Thursday, November 30, 2006

 

Calling all rednecks


Well, I did it. It's the very last day of NaBloPoMo. I'm pretty proud of myself, I have to say. And now, it's time for a break. I may be back, I may not. Who knows, in this crazy topsy-turvy world whether I'll have anything to say in the future. All I know for sure, is that for right now, NaBloPoMo has broken me.

Aw, I'm just fuckin' with y'all. I'm enjoying this more than ever and I have tons of crappy stories I haven't told yet. However, if y'all wanna leave a bunch of comments begging me not to quit, so that I, in turn, can post how grateful and touched I am by the outpouring of support, well, who am I to stop you?

But, seriously? You fuckers aren't getting rid of me that easily! Ha!

Now, given the popularity of yesterday's post, I've decided that I want to make an internet redneck quiz. So, if you all would be so kind as to leave your suggestions for questions in the comments, I'll put that bad boy together. Pookie says he's sure there are already some out there, but he's also sure that we can do it better. Let's do it for the Pookster!

Speaking of Pookie(s), I got an e-mail yesterday from someone here in blogland telling me that their nickname is Pookie. This person also threatened to hunt me down if I told who it was. So I'm not gonna tell y'all.

But I am going to have a lot more of this kind of thing in my posts: "OMG,Y'all, Pookie totally rocked my world last night. Pookie is the best lover evah. I just wish Pookie didn't have to have Barry Manilow playing to get off." Just to fuck with the other Pookie. Because, once again, and I don't think I can say this too often, I am immature.

Ok, on to more serious matters. I got a call from a friend last night that her husband, one of my best friends, and a true brother to both Pookie and I, is in ICU with an as yet undiagnosed illness. They live about an hour away and Pookie and I are leaving shortly to go see him.

His name is Jack and I've mentioned him sporadically here. The reason he hasn't had more airtime, if you will, is that he's always whining about not getting more airtime. So it's been my pleasure to screw with him by not writing about him. We are both terribly mature.

Jack's a good guy, and if you're the type to pray, please add him to your list today.

Finally, I have a video that I've been on the fence about posting because,well, it's kinda dirty. But I'm posting it today in honor of Jack, who would love it and would laugh until he fell over.

If you've ever heard of Rodney Carrington, you'll know what you're in for. If you haven't, get with it, you poor bastard!








Wednesday, November 29, 2006

 

The most accurate, yet really kind of offensive internet quiz I've ever taken

Congratulations! You are 0% ghetto

It looks like you keep yourself out of the ghetto and are living ghetto free. Also, you may be white.

How Ghetto Are You
Create Your Own Quiz



Although, one of the questions was, and I quote: "3. Do you know anyone (including yourself) named Pookie, Nay Nay, Shaquita, Boo Boo or Tawanna?"

I answered yes, of course, but apparently the quiz sensed that Pookie is just the nickname I have for my equally non-ghetto husband. Damnit! I was hoping to be at least 10% ghetto, if only so that my kids will think I'm cool.

If one of the questions had been 'Have you ever been shot/stabbed in the face?', my score would have totally shot up. Also, I hang out with pit bulls a LOT. Surely that has to count for something.

Ok, I admit to a shortage of gold chains, but I have a lovely tennis bracelet that Pookie bought me for out last anniversary and, while I don't generally chug 40' s of an evening, I have been known to have a little Bailey's in my evening coffee.

Ooh! One of my neighbor's has a toilet in his front yard! Does that count? Although, he is renovating and therefore I expect the toilet to be gone posthaste and also, I believe the potty in the front yard is more redneck than ghetto.

Man, I just can't win.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

 

He went after those three mice next, the sick bastard


So, this one time, at band camp, my brother stabbed me in the face. Ok, so it wasn't band camp, it was our living room, but my brother did indeed stab me in the face.

About an 1/8 of an inch from my eyeball, to be exact. That's right, I was almost BLINDED whilst being stabbed in the FACE by my BROTHER (be honest, y'all. Do the caps make it all that much more dramatic or are they just a pain in the ass?)

Anyway, one day, way back in 1978, when I was about 9 years old and my brother Joel was about 15, we were play fighting. He was pretending to try to stab me and I was pretending to fight him off.

(Okay, one of the reasons I took so long to tell this story is that I cannot figure out how to tell it without my brother coming across as a vaguely retarded psychopath. I assure you, he is neither. However, I will concede that he was a huge dumbass who should have known better. In fact, he's still a dumbass, but he hasn't tried to stab anyone in years.)

So, anyway, we were playing and he was holding his old (rusty!) pocketknife over me. I, in turn, was holding his arm and hollering my head off (because that's what you do when someone is trying to stab you. I still have a finely tuned sense of drama)

Now, he wasn't exerting any pressure on my arm; he wasn't actually attempting to stab me, but he wasn't holding his arm's weight up either. So when I let go of his arm and went to get up, his arm fell and the knife landed very close to my left eye.

To be truthful, I didn't even know I was injured until my brother's face went white and he told me that I was bleeding.

We lived way out in the country then and had no phone. My mother was either at work or at school when this occurred and Joel was responsible for the rest of us. Which is rather hilarious, if you think about it.

Anyway, the closest phone available to us was at the little mom and pop store down the road from our house. So Joel slapped a paper towel or something over my eye, picked me up and started to run down the road, with my other brothers running alongside.

He ran until he couldn't carry me anymore (about 200 feet, the pussy), put me down and told me I was going to have to run. Which I did, because to be honest, the blood running down my face was really starting to freak me out.

We get to the little store and the sweet little old people there assure us that I am fine and then call my mother and assure her that I am fine and then hand out Hershey Bars and Cokes to all of us.

Now, I called Joel this evening to get his memories of it and he was hopped up on muscle relaxers because his back went out. Karma? Oh yes.

He said he didn't remember there being any blood. I asserted that this perception was due to his guilty conscience over having STABBED ME IN THE FACE, and if there hadn't been blood, why in fuck had we run down the road to get help. He conceded my point.

Anyway, I told him that he was lucky that Mom hadn't killed him. He replied that he was lucky he hadn't killed me. I told that wasn't likely but that I was very glad he hadn't poked my eye out as it would have totally lessened my attractiveness to the opposite sex. Then he said something vaguely dirty about my possible popularity as the one-eyed girl.

I think it's obvious that neither one of us learned a lesson from this, don't you?

Monday, November 27, 2006

 

Right after I post this, I'm going to take a nap


For all two of you who might have been wondering why I haven't posted yet today, I have a good excuse. Patsy came up yesterday and spent the night and I've been busy hanging with my homie. We played Scrabble, shopped for shoes to replace the ones GargantuDog ate, and just basically hung around, doing nothing.

She just left for home (wah) and I am going to have to tell her that Little Man just said, 'Mimi can't be my pit crew anymore'. I'm sure she will be shocked and saddened by this news.

While Patsy was here, she showed me how to record audio with my cell phone, so I have two recordings of Little Man singing to share with y'all. As soon as I figure out how to do it. Which really means as soon as Pookie figures out how to do it. I think my ineptitude with all things technological has been well documented.

I have made a promise to myself that I am going to By God sit down and write out the stories of How I Got Stabbed In The Face and How I got Run Over On My Birthday tonight, so hopefully one or both of those will be up tomorrow.

In the meantime, watch this video and see if history repeats itself.







And now, as foretold, I am off to take a nap. I must be psychic or something. Y'all be quiet and keep the TV down, hear?

Sunday, November 26, 2006

 

The Hound of the Baskervilles


Meet Tonka. Her name used to be Honkytonk, but they were calling her Honky for short. Now, even if I didn't have neighbors of many colors, I wouldn't be real hot about stepping out my door and yelling 'Honky!'. I also wouldn't call a dog 'Cracker'.

So we're calling her Tonka for two reasons:

1) It sounds enough like her old name that she won't be confused, and..

2) She resembles a Tonka Truck in her ability to go anywhere she damn well pleases. We're thinking about painting her yellow and installing a horn.


She's the sweetest old girl you ever saw. Never met a stranger, apparently. Her behavior thus far has been pretty exemplary with a few notable exceptions. First and foremost, whoever said this dog was potty trained was a lying sumbitch. We're working on it and coming along just fine, but in the meantime, just know that there are few worse ways to start your day than finding one of the Great Lakes in your front entrance way.

Secondly, I have to take Contrary Jr. shoe shopping today to replace the three pairs the dog knoshed on, kibble apparently not being enough. It was a one time incident, mostly because we immediately went out and bought the biggest fucking bone in the world for her to chew on.

Thirdly, she thinks she's a lap dog. Even as you protest, wheezing and short of breath, she will climb into your lap and take a nap.


Other than that stuff, which we're working on and making progress with, she's just about the best dog you could hope for. Plus, she stinkin' cute.



How could anyone resist this?

Saturday, November 25, 2006

 

Nevermore


We have a guest post from my stepson, Pookie Jr., today! I think you'll find it very amusing, especially if you're a Poe fan.


You all, no doubt, remember Gracie, the nudist pug, from my story of her sweater, or, more specifically, her refusal to wear it. For those of you newer to this blog, the short version is that I sent an e-mail to Contrary describing my valiant efforts to clothe my pug, Gracie, in the dead of winter with a sweater, and of the... less than satisfactory outcome that ensued. Contrary thought it humorous enough to post on her blog. I think this was on her old site, so the actual text has probably been lost. (Ed: Oh, ye of little faith)

Gracie, when she is hungry, has a very destructive habit of tearing at the screen door. Now, the glass door behind the screen is always closed, so she has no hope of getting through it, but it does usually does grab somebody's attention, thus getting her fed. Over time, this has ruined the screen door, destroying it completely from about knee-height down.

Recently, when we grew tired of staring at the ruined screen door, we decided to purchase one online that was advertised as "indestructible", much in the same way the Titanic was advertised as "unsinkable". See, the thing about these "indestructible" screen doors, is that, like the Titanic, they take a lot to destroy, but when they do go, they go spectacularly. At first, everything appeared fine. Gracie scratched and bit and chewed at the door, all to no avail. Yet one day, while I was sitting watching TV and eating a turkey sandwich (the door is right behind our couch), all of a sudden I hear a very loud ripping sound. I turned around, and almost half
the screen, in one piece, had come off the door.

Gracie and Dixie (my other pug) were busy having a fine game of let's-chew-each-other's-faces-off, as they are prone to do, right in the middle of a pile of what just moments before had been the lower half our screen door. Gracie was promptly yelled at, which sent her into some kind of doggy-funk, and she sulked off to her doghouse. Dixie chased her tail for five minutes and the ran in circles for awhile.

Below is what I imagined happened to Gracie after I went back inside, and the thought process she had while committing the heinous act. It is slightly more poetic form than is my normal style, but nonethless I believe it still gets the point across. Oh, and in case you had any doubts, yes, it is shamelessly plagaraized from The Raven, and no, I don't care.



The Pigeon


Once upon a pug so dreary, as she pondered, fat and weary
Over many a quaint and curious day of yonder lore
While she lay there, only napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at her house's door
'Tis my Andrew,' she muttered, 'tapping at my house's door-
only this and nothing more'

Ah, distinctly she remembers, though she really ought have not,
As each seperate dying thought wrought its ghost upon the ground.
Eagerly she wished she wished the morrow; - vainly she had sought to borrow
From her Andrew to his sorrow- sorrow for the lost screen door -
For the new and costly mesh whom he'd only, only called 'screen door' -
In tatters now for evermore.

Presently her soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
'Andrew,' she said,'For only thine forgiveness I implore;
but the fact is I was starving, and I saw you that turkey carving,
and so now here you come tapping, tapping at my house's door,
O forgive me, for thine mercy' -here she pushed open her door-
Her bone there, and nothing more.

Deep into her bone peering, long she stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, thinking thoughts no poor pug had ever dared to think before
Yet the silence was unbroken, and the bone, it gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words, 'Screen door!'
This she whispered, and echo mumered back the words, 'Screen door!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into her doghouse turning, all her thoughts within her burning,
Soon again she heard a tapping somewhat sharper than before.
'Surely,' she thought, 'surely that is something at my door;
Let me see then, what there is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open her she flung her door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
Came that way a stately pigeon of the wonderous days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made it; not a second stopped or stayed it;
But, with the mein of Andrew it sat, perched next to her doghouse door -
Perched upon her bone of rawhide just beside her doghouse door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this smoky bird beguiling her sad tail, oh, into wagging,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, though,' she said, 'art sure not smidgen
Ghastly grim and ancient pigeon wandering from the daily yore
Tell me what thy business be here beside my doghouse door!'
Quoth the pigeon, 'Nevermore.'

Much she marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living canid being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing this bird beside its doghouse door
Bird or beast upon a rawhide bone, beside a doghouse door
With such a name as 'Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillnes broken by reply so oddly spoken,
'Doubtless,' she said, 'what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of "Never-nevermore."

But the pigeon still beguiling the pug's sad, sad tail into wagging,
That she nudged her cushioned bed in front of bird and bone and door;
Then upon the plastic sinking, she betook herself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'

Then, she thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls muffled on the grassy ground.
'Wretch,' she cried, 'thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from my thinkings of screen door!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the lost screen door!'
Quoth the pigeon, 'Nevermore.'

'Prophet!' said Pug, 'thing of evil! - prophet still if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee at my door,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this grassy land enchanted -
On this house by regret haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there forgiveness for his pug yet in Andrew, I implore!'
Quoth the pigeon, 'Nevermore.'

And the pigeon, never lifting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the rawhide bone of Gracie's, just beside the unhappy hound;
And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the sunlight o'er it streaming throws its shadow on the ground;
And Gracie's soul from that shadow that lies floating on the ground
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Friday, November 24, 2006

 

A cool contest and a hot recipe



There is a really cool Swiffer contest going on that I thought you all might want to know about (Thanks Nicole, for the head's up!).

Y'all can visit here from November 15 through December 30 and submit a photo(s) of your interior holiday decorated home. During this time, one photo will be chosen each week and posted as “favorite home of the week”

In addition, participants will be chosen via random sweepstakes selections and will win the following:

1. Grand Prize Winner: $3,500 toward a home makeover
2. 25 First Prize Winners: A Swiffer WetJet
3. 6 Weekly Winners: A year’s supply of Swiffer Products


Now, who couldn't use $3,500.00? I know I could. So carry your butts over there and see what the fuss is all about.


Now, onto other matters: There was a minor clamoring for the stuffing recipe that my mother-in-law gave me. So here it is. Oh, and no pressure or anything, but if you screw this recipe up, your crock pot should be taken away from you. Seriously. If I can do it, anyone can do it.


Ingredients:

4 1/2 cups cornbread
1- 16oz package Pepperidge Farms Herb Seasoned dressing mix
2- 10.5 oz cans cream of chicken soup
2- 14 oz cans of chicken broth
1 medium sized onion-chopped
1/2 cup celery-chopped
4 large eggs
1 tbs rubbed sage
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
2 tbs butter

Combine all ingredients except butter in large bowl and mix well. Spray inside crock pot with Pam (or otherwise lube that bad boy up), spoon mixture into crock pot and then put pats of butter on top. Cook on low setting for 4 hours. Serve and collect compliments graciously.

Ok, I've talked about a Swiffer contest and posted a recipe. Honest to God, what is the world coming to? I have an awesome entry coming tomorrow from my genius stepson. Be prepared to be amused and amazed.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

 

Gobble, Gooble Bitch

Attention people of the internet, for the first time ever, I made good stuffing. It's not too dry, it's not too bland, it's just right. And I made it in the crockpot.

(Thank you World's Best Mother-in-Law for telling me about this recipe!)

(also, if you're interested in the recipe, I will be glad to pass it on)

I stole the following from Lynnster, but it's ok, because she stole it from someone else. This is a case where two wrongs make a right. Because it's awesome.





Happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

 

Thanksgiving Eve


So, is everybody ready for Thanksgiving? I'm not. I mean, I'm ready for the parade and all the good food and the after dinner nap with Pookie, but I'm not prepared.

This is the second busiest week of the year for groomers, only slightly behind the week before Christmas. Work is kicking my ass and the cold I picked up at work is standing there cheering nastily while work kicks my ass.

This also explains (but not excuses) why I haven't been doing much reading or commenting on other blogs. To those who are getting the short end, I'm weally, weally sowwy (isn't that cute? don't you want to forgive me for slighting you and your blog now?).

In better news, I have a three day weekend coming up. Lots of company coming, but also lots of time to sit down and type out some actual posts. Time to put some thought into what I'm writing and make an actual effort to entertain and/or amuse. It's gonna be great! Or maybe that's wishful thinking combined with a cold medicine haze.

So what are your plans for Thanksgiving?

P.S. We got a new dog yesterday. After all those odd mix jokes, we ended up with a Great Dane/Bloodhound mix. Think gangly meets droopy meets sweet meets goofy and you have a pretty accurate idea of what she looks like. Pictures soon to come.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

 

Gone to the dogs


I mentioned the other day that I got bitten at work. Holly then asked in the comments what kind of work I do that I can get bit. I'm a pet groomer.

I work primarily with dogs, but I do see the occasional cat. I also trim bird wings and will nip the nails on a rabbit, ferret or sugar glider if needed. I also once bathed a 13' albino burmese python for mites.

In fact, I think the most memorable bite I ever got working with animals was when I was working in a small pet store and one of the large snakes got loose. I was the only one in the place at the time who wasn't scared of snakes, so I got snake finding and catching duty. The finding part wasn't so hard, as it had wrapped it's 10' long body around a dog food display. The catching part was a bitch though.

It wasn't a poisonous snake, but bites from a large constrictor still hurt and it struck me on each hand at least three times.

(Do I count that in the list of times I stupidly hurt myself or was this an episode of When Previously Tame Animals Attack? You be the judge.)

I would estimate that I have been bitten with intent to cause boo-boos by any nymber of species at least 500 times in my life. Obviously, the vast majority of these bites weren't worth writing home about, but there have been a few doozies. One that springs immediately to mind is the time a cat bit the heel of my left hand and 10 minutes later, I had a lovely red streak halfway up my arm.

Speaking of cats, people often express shock at how expensive it is to get a cat groomed. Let me explain. If a cat bites you, chances are, you're going to a doctor. The doctor will then prescribe you some super-antibiotics, for which there is no generic equivalent, and those pills will cost you 120.00 (last time I needed 'em, anyway). Most grooming places do not provide health insurance or workers' comp, and the groomer eats the expense of the medicine and any lost work time.

Anyway, despite the inherent risks, I love what I do. Like any self respecting lazy mo-fo, I would prefer not to work at all, but as long as I continue to lose the lottery and have to work, I choose to do this.

Oh and give me a nice pit bull anyday, over a bad tempered little dachsund or chihuahua.

By the way, I had an odd dog in today, as a matter of fact. A pitbull/poodle mix. Apparently he's not much of a watchdog, but he is a vicious gossip. (I know. That was awful, but I could not resist)

Monday, November 20, 2006

 

You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here (AKA, the pity party is over)


How I spent my Sunday evening, besides wallowing in self pity:

1) Made a pumpkin gooey butter cake, which is just as sinfully delicious as it sounds. I'll be taking this one to work tomorrow and making another for Thanksgiving. I took one to work last year and have been hearing about it ever since. For a recipe I flat out stole from TV (thank you Paula Deen!), it sure does make me look good.

2) Made jalapeno jelly, which is also quite awesome. There are lots of different recipes for this stuff, but we're simple folks and so all I do is drain the juice off of about 6 small jars of jalapenos, dump them in a bowl and put a buttload of sugar in there (about 3 pounds), then stir occasionally over the course of a day.

Then you take a wheat cracker (or whichever kind you prefer), spread a little cream cheese on it and then add a little bit of the jelly on top. Will make you slap your Mama or the nearest convenient maternal figure. If that's your Mother-in-Law, so much the better. (I'm kidding. I love my MIL. I'm also kind of scared of her.) (and when I say 'kind of', I mean in amounts that have yet to be measured.)

3) Had my brothers over and played Scrabble with them. Ignored them when they said something stupid. Won at Scrabble, was only mostly successful at the ignoring.

In other words, I got over myself. I'm obviously still a bit bummed that my oldest won't be home for Christmas, but I'm working on it. And I'm hopeful that Patsy's car will cowboy up and be able to make the trip next Sunday.

Coming up this week (hopefully), the story of how I got stabbed in the face and the story of how I got hit by a car on my birthday. You know, it's like I lived my childhood knowing that one day I would have a blog and I would need stories for it.

Everyone have a good Monday!

Sunday, November 19, 2006

 

This counts as a post


Ha Ha! Just kidding. Although, if I hadn't just posted a diatribe about how much that irritates me, I'd be tempted to see if I could get away with it. However, you should feel totally free to skip this post entirely. In fact, I'd recommend it.I'm not having a very good 24 hours. Nothing tragic, nothing life altering, just a couple things that have me a little bummed out.

1) My oldest won't be able to come home for Christmas. I'm pretty upset about it, as is he. We likely won't see him until next June.

2) Patsy(my best friend, along with Jo. Yes, I have two best friends. It's all very middle school) was going to come up today and can't because her car is being a shit. I haven't seen her in forever and I was really looking forward to it.

3) At work, yesterday, I got bitten, and while it's nothing serious, it hurts and caused kind of a crappy night's sleep.

So, anyway, I'm kinda grumpy and low level depressed, which I will shake off pretty quickly, but if I waited to post until I was over myself, it would be tomorrow morning and I would be a failure at NaBloPoMo would be another reason to be grumpy.


Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow in a much better mood. I promise.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

 

My bird peed on my while I was typing this. Wah.

Why, yes, it's another NaBloPoMo post about NaBloPoMo! Because I say so, that's why.

So the whole deal is to post at least once a day every day, right? It doesn't matter what you post, as long as you post. Technically.

Using the randomizer, I've seen quite a few bloggers posting something like this:

"This counts as a post"

That is just chickenshit. It's like observing the letter of the law, while stomping the shit out of the spirit.

I understand being time constrained and/or feeling like you don't have anything to say. TRUST ME. But, damn, tell a joke, post a cool YouTube video, if all else fails, tell us what you had for lunch. Put some effort into it, for Pete's sake.

How much personal satisfaction can there be in doing the bare minimum to meet your goal?

I actually have more respect for those who have missed days completely, because at least they didn't throw some crap up on the screen and call it done.

There's a chance I'm taking this all too seriously, I suppose. Hell, knowing me, there's a very good chance. But still, if you're going to do something, don't do it halfway. Don't do the very least you can get away with. If you're going to do it, do it right.

You'll notice I'm not saying 'do it right or don't do it at all'. I don't mean that. Just do it right!

Ok, I'm off my combination soapbox/high horse now (soaphorse? highbox?)


And now I have to post this video. It's mostly for my cousin Jo, but I wish everyone would take a few minutes and watch it. If you're a Johnny Cash fan, you will be blown away. If you're not, you may just gain a new appreciation for the man. I just sent it to my son in IM and here's how that conversation went:

Me: Hey, I have something for you.

Him: What? (But thinking: Dear God not another lecture on finances from the woman who had to take a loan out on her car every year to buy our school clothes)

Me: (posted the link)

Him: OMG

Him: No friggin' way!

Him: This is my Christmas gift, right? It has to be.

Me: Ha! I'm still cool and relevant and shit! (ok, I only thought that part)

Me: Damn. I should have held on to this until Christmas. Saved myself a few bucks.


Anyway, here it is. I hope you enjoy it.


Friday, November 17, 2006

 

Maybe I should go live at Sears.....

......with all the other tools.


So yesterday I griped that the review I got from Holly was vague and non-committal.

Then she left this very nice comment: "I'm not very creative, I mentioned you because I liked your blog. Sorry it was so vague!"

She didn't even call me an ungrateful bitch or anything. I think it's clear to everybody by now that Holly is just a nicer person than I am.

The verdict is in: I am a whiney tool. A whiney ungrateful tool.

Thank you, Holly, since I didn't say it yesterday, because I was too busy whining. (man, why am I such a tool?)

Also, for those of you interested in finding out when and by whom your blog will be reviewed (if you're a NaBloPoMo participant), Holly was also kind enough to give us a link to that page.


To summarize: Me= whiney tool .......... Holly= nice person

(By the way, please be careful in the mad rush to agree that I am a tool. I don't want anyone hurt. I'm not a mean tool.)


And now I have something for your viewing pleasure. I am loathe to use the word awesome to describe a video clip, but I'm gonna have to, because it's AWESOME.



Thursday, November 16, 2006

 

'V' for Vague


Y'all know about this whole NaBloPoMo thing, right? So a group of bloggers have been kind enough to go through the list of participants and do reviews of each blog. They get assigned a letter or two of the alphabet and review the blogs starting with that letter. Pretty cool, right? I would have been happy to volunteer, because, hello! Guaranteed blog fodder!

My review is in! I present it to you here verbatim, in it's entirety, as written by Holly.


"Very Contrary: Had a silly post about her perverted cousin and washing cats. I also found the following acent (sic) quiz there."

That's it. That's the whole thing. Now, to be fair, she had 23 'V' blogs to review, so I certainly wouldn't expect a full on review, but, I have to admit, I don't get any sense of whether or not this person enjoyed reading here or not. Is 'silly' a good thing? A bad thing? An irritating thing?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining; let's face it, she could have said something like, "Very Contrary, a big steaming pile of crap. I also found the following acent (sic) quiz there."

I just wish it hadn't been quite so non-committal. When the only word denoting opinion is 'silly', it's very hard for me to get an idea of how she feels about it.

Though, I have to admit, if anyone asked me for a one word description of this blog it would be 'silly'. Wait? Is 'ill-conceived' one word or two? Nah, I'll go with silly. So, I guess since she perceived it as I conceived it, I have achieved it. Right?

****************************************************************************

Ok, I usually try to spare y'all the cute utterances of my child, because for the most part, they're only cute to the people who know him and love him and also, let's face it, there isn't exactly a dearth of cute kid stories on the Internets, but this one I had to share with y'all:

This evening, as I was sitting on the couch, cruising around the internet while wearing my nightgown and watching TV (multi-tasking!), he comes up to me and says,"This is how you spend your day off?" He sounded like Olympia Dukakis in Moonstruck.

So, of course, I laughed and his Daddy laughed and his sister laughed. He then asked why we were laughing, in a very disgruntled voice (He's reached that stage where he understands that there is a difference between being laughed at and being laughed with. He's just not sure what that difference is yet).

So I told him that I was laughing because it was funny. He said, "No, that wasn't funny. And I know funny."

Which? Apparently he does, because he cracked us all up again.



Wednesday, November 15, 2006

 

Come on Down!

Bob Barker will be retiring after 50 years on television at the age of 83. In case you're wondering how he kept going, well, I have a theory.







In other, non-boob news, today is a banner day here for two reasons:

1) Today is Little Man's 4th Birthday. He's old enough for T-ball. I'll be weeping intermittantly all day.

2) Today is the official halfway point for NaBloPoMo. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. The light is telling me something. I can't quite make it out..wait..ohhh, the light says "Thank God it's almost over because you just aren't that creative, Bitch."

Fuck you, Light, you're just jealous.

Have a great Wednesday everyone!

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

 

Gesundeit! *


So every other Monday morning, I have to take a conference call. This is truly the most boring waste of time in any given day.

I am including reruns of M*A*S*H here (we get it; Radar has ears like a bat, Hawkeye is a tortured yet hilarious greasy haired Lothario, Hotlips is a Ho, and Frank is a freak of nature. Thanks.) (Ok, even though I said all that, I still totally love M*A*S*H and will watch it late into the night. Forgive me Alan Alda!

So, erm, anyway, usually during these conference calls, I doodle, or make funny faces or color in all the letters with holes in them on the call agenda sheet, or stare at the ceiling and wish for the sweet release of death.

My boss, who also sits in on these calls just generally puts up with me, because despite my astounding lack of maturity, I happen to be good at my job.

I know I'm good at it, because almost 3 months ago I told him that I no longer wanted the job and in fact wanted to go part-time. I told him that I would continue to do the job until he found someone else. Can you see how hard he's working at finding my replacement? 3 months people. I could have gestated a third of a kid by now.

Ok, so as usual, I was incredibly bored during the call (blah-de-blah, grow the business, blah-de-blah, customer satisfaction, YAWN), and didn't feel like doing any of the things I usually do to occupy myself, and blatantly reading the book I had in my purse might stretch even my boss' patience.

I thought about writing out a blog post in longhand, but really, I think we all know I'm too lazy for that kind of thing. Right? Shut up.

So I decided to take a page out of Chris' book and write some haiku. Sadly, Chris is much better at it than I am (don't believe me? Check out every Monday morning on his blog), but I was pretty pleased with these.

Behold, my foray into really bad Haiku:

1) Who's to blame for this?
Alexander Graham Bell
can kiss my heinie

2) Please shoot me if I
ever agree to be boss
again. I beg you.

3) Big fish in small pond
will, in time, find hook in mouth
to be a relief

4) When idiot says
something spectacularly
stupid during call

It is most prudent
to keep your 'well,duh!' quiet;
don't say it out loud.

Oops. Though, I have to say the look on my boss' face, coupled with his frantic (yet quiet!) shushing noises was pretty hilarious.




*Get it? Haiku? Gesundeit! Funny, right?

Monday, November 13, 2006

 

Meow!



Remember this bit from my cousin Jo's guest post?

"I used to call Contrary's Pet Grooming business (in different disguised
voices) and ask if she groomed cats, then giggle like a school girl
when she responded professionally about baths, flea dips and brushing
away matted cat hair tangles. She cured me of making these calls.
I'll let her tell you how."


Well, at least one of you expressed interest in hearing that story, which around these here parts counts as a clamoring. So I'll tell ya.


The deal was that Jo would call me often, asking if I washed cats. Now this sounds like a rather innocuous question, except that my baby cousin has a dirty, dirty mind and she wasn't talking about felines. Please don't make me spell out what she was talking about. If you're that innocent or sheltered, and don't know to what she was referring, I'm not going to be the one to corrupt you.

Lest you think I'm an idiot for falling for it so often, we had many legitimate callers asking if we bathed or washed cats. Plus, she always disguised her voice. Let me just stop and say right here that if Jo were to use her espionage skills for good instead of evil, she could be a high ranking official in defense of our country. The little twerp.

Anyway, time after time, she would call, ask her dirty little question and I would attempt to answer it. Then, she would cackle her dirty little cackle and then I would hang up on her. Well, I would hang up after threatening to kick her ass.

So, one time, she called and asked, "Do you wash cats?". I took the chance that it was her (she did this almost every day, people. There was a pretty good chance it was her. I figured worst case scenario, I was wrong, it was an honest to God potential customer and they would think I was nuts, which isn't all that far off the mark. After all, look who I'm related to)

So after she asked her question, I said something like, " Yes, we sure do. But only tame cats, not big filthy wild cats like yours who might bite us and give us some awful disease.".

It wasn't all that funny, but apparently being accused of having a feral, unclean hoo-ha was enough to make her stop. What a wimp.

Now tell me another Mommy on the internets who would have told y'all a semi-filthy story instead of posting pictures of her baby's birthday party. I'm not sure if this makes me cool or just kinda icky and sad.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

 

How R U?*

So, um, yeah. I'm taking the easy way out today because I've got a birthday party to throw for my little one. Who is on his way to becoming a not so little one.

(insert standard weeping for the transition of toddler to little boy here)

Anyway, I found this site from Mrs. Chili. They have lots of cool little quizzes. They are, of course, probably wildly inaccurate, but they're fun!


What American accent do you have?
Your Result: The Midland

"You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.

The South

The West

Philadelphia

The Inland North

The Northeast

Boston

North Central

What American accent do you have?
Take More Quizzes


This one is almost accurate. I am technically from Iowa, and spent a few years there intermittantly throughout my my childhood, but I spent most of my time in Louisiana, with brief stops in Ohio and Oklahoma. I have an accent, it just depends on how I feel at the time. If I am angry, the southern in me comes out more. Like this, "I am so mad at yew".


Your Language Arts Grade: 100%

Way to go! You know not to trust the MS Grammar Check and you know "no" from "know." Now, go forth and spread the good word (or at least, the proper use of apostrophes).

Are You Gooder at Grammar?
Make a Quiz



This one is completely correct. I am the Gooder Grammar Goddess. Ok, so maybe not, but like much of much of high school, I managed to test smarter than I actually am.

Ok, go take some quizzes! Feel free to come back here and report your findings, whatever they may be.

* That title was almost physically painful to write and the people who know me well are probably half shocked and half worried about me. I hate chat shorthand or whatever you call it, but it seemed appropos. TTYL! (argh. make it stop!)

Saturday, November 11, 2006

 

Best Friends Forever


I asked Jo to do a guest post and she has kindly (yet reluctantly)
agreed. She then wrote about, well, me. So, anyway, here's what my
baby cuz has to say.

Contrary asked me to guest blog. I pretended to forget. She didn't,
however, pretend to forget when she reminded me. Damn it. I'm much
better in person. I mean, I can't even use hand gestures on here, and
I'm Italian. I don't communicate well without erratic wild hand
movements.

Why the hell should I give in to her request? Who the hell is she to me?

Well, I'll tell you...

She's my Thelma.


Is there anyone in your life that you can tell anything? I do.
She's honest and will tell you how she feels about your actions, yet
not judge you for them.


Someone who loves you enough to help you bury the body? Sure,
she'd bitch about digging, but she'd dig.


Does that person have great integrity? She does. Her integrity
is unrivaled.


Does this person make you laugh so loud that people stare? Yep,
they stare and I really don't give a flying fuck, because I like her
much more than I like them

Once (as adults, young ones, but old enough to vote) when her
little brother called my home, we pretended to be confused oriental
girls. Not letting it go, we called him back as the police and told
him that he needed to stop harassing the girls. We laughed so hard,
we almost peed our pants. Almost.

I used to call Contrary's Pet Grooming business (in different disguised
voices) and ask if she groomed cats, then giggle like a school girl
when she responded professionally about baths, flea dips and brushing
away matted cat hair tangles. She cured me of making these calls.
I'll let her tell you how.

We do come from a long line of dysfunctional white trash, whom we call
"family" (notice I didn't say "whom we LIKE to call family...ha!).

As children, she was the tomboy with 4 brothers, I was the
cheerleader and an only child. Not alot in common besides us both
having a "Y" chromosome and some shared DNA.

As young adults we found we had common beliefs, morals, and maternal instincts,
as well as a strong will to achieve more then the examples that had been set
for us. We became friends.

And at age 31, when my marriage became too much to bear, she saved me.
But, that's another story. (and she won't let me tell it; it's all
about how she saved me and is my hero and all) Just know, it involves an
abusive husband, a phony dental appointment, a digital recorder, a long
road trip, a plane ride, rental cars, a 3yr old who wouldn't eat his fries
and one devoted cousin.

See?

Contrary is my Thelma. I'm honored to be her Louise.

I pray each and everyone of you has a "Thelma" in your life.
.
P.S. At no point have Contrary and I buried a body together. (we
always tied them to a cement block and tossed them into the river...HA!)


Oh...come on... it's only a joke!

Friday, November 10, 2006

 

Everybody's workin' for the weekend

It's Friday! I am practically beside myself with joy. I'm actually off this weekend, which doesn't happen often. Little Man has a birthday coming up and we are doing his parties this weekend.


Yes, I said parties, with an 'ies'. He's like Lindsay Lohan with the all the birthday partying, only we're planning to limit his alcohol intake (because we are responsible parent types) and he probably won't be making out with anybody in the back of the room. Unless you count the dog, and in that case, the dog will totally have started it.

We're going up to Pookie's Mom's house for the first party on Saturday and then having another one here on Sunday for the locals and my folks. This kid is gonna make out like a bandit. A really cute bandit whose tastes run to trains and race cars.

I'm also planning to sleep late and nap often. That's right, I'm old and a weekend of sleeping is my idea of a good time.

In other news, tomorrow, we will be graced by a guest post from my cousin Jo. She's awesome. She's also very short. I'm pretty sure these two facts are unrelated.

I could be wrong though. To all short people and the people who love them: Is shortness related to awesomeness? And if so, how do you explain that I am Gigantor and yet am too awesome for words? Discuss.


I leave you with yet another YouTube offering. Y'all have to admit I haven't steered you wrong yet. I defy you to watch this one and not laugh out loud.



Thursday, November 09, 2006

 

Can I get a (con)census?

I thought this was a pretty cool little deal, although I'm not entirely sure how accurate it is. Anyway, go see how many of you there are and then come back and tell us. Because the internet wants to know!

HowManyOfMe.com
LogoThere are:
1,504
people with my name
in the U.S.A.

How many have your name?


(Also, sorry for the very abbreviated post but I've been preparing my posts the night before because I wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go to work and don't have time to write anything before I have to leave. I stayed up about 2 hours later than I should have last night waiting to see if the internet was going to come back on. Needless to say, it did not. It was back on this morning though, which means this isn't coming to you from Starbucks, at least.)

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

 

Just Imagine...

A long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away), Pookie sent me a link to this piece. It is truly one of the coolest things I have ever seen. Let me see if I can adequately describe it for you:

This lady draws in the sand with her fingers.

No. That doesn't do it justice.

Ok, this lady plays in her personal sandbox, and it's caught on film.

Wow. That sounded really dirty. And not in a sandy gritty dirty kind of way, but in a low rent porno kinda way. Wait; "sandy gritty dirty' sounded pornish too. Somebody stop me!

Ahem.

Anyway, it's art. It's incredible and you should watch it, so you can be amazed too.







Aren't y'all proud of me for not even mentioning the whole Britney/K-Fed thing? Ok, so I mentioned it, but I didn't write a whole entry about it. Instead, I gave you art!

VeryContrary- for the most discerning blog readers only.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

 

Coupon, Schmoupon


I went through the Wendy's drive-thru last night, to get the kids some supper.

Because chicken nuggets are health food. I read that somewhere. In some medical journal. It also said that sloth is actually good for you.


Anyway, I ordered the little man a chicken nuggets kids' meal. Now, the only reason I get him the kids' meal is for the toy or prize that is supposed to come with it. Without the toy, it's just food. Health food. Only, this meal didn't have any toy or prize. It came with a coupon for a free kids' meal.

The coupon states "All Kids' Meals include a choice of small fries or mandarin orange cup; a Kids' soft drink, 2% white milk, or 1% chocolate milk; and a special fun surprise!"

Ahh, the irony is delicious, yes?

Let me explain the reason why this coupon does not count as a special fun surprise. In his nearly four years on this Earth, the kid has not once had to pay for a meal. ALL his kids' meals are free. He eats gratis, 3 meals a day, 365 days a year and I don't see that changing anytime soon. He's not on a budget, is what I'm saying here.

His entire interest in the whole kids' meal thing is the toy. It doesn't have to be a good toy. In fact, we kind of expect it to be a crappy toy with no point to it and a short lifespan. We're ok with that, as long as we get the toy.

I suppose I could have folded the coupon into a paper plane, but I never was any good at that (though I do make an awesome paper boat out of magazine subscription cards. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out).


Dave would SO have kicked your asses for this.




Monday, November 06, 2006

 

Confucious say,


We went and had Chinese food for lunch today. As usual, everything was delicious, but I didn't really ask you here to tell you what I had for lunch. We'll save that kind of boring crap for later in the month when I can't think of anything else to talk about.

Anyway, the highlight of Chinese food is always the fortune cookies. Well, not the cookies themselves, because, let's face, they have the general taste and texture of cardboard. But we love the fortunes.

We are kind of immature, as you may have figured out by now (feel free to browse the archives if you need proof), and we play that game where after you read a fortune, you add the words "in bed" to the end.

For example, one fortune said "Beauty will surround you - open your eyes to see it (in bed)" Get it? Immature? Yes. Funny? You betcha!

Another fortune said, "A good time to finish up old tasks (in bed)"

But the kicker was my fortune.

It said, "All great things had small beginnings (in bed)".

Best. Fortune. Ever.


In NaBloPoMo news, I figured out how to put the randomizer button on my sidebar. And when I say I figured it out, I mean Lynn e-mailed me and gave me instructions that a developmentally delayed monkey could have followed. Thanks Lynn!

So check it out. Click that button. It's the gateway drug to more blogs than you can shake a stick at.


In other news, Little Man informed me last night that he wanted to go to bed. These are words that have never passed his lips in his almost four years of life. I checked him for fever and then made sure he wasn't back on the sauce. Apparently, he just wanted to go to bed.

Huh. My baby's growing up. I'll spare y'all the teary montage of baby photos enhanced by Barbra Streisand singing 'Memories'. You're welcome.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

 

Oh, Doogie!


Apparently Neil Patrick Harris has come out of the closet, according to People online.

I quote:

"The public eye has always been kind to me, and until recently I have been able to live a pretty normal life. Now it seems there is speculation and interest in my private life and relationships.

"So, rather than ignore those who choose to publish their opinions without actually talking to me, I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love."

I have to admit, I'm shocked. I'm not sure why, it's not like he was always in the news with a new girl on his arm, but I have to say, if pressed, I would have pegged him as decidedly heterosexual.

It'll be interesting to see if his character on How I met Your Mother, who is an unashamed hetero hound (and kind of a chauvinistic asshole to boot), will change at all.

Maybe instead of telling his friends to 'Suit up!', he'll tell them 'Lip balm is your friend!', or 'Checks and stripes do not go together, no matter what that one guy on Queer Eye wears!'.

Seriously, I think it would be interesting to see where the character could go if Barney came out of the closet too. Would Barney continue to be a bed hopping scalawag? In this day and age? Now that would be some edgy television.


In NaBloPoMo news, Lane has created an awesome thing. It's a randomizer that can and will take you to any of over 1100 blogs that are participating in NaBloPoMo. Click on it! You won't be able to stop! (don't forget to stop and comment too!) (Also, somebody take my exclamation point key away from me! Before I hurt someone!)


Also, if any of you can help me get one of the buttons she made for it on my template and make it clickable, I would really appreciate it.


Also, also, if you missed my last post, you really should go and watch the Steve Irwin video. It is the funniest fucking thing I've seen all year, and it's November. That's almost a whole year worth of funny shit and this tops it all.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

 

Pineapple! Pineapple!

I think we can all agree that Steve Irwin had a sense of fun, but I never really thought of him as being a funny person. Until I saw this video. I might have peed my pants while watching it. But you can't prove it.

You may find yourself yelling 'Pineapple!' before it's over.



Friday, November 03, 2006

 

What's new Pussycat?










We have a couple of new additions to the household. They're about three weeks old and somebody dropped them off at work.

I got elected to bring them home and finish raising them for two reasons. 1) I'm really good at raising babies and finding homes for them and 2) How could I not bring them home?? Look at them!



By the time I'm done with them, they'll be fat and sassy, spoiled rotten and no damn good.

One's a boy and one's a girl, so for now, we're calling the boy Tiger and the girl Lily. Isn't that so sweet you could just puke? Yeah, me too







And maybe one day, if they eat right and exercise, they'll be like this:





In case you can't see it, that is a mountain lion, caught stalking a deer. The camera was a game cam and the deer appears to have no idea that there is a big hungry cat about 3 feet behind it. Here's hoping the deer wised up about a second after this shot was taken and took off for home.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

 

An open letter to John Kerry

* This is not a political blog. I have, in fact discouraged political discourse here. I'm not arguing with Mr. Kerry's politics. I simply have something I would like to say. Feel free to respond in comments, but I would prefer this not turn into a political debate. Please understand that I would be upset with anyone who made the remarks that Mr. Kerry did, even GWB.













Never let it be said that soldiers don't have a sense of humor!


Dear Mr. Kerry,

Words have power. Especially when the media keeps being foolish enough to broadcast your words.

Allow me to quote you: "You know, education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well.
If you don't, you get stuck in Iraq."

Now, your claim is that your remarks were targeted at the current administration. That's all well and good but I don't entirely believe you. If, however, that was the case, you really have no business speaking in public, because you're not very good at making yourself clear.

You've accused people of deliberately misinterpreting your words. I've read that quote over and over and I can't see how you could have been talking about George Bush. After all, you both graduated from Yale, only he had a higher GPA than you. He's not an uneducated man.

I don't wish for this to turn into a defense of George Bush, mostly because I don't believe you were really talking about him, but I do give you points for trying to turn it around once you realized how badly your comments were received.

Let me explain why I'm taking your comments personally. I, as much as anyone, wish we were no longer in Iraq. Why? My 19 year old son is a soldier, a calvary scout to be specific. He is not in Iraq, but there is every possibility that he will end up there. Of course, I would rather he didn't. However, if he were to get orders to go there, he would. He wouldn't shirk from his duty.

It's obvious by his age that he joined during this conflict. That's right, he joined knowing full well that his country was at war and that he might be required to join the fight. He's a good man and a good son and a good citizen.

So, bash Bush all you want. I'm okay with that. But keep your mouth off my kid and his fellow troops.

























My soldier and his baby brother.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

 

I'm askeered (Updated!)

Hello and welcome to the first day of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), wherein I and many, many other bloggers have committed to posting every single day in November.

The upshot is that you will likely be very, very tired of me by the end of the month.

I've spent the last few days putting togther some ideas and frantically recalling stories of injuries past to entertain you people, so for God's sake, be entertained, or at least pretend to be.

Now, this first entry was going to involve pictures, but sadly, Blogger is screwing with me today and will not upload them. Not even the really cool participant buttons Mrs. Kennedy made for all of us. So. Wah.


So we will save that for tomorrow. Y'all will want to check back because the pictures? They are of the cute. And the scary. No, I can't tell you any more than that, because then why whould you come check back in?

My plans for the evening involve watching 6 hours of Ghost Hunters Live! with my daughter. It was actually on last night, but it went from 10pm (my bedtime, because I am the old) till 4am (about 2 hours before I get up). I don't think people want me grooming their dogs on two hours of nightmare riddled sleep. So we're going to watch it tonight and then not be able to sleep because we are a couple of very cute wusses.

How was your Halloween? Did you get plenty of candy? Felt up in the Haunted house?

I got felt up in a haunted house one time. Because it was dark, I still don't know who I hit or where I hit them, but I heard the pained grunt and the falling over of a large body, so hopefully I rendered them incapable of having children and disinterested in groping teenagers for a very long time. Also, I've never been back to a haunted house since.

Ok, y'all...check back in tomorrow. I'm going to try to get it together and get each day's post ready the night before, but I know me and I'm incredibly lazy and a bit of a procrastinator, so we'll see how it goes.

Update: I now have a lovely participant's button in my sidebar! Thanks to the wonderful Sarah, who held my hand and gave me the html code.

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