practically GIVING these here cars away.

Unless you want a Volkswagon with a diesel engine. Then you're pretty much paying full price with not-so-low interest rates. They ain't a-dealin' on those cars AT ALL. Which I discovered after test driving the 2011 Volkswagon Jetta Sportwagon TDI and "crunching some numbers" with the VDub salesguy.

The VW Jetta Sportwagon TDI wasn't my 1st choice for a new car but TheManTheMyth liked it, the mileage is phenomenal, it would tow a small motorcycle trailer (very important in this family) and it was a nice little car although a bit on the ~~boring~~ sensible and practical side.

But I was willing to overlook the boring in exchange for awesome mileage and towing capabilities. But not enough to have a monthly payment that would rival my mortgage payment because of a non-5-figure downpayment and lousy interest rates despite my fabulous credit score and yes, I DO have a great credit score (suckers).

So, with TheManTheMyth's blessing (he's out of town), I'm going to hit up a couple of other dealerships tomorrow (including the car I actually want) and see how badly they want (or don't want) my business.

Let's hope that a) I am able to make a great deal on the car I want and 2) my eyes don't pop completely out of my head during a coughing fit.

Wish me luck!

Snotty Turdy Head

2011-05-25T06:44:00.000-07:00

I've been a little lax in the posting department lately but I have a good excuse: A raging sinus infection.

I woke up Saturday morning feeling sort of okay but not really okay and then by early afternoon, my sinuses were pounding and throbbing (sounds just a bit pornographic), my nose was stuffed up yet running and I don't know how a stuff up nose can also be running at the same time and it really seems unfair that it happens like that, my throat was dry and scratchy and I was all, "just shoot me please."

TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 were in Utah and Thing 2 was at the movies with Thing 1's girlfriend so I figured I would just lay down and take a nap when there was a knock at the door. And lo and behold, my uncle, who I had not seen in at least 10 years, was standing there.

We had a perfectly lovely visit and by the time he left several hours later, my throat was on fire from all the talking and my sinus headache had worsened so I loaded up on cold meds and went to bed.

And speaking of cold meds, the one I had taken said to take every 4 hours and lemme tell you, they weren't kidding. At 4 hours and 1 minute after taking them, they wore off with a vengeance and I had to drag my sorry ass out of bed and dose myself again. So how is this the "nighttime cold medicine" I ask you.

Just when I think I'm on the mend, a new symptom shows up. The latest is that annoying tickling drip in the back of the throat that causes you to start coughing and hacking. And it almost always kicks in at about 1:37am.

So here it is Wednesday.

I'm still sick.

Bleh.

Just a bunch of more random crap and a rant

2011-05-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

Did you know the Rapture is happening tomorrow at 6:00PM? Yep, it is. Although I don't know if that's 6:00PM Eastern, Mountain, Central, Pacific or Greenwich Mean time and I don't think the dude who is predicting this here event has clarified that. On the other hand, I don't pay much attention to the Doomsday Predictors.

Just like those who claim that the End of the World is supposed to take place December 21, 2012 because the Mayan calendar says so. Or is it the Aztec calendar? Incan calendar? Gregorian calendar? Julian calendar? Which is why I (mostly) don't believe it because there are several different calendars in use and why would the Mayans (or whoEVER) use the Christian calendar to make their predictions? Why not the Jewish calendar? Huh? Huh?

I'm always a little fascinated by those who predict The End of the World and the people who ~~fall for it~~ believe it. I don't know about you but if there was an Apocalypse, I really don't think I'd want to be one of the survivors. One of the most frightening books I ever read was Stephen King's "The Stand." Because I could so see it happening and I really wouldn't want to live in that world.

Okay, enough of the happy, uplifiting stuff!

Yesterday, my little boy, Thing 1, completed his first year of college. He survived Freshman Year and thinks he earned a B average. Which means he'll get to continue to sleep in the house instead of out in the bushes, which is what I make the kids do when their grades drop below a B average. Instills character, doncha know.

Thing 2 still has 16 days school days left, 17 if you count today. And yes, she's counting down the days until she can get to work on her chosen career, which is "Professional Sleeper." Seriously, if left unattended, she could easily sleep until 2:00pm. Pacific Standard Time. Girl loves her some sleep is what I'm saying. Almost as much as she loves collecting vintage money. And that's saying A LOT.

So, my leased car is due to be turned back in within the month. My final lease payment was made so any time between now and June 20, the car goes back and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Gas Guzzling Saturn Vue.

That's the Good News. The Bad News is, TheManTheMyth will not discuss what we're going to do about replacing said car. This is how conversations about it typically go:

Me: What are we doing about my car?
TMTM: We're turning it in.
Me: But what are we going to do after that?
TMTM: What's for dinner?
Me: Am I getting a new car?
TMTM: This sock has a hole in it.
Me: Well?
TMTM: The dog peed on the patio again.
Me: What about the car?
TMTM: Woo-hoo, the new Dirt Bike magazine is here! Hey! I know that guy!

And at this point, I throw my hands up in defeat and walk away in disgust as TheManTheMyth then asks me, "Did you say something?"

Maybe he's waiting to see if we'll still be here day after tomorrow before he commits to a new car. Which, seeing as how the Rapture is supposed to take only the True Believers, oh hell yes we'll still be here.

We ain't goin' nowhere. Maybe not even to the car dealer.

The Florence Foster Jenkins of the Paint Color, Street Name and Concert Piano World

2011-05-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

Today, over at the Pie, June asked us, her faithful and devoted readers, what would be our Dream Jobs, if we had enough money to be able to realize our Dream Jobs.

Quite a few readers wanted to do Good Deeds, helping others in need.

Yeah, that's not me.

Not that I wouldn't WANT to help the Underprivileged and Abused because I'm all about Helping Others, when I have the time and inclination, but it's NOT my "Dream Job."

Because who is shallow, selfish and self-centered? This gal (points to self).

No, seriously, for me, a Dream Job would be the person who comes up with Paint Colors and Street Names. A Professional Paint-Color-and-Street-Namer.

A Noble Profession.

I have seen the paint chips at the local Lowe's Depot of Home Improvement Stuff and lemme tell you, some of the paint color names are just a bit WTF. I know *I* could do a much better job of naming paint colors: "Whispering Dawn" would be a lovely shade of pinkish yellow and NOT a section of the local cemetery. "Kaylyn's Floor" would be the color of food left to rot under a bed. Uh, I mean, a greenish-bluish-brownish color. Yeah. That's it.

As for street names, nothing that will take up the entire length of an envelope just to get the whole street name on it: Avenida El Camino Del Rey Mar Vista in the lovely town of Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Angeles.

Bob Road. Dead Squirrel Lane. Scenic Route. Anchors-A Way. THESE are good street names.

Primrose Lane is another good one. Lots of families on Primrose Lane.

Okay, another Dream Job I have is to be a Pianist, playing in department stores, piano bars, concert halls. Which would be great except for one small, insignificant detail:

I don't know how to play the piano.

I must be one of the very few people in the world who begged to take piano lessons as a kid. BEGGED. And pleaded.

And was denied. Bitter Moment #31 in the List of Kelly's Bitter Moments. Of which there are many. I think I'm up into the four figures.

One of the flimsy reasons I was given was that we didn't have a piano.

What EVER.

One of our neighbors had a Baby Grand piano whenever they would play, I would stand in front of their house, listening and wishing I could play like that.

When I'd go to someone's house who had a piano, I would itch to be able to play it. Sometimes, I'd be indulged and allowed to plink away, picking out tunes by ear.

If I was rich and could indulge my Dream Job fantasy, I'd be like

Florence Foster Jenkins and say "Screw the critics!" and I'd give piano recitals despite my inability to play.

And there would be no more Bitter Moments.

There's no mayonnaise in Ireland

2011-05-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

Bu there's ketchup and mustard.

Anyway.

My family, who I love and adore, has a problem. And it's a problem that has caused problems more than once. Which is a problem.

The problem is that they do not enunciate when they speak. All three of them like to mumble, slur and run their words together as if they're in some kind of contest to see how fast they can mumble and slur and run their words together while talking to me to see how fast my head will explode.

Obviously, they do it to fuck with me.

I don't know how many times one of them will ask me a question and I cannot understand a single word they're saying so I ask them to repeat it.

And they do.

And it sounds just as unintelligible as the first time around.

They also like to mumble and slur while facing away from me.

And then get all huffy because I don't answer.

Just this morning, TheManTheMyth was sitting at my desk, looking at something on the computer. I was sitting on the couch in the living room watching the morning news.

And he asked me a question that sounded like this: "Hazzey dunn sanjay cast yet?"

And I, of course, said, "WHAT?"

And he repeated it, "Hazzey dunn sanjay cast yet?"

I muted the TV and again asked, "WHAT?"

"Hazzey dunn sanjay cast yet?"

Oh, Cheezus Effing Criminey, what the fuck is he saying?

So I get up and walk into my office and ask him to repeat his question. With a heavy sigh, he asks me, "Have they done the seven day forecast yet?"

Oh. Of COURSE. How could I have missed that? It was so OBVIOUS what he was asking me. Any fool could have known that.

Just yesterday I received a phone call from someone with a slight accent and I had to keep asking her to repeat her company name and I STILL didn't know what the hell she was saying and finally I asked her to spell it for me. Which she did. And okay, I'd never heard of it because it was a foreign name. So there's that in my favor.

Despite hearing tests that tell me my hearing is just fine and dandy, I DO have a problem hearing when there is a lot of background noise or when people mumble and slur their words together. Everything sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher to me.

I've attended dinners and luncheons and meetings where I've pretty much just sat like a bump on a log because I can't hear what people are saying because of the background noise.

My Grandpa once advised that when speaking with people whose first language is NOT English, "speak slowly and distinctly so they will understand you."

I thought he was being a bit pompous at the time but guess what? Grandpa was right!

When the man told me that there's no mayonnaise in Ireland, I asked what condiments are in Ireland. And that's when I found out that he had actually been quoting John Donne's, "No man is an island."

Seriously, say it fast. No man is an island.

No mayonnaise in Ireland.

I rest my case.

The food is lousy and the portions are small

2011-05-11T07:06:00.000-07:00

My family, God Bless 'em, expects a home cooked meal every night. And despite my lack of interest in cooking, I try my best to accommodate them even though *I* would be perfectly happy having a PBJ and a glass of milk for dinner.

I am Not Known for my fabulous cooking or ability to whip up a meal using whatever is on hand but usually, I can make something that everyone will eat.

Okay, not always. Take my spaghetti. The only people who will eat it are TheManTheMyth and me. Thing 1 prefers Alfredo sauce to my spaghetti sauce and Thing 2 prefers Chef Boyardee in the can.

Whatever.

Every so often I like to introduce a new recipe into the fold and sometimes those recipes are a Hit and get added to my repertoire and sometimes, they are Not. Buffalo Chicken was a Hit. Chicken meatloaf was Not.

And neither was last night's New Recipe.

I had noticed a recipe on the back of a bottle of French's mustard and I am all about trying out recipes found on the backs of bottles, cans and jars. In fact, I actually have a cookbook titled, "Best Recipes From the Backs of Bottles, Cans and Jars." I love cookbooks, I have quite a few of them and although I rarely actually cook anything found in them, I still love to read them.

Anyway.

This French's Mustard recipe for chicken breasts looked simple and tasty.

Simple, yes. Tasty, no.

Mixing mustard with ranch dressing to pour on chicken should have been my first indication that, um, NO. But I followed the super easy directions, mixed up a batch of sauce/marinade, covered the chicken with the sauce, let it marinade for about an hour and then baked the chicken according to the directions, which was 25 minutes at 350'.

Have you ever smelled a mustard/ranch dressing sauce that is heated to 350'? It stinks.

Oh, and 25 minutes was so not enough time. I had to up the temp to 400' and transfer the chicken to a baking sheet and let it cook for a total of 45 minutes. For boneless skinless chicken breasts.

Surprisingly, the chicken was not dried out and tough after 45 minute. In fact, it was very juicy and tender.

And tasted like crap.

Okay, the chicken itself was fine. It tasted like chicken. That was covered in a nasty mustard/ranch sauce.

We scraped off the nasty sauce and decided that it was nothing that a little soy sauce couldn't fix.

Except we had ran out of soy sauce. And everyone just sat there and stared at each other in a "Wudder we gonna do NOW?" way.

TheManTheMyth and Thing 1 bravely ate their slices of chicken, Thing 2 had just a bowl of rice and as for me, I took a few bites and then put down my fork and said, "I can't eat this. I just can't."

So this recipe was a big fat FAIL.

I think we'll be having spaghetti tonight.

Ticked off Tuesday

2011-05-10T13:05:00.000-07:00

Today is Ticked Off Tuesday and lemme tell you, if you want to see a good list of things people are ticked off about, go on over to ByeByePie and read the comments. We're a ticked off bunch over there.

Here's some of the things my beloved family does that really ticks me off:

Whenever we run out of iced tea, the pitcher gets placed in front of the Ice Tea Maker where it will sit until *I* make a fresh pot. Nobody else seems to know how this thing works. And yes, I hate my kitchen tile. Someday, maybe, we'll remodel the kitchen. But why rush these things.

Putting dirty dishes NEXT to the sink:

Instead of IN the dishwasher that is SO far from the sink:

Not unloading the dishwasher because "I didn't know the dishes were clean" despite a teeny tiny clue:

They are also incapable of closing cupboard doors:

Or doors of any kind:

They have the ability to ignore burned out lights:

And they find it too difficult to stretch their arm in the OTHER direction where the laundry basket is located. So they just drop their clothes on the floor.

And if you think any one of these photos were staged, you'd be wrong.