Galadriel is bored by herself, so I sent the following text message to a friend.
"We were wondering if you have a billy that might be interested in hooking up with our she-goat."
I almost collapsed when my friend replied that Tumnus would love to have a conjugal visit. Tumnus? His name was Tumnus! That was funnier than Jeremy Renner!
So our friends are fencing off a private suite in their goat pen so the other wives won't fight with G. Meanwhile Lefty and Hunneypunkin are building side racks that will convert our lawnmower trailer into a livestock hauler. Now if both parties agree to the arrangement, then sometime in May or June we'll get to find out what kind of kids result when a powerful elf-witch from Middle Earth marries a kindly faun from Narnia.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
My Family Portrait For Our 2014 Christmas Card
Monday, December 1, 2014
This Post Has No Title, The Print is Too Small
I broke my glasses, right in the middle. My life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout is just a giant blur. Hunneypunkin promised to fix my glasses by with some nice electrical tape to make me look even cooler than I already do. Hunneypunkin is also just a giant blur. So without my glasses Hunneypunkin and Jeremy Renner are identical. Just like they are in real life. Which is what makes Jeremy Renner a hot guy. I hope I'm hitting all the right keys because my computer screen is just a giant blur. I have one last pair of contacts but they feel like sandpaper and after wearing them several hours the world is just a giant blur. If you've seen me in public and thought I snubbed you please forgive me. I probably just mistook you for a giant blur.
Friday, October 31, 2014
I Make My Own Traditions
I've never gone trick-or-treating. Rapunzel and the Wookie didn't believe in that sort of thing when I was a sprout, and to their credit I've also never gotten kidnapped or poisoned or a razor blade in an apple. When I became a parent myownself, I was always volunteering at the local harvest party, but solo because elk season coincides with Halloween so Hunneypunkin was roaming the hills with a rifle as a manly man should. After making up costumes for myself and my peeps (I couldn't afford to buy any) and then spending a good couple hours NOT stealing candy from babies (because that's what it means to be a harvest party volunteer) my two ounces of remaining energy had to go into getting my babies home to bed. Not trick-or-treating.
Seriously, people. It takes a lot outta you to watch all that chocolate fall into those chubby mitts, without sneaking a little armload for yourself. Thank a harvest party volunteer, today!
We used to all carve pumpkins together before elk hunting. But my pumpkin patch failed this year, despite my "Welcome Great Pumpkin" sign on the fence, and my skin blisters if it touches raw pumpkin. However, I have no allergic reaction to orange balloons tied with green ribbon and wearing Sharpie'd faces.
This year, Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious think they're too old for me to dress them up in costumes. Brats. Pixie's elfin friend lent her a sparkly formal gown that, paired with Pixie's flaxen locks and Angel Doll's braiding skills, transformed Pixie into Disney's Queen Elsa.
So tonight, Hunneypunkin is roaming the hills with a rifle as a manly man should. I'm trying to keep my mouth off the candy that Treasure and Angel Boy haven't eaten yet. Lefty is enjoying a bowl of cheese with chili in it. Pixie is collecting chocolate homage from the citizens of Arendelle with Elfin girl. Angel Doll is burning a cinnamon candle and watching The Addams Family, and The Precious is Youtubing the Ghostbusters theme song. Everybody's arguing over whether we love or hate Monster Mash. (What's not to love? It's a graveyard smash!) I'm wrapped up in my favorite blanket, sipping hot cider from our own apple trees. My jack-o-balloons and Jeremy Renner's life-size cardboard cutout are watching me sort through my rubber stamp collection while I search Pinterest for Christmas card ideas. I have a dark chocolate Reese's. I think this is the best Halloween ever.
Seriously, people. It takes a lot outta you to watch all that chocolate fall into those chubby mitts, without sneaking a little armload for yourself. Thank a harvest party volunteer, today!
We used to all carve pumpkins together before elk hunting. But my pumpkin patch failed this year, despite my "Welcome Great Pumpkin" sign on the fence, and my skin blisters if it touches raw pumpkin. However, I have no allergic reaction to orange balloons tied with green ribbon and wearing Sharpie'd faces.
This year, Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious think they're too old for me to dress them up in costumes. Brats. Pixie's elfin friend lent her a sparkly formal gown that, paired with Pixie's flaxen locks and Angel Doll's braiding skills, transformed Pixie into Disney's Queen Elsa.
So tonight, Hunneypunkin is roaming the hills with a rifle as a manly man should. I'm trying to keep my mouth off the candy that Treasure and Angel Boy haven't eaten yet. Lefty is enjoying a bowl of cheese with chili in it. Pixie is collecting chocolate homage from the citizens of Arendelle with Elfin girl. Angel Doll is burning a cinnamon candle and watching The Addams Family, and The Precious is Youtubing the Ghostbusters theme song. Everybody's arguing over whether we love or hate Monster Mash. (What's not to love? It's a graveyard smash!) I'm wrapped up in my favorite blanket, sipping hot cider from our own apple trees. My jack-o-balloons and Jeremy Renner's life-size cardboard cutout are watching me sort through my rubber stamp collection while I search Pinterest for Christmas card ideas. I have a dark chocolate Reese's. I think this is the best Halloween ever.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Lefty Gets Offered a Job
Lefty recently stumbled upon an employment opportunity, so I helped him write up a resume'.
Lefty Righthanded, NBK, CBC, ABI, TTYL, IDK
1 Street Address
City, State, ZIP
555-555-5-007
fakeemail@fakeemail.fakeemail
Objective
To make more money than anyone else. Ever.
Education and Qualifications
Maybe a little
Work History
Birth to present
Slave labor for father
July 2014-August 2014
Farm labor for Neighbor Farms
May 2014
Advertising Department Manager for Vegan Canivores, Inc.
January 2010-April 2014
Nordic longboat operator
December 2008-December 2009
Understudy for Jeremy Renner
December 2008-December 2009
Understudy for Jeremy Renner
October 2006-November 2008
Interplanetary espionage for Covert Organization Intergalactic
February 2005-October 2006
Independent mercenary
November 2001-January 2003
Committee to Pick a Different Name for the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia
Activities and Interests
Drawing
Weight training
NBK (Ninja by Knight)
Salsa dancing, with real salsa
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
A Thief and a Liar
I'm a pathological liar. Well, that's not exactly true.
“Someone has said that fiction by definition is a lie. By extension this means that fiction writers are liars. In that context, I will admit to it, and go a step further. I will say that fiction writers are thieves.” -Elmer Kelton
Manila Bulletin asked Jeremy Renner if he was a good liar. “I suppose if I had to be but I prefer not to,” he said. “Actually,
it gets me in trouble to be very frank and honest. I have spoken to you
many times over these past years and I have been very frank and very up
front about things. I prefer to live my life that way. It is simpler. It
is cleaner.” http://www.mb.com.ph/jeremy-renner-hopes-to-revisit-ph/
I thought so too, JR. But Liar's League calls us both out. "Well, fiction is basically a lie. So is performance. To be honest, we’re all liars." http://www.liarsleagueleicester.com/?page_id=46
"All writers are liars. They twist events to suit themselves. They make use of their own tragedies to make a better story... They are terrible people." -Nina Bawden
So there's my guilty pleasure, my dirty little secret: I'm a thief, a liar, and a terrible people. But what can you say? After all, what's your guilty pleasure? your dirty little secret? Random Unlimited. You keep coming back! Were you covertly enjoying some lies? Or did you think you'd find some truth?
"Writers are liars, my dear, surely you know that by now? And yet, things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot." -Neil Gaiman
"'You have nice manners for a thief and a liar,' said the dragon.'' -J.R.R. Tolkien
“Someone has said that fiction by definition is a lie. By extension this means that fiction writers are liars. In that context, I will admit to it, and go a step further. I will say that fiction writers are thieves.” -Elmer Kelton
I thought so too, JR. But Liar's League calls us both out. "Well, fiction is basically a lie. So is performance. To be honest, we’re all liars." http://www.liarsleagueleicester.com/?page_id=46
"All writers are liars. They twist events to suit themselves. They make use of their own tragedies to make a better story... They are terrible people." -Nina Bawden
So there's my guilty pleasure, my dirty little secret: I'm a thief, a liar, and a terrible people. But what can you say? After all, what's your guilty pleasure? your dirty little secret? Random Unlimited. You keep coming back! Were you covertly enjoying some lies? Or did you think you'd find some truth?
"Writers are liars, my dear, surely you know that by now? And yet, things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot." -Neil Gaiman
"'You have nice manners for a thief and a liar,' said the dragon.'' -J.R.R. Tolkien
Friday, September 5, 2014
No hablo español
Estoy experimentando un aburrimiento temporal con el idioma Inglés y por lo tanto tengo que escupir mi aleatoriedad usando española.
Mi cara está experimentando un brote feo porque he estado golpeando el chocolate últimamente. Pero estoy perdiendo peso, ya que he estado evitando trigo. Así que eso es todo fresco.
Estoy de blogs en estos momentos, porque es la mejor manera que he encontrado con gestionar el estrés de todas las otras cosas que se supone que debo estar haciendo en este momento. Y hay plazos involucrados, por lo que encontrar una distracción es urgente.
Voy a estar fuera de la ciudad todo el fin de semana sin mis hijos, y aunque yo no he salido de la casa, sin embargo, yo les estoy perdiendo ya. TODOS ellos. Pone un dolor en mi corazón. Yo sólo voy a tener sea Jeremy Renner.
Al menos mientras estoy fuera estaré escalofriante con un par de mejores amigas.
Bueno. El momento de actuar como un adulto, renunció a jugar un poco, y cosas por mi maleta.
Mi cara está experimentando un brote feo porque he estado golpeando el chocolate últimamente. Pero estoy perdiendo peso, ya que he estado evitando trigo. Así que eso es todo fresco.
Estoy de blogs en estos momentos, porque es la mejor manera que he encontrado con gestionar el estrés de todas las otras cosas que se supone que debo estar haciendo en este momento. Y hay plazos involucrados, por lo que encontrar una distracción es urgente.
Voy a estar fuera de la ciudad todo el fin de semana sin mis hijos, y aunque yo no he salido de la casa, sin embargo, yo les estoy perdiendo ya. TODOS ellos. Pone un dolor en mi corazón. Yo sólo voy a tener sea Jeremy Renner.
Al menos mientras estoy fuera estaré escalofriante con un par de mejores amigas.
Bueno. El momento de actuar como un adulto, renunció a jugar un poco, y cosas por mi maleta.
Espero Google Translate hizo un buen trabajo, porque no me gustaría ofender a la gente en español. Hago mucho de eso en mi propia lengua materna, aunque nunca me propongo.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Classic Absurd Pranking
There's a knot in the faux wood finish on the kitchen table where Lefty likes to keep his daily glass of water. I don't know why sometimes I can't just be a grownup, but one night when Hunneypunkin and I were home alone (that doesn't happen often) I said, "Hey. Wanna get a little crazy?"
Hunneypunkin just looked at me weird. (That actually does happen often.)
"Help me turn the kitchen table around," I said.
Again, he just looked at me weird. (See? Often.)
"Lefty likes to keep his glass on this knot," I explained.
Hunneypunkin chuckled. He was totally picking up what I was laying down. And then even though he had worked like two hundred and sixty-one hours that week, he dragged himself off the couch to help me turn the table around and place Lefty's glass back where it usually sits, but where there was no longer a knot. Because perplexing the people we live with is how we roll.
I was so happy that I happened to be in the kitchen the next time Lefty strolled in, took a drink of water, and--couldn't set his glass down. He sounded like Jeremy Renner on a witch hunt when he said, "WHERE IS MY KNOT?!"
Pixie and Angel Doll had to help me turn the table back to its original position so I wouldn't drop it from laughing, Lefty could have his knot back, and balance could be restored to the Force.
Was that a lot of trouble to go to just for five seconds of a pathetic practical joke? Yes indeed. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Because, as The Precious says, "Classic absurd pranking is what we do."
Hunneypunkin just looked at me weird. (That actually does happen often.)
"Help me turn the kitchen table around," I said.
Again, he just looked at me weird. (See? Often.)
"Lefty likes to keep his glass on this knot," I explained.
Hunneypunkin chuckled. He was totally picking up what I was laying down. And then even though he had worked like two hundred and sixty-one hours that week, he dragged himself off the couch to help me turn the table around and place Lefty's glass back where it usually sits, but where there was no longer a knot. Because perplexing the people we live with is how we roll.
I was so happy that I happened to be in the kitchen the next time Lefty strolled in, took a drink of water, and--couldn't set his glass down. He sounded like Jeremy Renner on a witch hunt when he said, "WHERE IS MY KNOT?!"
Pixie and Angel Doll had to help me turn the table back to its original position so I wouldn't drop it from laughing, Lefty could have his knot back, and balance could be restored to the Force.
Was that a lot of trouble to go to just for five seconds of a pathetic practical joke? Yes indeed. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Because, as The Precious says, "Classic absurd pranking is what we do."
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Sweet Relish
Once upon a time, I was overrun with cucumbers. I had made enough dill pickles to last nine years, and I go into paroxysms at the thought of wasting food, so I had to decide what to do with these remaining bushels of cukes. I've never even liked relish, but when I Googled "too many cucumbers" or something like that I found buttloads of recipes for relish. So.
I like trying new recipes. No, that's not really true. I like the thought of trying new recipes. I'd really just rather pile all my people in the living room and watch a Jeremy Renner movie with them and eat Reese's and then have Cheetos for dessert. But that wouldn't solve my cucumber dilemma, and I finally settled on a recipe simple enough even I could manage it.
All I needed to start with was six cups of diced peeled cucumber, three cups of diced green and red bell pepper, and three cups of diced onion. All that dicing only cost me like thirteen hours, ninety-eight muscle spasms, and half a bottle of ibuprofen. The saving grace was that after chopping all these veggies, the recipe said to mix them in a big glass baking dish with a quarter of a cup of pickling salt, cover them with a towel, and let them sit for two hours. I used those two hours for physical therapy and ice packs on my shoulder and knife-wielding arm.
At the end of two hours, the veggies were to be rinsed with cold water and drained. While the veggies drained, I boiled three cups of sugar, two cups of apple cider vinegar, two and a half teaspoons each of celery seed and mustard seed, and a half teaspoon of turmeric, then added the drained veggies and let it all cook till it was nice and thick. The recipe didn't warn me that the sugary-vinegar smell in the house could almost asphyxiate a person. Note to self: Don't lean over the pan while you stir this stuff.
When the relish was finally the right thickness, I poured it into hot sterilized canning jars, squeezed their hot lids on, and water-bathed the jars for ten minutes. I tried not to cry that after all that work, there were only three pint jars of relish.
But, oh, it was worth it. I found out I liked relish after all.
Later I tried to cheat by using a food processor or blender or other kitchen witchery to chop the vegetables, but those produce a mix that's half too chunky and half too liquified. Now I mainly use teenagers and that works pretty well.
It's cucumber season again, and when said teenagers are otherwise occupied, I'm on my own with the knife and the cutting board. Sweet mother of relish, my shoulder hurts.
I like trying new recipes. No, that's not really true. I like the thought of trying new recipes. I'd really just rather pile all my people in the living room and watch a Jeremy Renner movie with them and eat Reese's and then have Cheetos for dessert. But that wouldn't solve my cucumber dilemma, and I finally settled on a recipe simple enough even I could manage it.
All I needed to start with was six cups of diced peeled cucumber, three cups of diced green and red bell pepper, and three cups of diced onion. All that dicing only cost me like thirteen hours, ninety-eight muscle spasms, and half a bottle of ibuprofen. The saving grace was that after chopping all these veggies, the recipe said to mix them in a big glass baking dish with a quarter of a cup of pickling salt, cover them with a towel, and let them sit for two hours. I used those two hours for physical therapy and ice packs on my shoulder and knife-wielding arm.
At the end of two hours, the veggies were to be rinsed with cold water and drained. While the veggies drained, I boiled three cups of sugar, two cups of apple cider vinegar, two and a half teaspoons each of celery seed and mustard seed, and a half teaspoon of turmeric, then added the drained veggies and let it all cook till it was nice and thick. The recipe didn't warn me that the sugary-vinegar smell in the house could almost asphyxiate a person. Note to self: Don't lean over the pan while you stir this stuff.
When the relish was finally the right thickness, I poured it into hot sterilized canning jars, squeezed their hot lids on, and water-bathed the jars for ten minutes. I tried not to cry that after all that work, there were only three pint jars of relish.
But, oh, it was worth it. I found out I liked relish after all.
Later I tried to cheat by using a food processor or blender or other kitchen witchery to chop the vegetables, but those produce a mix that's half too chunky and half too liquified. Now I mainly use teenagers and that works pretty well.
It's cucumber season again, and when said teenagers are otherwise occupied, I'm on my own with the knife and the cutting board. Sweet mother of relish, my shoulder hurts.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Starvation Is Imminent
Life's not fair, except for that one week in August, when life is, in fact, fair. So that week while my life was the county fair with Hunneypunkin, Angel Doll, my Treasure, and the Besties, I grossly neglected the household until Friday at which point I got a "Houston, we have a problem" phone call from Pixie.
"There's NOTHING in the house to eat," Pixie told me. "The boys just got back from work and we have NO food!" I could actually hear Angel Boy, Lefty, and The Precious perishing of deprivation in the background.
"Bake some bread," I said.
"I already started," Pixie told me, "but the dough is still rising and I have to eat NOW. I'm dying here. There's no protein!"
Lefty shouted, "Yeah, we're out of hot dogs!"
"All we have is a tiny bit of five-year-old Cream of Wheat," Pixie lamented, "which isn't enough for everybody and nobody likes it anyway except Angel Boy and it's probably poison because it's outdated. There's no time to thaw a chicken because it's already past lunch time!"
"Listen," I said, "while the bread is rising, make biscuits. That only takes a few minutes. Then get some meat out of the freezer to thaw for tonight and tomorrow, and I'll buy groceries on Saturday."
That seemed to restore some hope to the galaxy. "We DO have marshmallows," Pixie said brightly. Even over the phone I could sense the pixie-dust settling a little. It turned out there was also a stock of tortilla chips, but no salsa. The Precious whipped together some ketchup, plain yogurt, and chopped onion as a substitute, and the boys did not die after all. I'm so proud! He has all the makings of a great bachelor. Don't mock him. Jeremy Renner is a long-time bachelor. He's probably eaten his share of ketchup dip.
I did go shopping as promised. I had to clean out the empty egg cartons from the fridge and move a big pot of kidney beans, another of chicken broth, several cartons of leftovers, two giant zucchini, and a bag of leaf lettuce out of the way so I could put the groceries in the refrigerator. Next time I'll plan better, and make some meals ahead.
Now that the kitchen is full of groceries, there's no place to put all the produce that ripened in the garden while I was at the fair.
"There's NOTHING in the house to eat," Pixie told me. "The boys just got back from work and we have NO food!" I could actually hear Angel Boy, Lefty, and The Precious perishing of deprivation in the background.
"Bake some bread," I said.
"I already started," Pixie told me, "but the dough is still rising and I have to eat NOW. I'm dying here. There's no protein!"
Lefty shouted, "Yeah, we're out of hot dogs!"
"All we have is a tiny bit of five-year-old Cream of Wheat," Pixie lamented, "which isn't enough for everybody and nobody likes it anyway except Angel Boy and it's probably poison because it's outdated. There's no time to thaw a chicken because it's already past lunch time!"
"Listen," I said, "while the bread is rising, make biscuits. That only takes a few minutes. Then get some meat out of the freezer to thaw for tonight and tomorrow, and I'll buy groceries on Saturday."
That seemed to restore some hope to the galaxy. "We DO have marshmallows," Pixie said brightly. Even over the phone I could sense the pixie-dust settling a little. It turned out there was also a stock of tortilla chips, but no salsa. The Precious whipped together some ketchup, plain yogurt, and chopped onion as a substitute, and the boys did not die after all. I'm so proud! He has all the makings of a great bachelor. Don't mock him. Jeremy Renner is a long-time bachelor. He's probably eaten his share of ketchup dip.
I did go shopping as promised. I had to clean out the empty egg cartons from the fridge and move a big pot of kidney beans, another of chicken broth, several cartons of leftovers, two giant zucchini, and a bag of leaf lettuce out of the way so I could put the groceries in the refrigerator. Next time I'll plan better, and make some meals ahead.
Now that the kitchen is full of groceries, there's no place to put all the produce that ripened in the garden while I was at the fair.
A Page From My Journal (Or, Disclaimer II)
My harsher critics either didn't read or didn't understand Disclaimer http://chevroletmama.blogspot.com/2013/06/disclaimer.html so I feel compelled to re-explain.
July 5, 1999
Put up the boys' bunk beds today. They love them! Also moved Angel Doll* into the toddler bed in the children's room. Tomorrow I will take down the crib in our room and move in the cradle to be ready for the baby, and to make more space in our bedroom. My Moon Shadow roses are blooming in my rose garden. There are also three or four buds on my Taboo rose. Have a lot to do this week, but we got a lot done today, too.
That was an actual entry from my actual journal. It's so monotonous I tried to bite my own ear halfway through reading it just to relieve the tedium. There wasn't even a hint of Jeremy Renner in there.
Random Unlimited is neither my journal nor an expression of my feelings. (Indeed, a popular theory exists that I may not even have any feelings. Even I don't know whether this premise holds any truth.) Random Unlimited is exactly what it says it is. If you find my random, unlimited thought processes difficult to follow, imagine what it's like to actually live in this head, and still be the positive, upstanding, productive, contributing, clean, sober, sometimes organized, and presumed normal member of society that I am. Hint: You couldn't do it.
Feel free to leave hate mail in the comments section below, and if you choose to start your own "I Hate Chevrolet Mama" blog, please include links to Random Unlimited. I'll return the favor.
*Names have been changed because I thought it was fun.
July 5, 1999
Put up the boys' bunk beds today. They love them! Also moved Angel Doll* into the toddler bed in the children's room. Tomorrow I will take down the crib in our room and move in the cradle to be ready for the baby, and to make more space in our bedroom. My Moon Shadow roses are blooming in my rose garden. There are also three or four buds on my Taboo rose. Have a lot to do this week, but we got a lot done today, too.
That was an actual entry from my actual journal. It's so monotonous I tried to bite my own ear halfway through reading it just to relieve the tedium. There wasn't even a hint of Jeremy Renner in there.
Random Unlimited is neither my journal nor an expression of my feelings. (Indeed, a popular theory exists that I may not even have any feelings. Even I don't know whether this premise holds any truth.) Random Unlimited is exactly what it says it is. If you find my random, unlimited thought processes difficult to follow, imagine what it's like to actually live in this head, and still be the positive, upstanding, productive, contributing, clean, sober, sometimes organized, and presumed normal member of society that I am. Hint: You couldn't do it.
Feel free to leave hate mail in the comments section below, and if you choose to start your own "I Hate Chevrolet Mama" blog, please include links to Random Unlimited. I'll return the favor.
*Names have been changed because I thought it was fun.
Back by Popular Demand
I'm taking a break from volunteer youth ministry. Whomever takes my
place is going to need to know that volunteer youth ministry is...
-jumping head first into a bunch of stuff you don’t know how to do, in front of a bunch of people who've never done it before, who therefore feel free to offer you a bunch of not-necessarily-credible advice.
-getting up early, staying up late, piles of papers, mountains of snacks, and incessant suggestions to do even more because whatever you're doing is never enough.
-well-meaning individuals advising you to get completely out of youth ministry because they think you're doing too much.
-wondering if anyone gets that you're a volunteer, that you don't get paid for this, and that it's not the only responsibility you have in your church, community, or life.
-wondering why in the world you're doing this, because you don't get paid for this, and that it's not the only responsibility you have in your church, community, or life.
-wondering which one would kill you the quickest: continuing in volunteer youth ministry, or not being involved in it.
-a room full of cutiepies who roll their eyes at you and may or may not acknowledge you in public but suddenly randomly hug you and call you their mom. Which is really cool. If you're not a guy.
-having your heart torn out of your chest and ripped into dozens of pieces every day and living to tell about it, while those pieces of your heart go roaming around town in skinny jeans and tennis shoes.
So Godspeed to my replacement. And don't worry, I'll be back. I already know that not being involved in youth ministry would kill me more quickly than continuing in it. I'd trade my life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout for all those eye-rolling cutiepies.
-jumping head first into a bunch of stuff you don’t know how to do, in front of a bunch of people who've never done it before, who therefore feel free to offer you a bunch of not-necessarily-credible advice.
-hours of praying and planning and preparing before
attending a calendar meeting where every great idea you thought God gave you
gets annihilated.
-talking to a room full of adolescents while they’re talking
over the top of you so that six years later you can find out that most of them
weren’t listening, but one of them was.
-phone calls and text messages from students and
parents with questions you already answered in person, in emails, in text
messages, in letters, in bulletins, and on Facebook.
-scrapping
countless hours of lesson outlines because your students have no
attention span tonight and they just need to decompress.
-fighting a not-very-Christian attitude toward adults who are gossiping in a not-very-Christian manner about your students.
-developing
a fierce loyalty toward every other adult who joins the Crusade to
Snatch Every Child We Possibly Can from the Jaws of Stupid Things that
Ruin People's Lives.
-carrying several hundred dollars of students’ event cash in your own wallet for several weeks because the secretary
is uncomfortable keeping it in the safe.
-teenagers talking smack about you because they thought they were getting away with crap but you called them on it.
-feeling helpless while watching a teenager make a series of poor life choices
when you’ve told them, and told them, and told them.
-a choice between doing it all yourself, or taking a chance
on volunteers who might make more work for you than doing it all yourself.
-people advising you to delegate, your delegates dropping the
ball, parents complaining, and you taking the fall
because you’re not going to blame your help.
-planning a fun event and being told you need to make it
spiritual, and planning a spiritual event and being told you need to make it
fun.
-trying to meet the current standards of awesomeness without
a budget because even though you supposedly have one, nobody wants you to spend
it.-getting up early, staying up late, piles of papers, mountains of snacks, and incessant suggestions to do even more because whatever you're doing is never enough.
-well-meaning individuals advising you to get completely out of youth ministry because they think you're doing too much.
-wondering if anyone gets that you're a volunteer, that you don't get paid for this, and that it's not the only responsibility you have in your church, community, or life.
-wondering why in the world you're doing this, because you don't get paid for this, and that it's not the only responsibility you have in your church, community, or life.
-wondering which one would kill you the quickest: continuing in volunteer youth ministry, or not being involved in it.
-a room full of cutiepies who roll their eyes at you and may or may not acknowledge you in public but suddenly randomly hug you and call you their mom. Which is really cool. If you're not a guy.
-having your heart torn out of your chest and ripped into dozens of pieces every day and living to tell about it, while those pieces of your heart go roaming around town in skinny jeans and tennis shoes.
So Godspeed to my replacement. And don't worry, I'll be back. I already know that not being involved in youth ministry would kill me more quickly than continuing in it. I'd trade my life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout for all those eye-rolling cutiepies.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Best Combination Ever
Salt and pepper. Fruits and nuts. Beef and beans. Potatoes and
gravy. Steak and lobster. Bacon and eggs. Cheese and crackers. Bread and butter. Lemon
and lime. Corned beef and cabbage. Ham and Swiss. Applets and
cotlets. Peaches and cream. Cream and sugar. Sugar and spice. Yes,
I'm hungry right now but that's not the point.
The point is that the world is full of fabulous combinations. Smith and Wesson. Black and Decker. Romeo and Juliet. Barnes and Noble. Lefty and The Precious. Ben and Jerry. Frodo and Sam. Mickey and Minnie. Brooks and Dunn. Tarzan and Jane. Johnson and Johnson. Lady and the Tramp. Heckler & Koch. A&W. Watson and Holmes. War and Peace. Batman and Robin. Bonnie and Clyde. Pride and Prejudice. Ken and Barbie. Petersen's 4-Wheel and Off-road. Burt and Ernie. Jason and the Argonauts. Thelma and Louise. Sears and Roebuck. Calvin and Hobbes. Popcorn and movies. Treasure and Angel Boy. Beauty and the Beast. Guns and Ammo. Pixie and Angel Doll. Red, white, and blue.
Sonny and Cher. (Just kidding!)
Chocolate and peanut butter. (Reese, whoever you are, you are a genius and I love you.)
Hunneypunkin and Chevrolet Mama. Music and dancing. Work and play. Night and day. Renner and Wilson. (You haven't heard? Jeremy Renner for U.S. President 2016. If he doesn't make it onto the ballot, I'm writing him in.)
One of my favorite combinations is butter and brown sugar. Another of my favorite combinations is coffee and chocolate. The very best combination ever is those two combinations combined. Mmmmm...caramel mocha. What's your favorite combo?
The point is that the world is full of fabulous combinations. Smith and Wesson. Black and Decker. Romeo and Juliet. Barnes and Noble. Lefty and The Precious. Ben and Jerry. Frodo and Sam. Mickey and Minnie. Brooks and Dunn. Tarzan and Jane. Johnson and Johnson. Lady and the Tramp. Heckler & Koch. A&W. Watson and Holmes. War and Peace. Batman and Robin. Bonnie and Clyde. Pride and Prejudice. Ken and Barbie. Petersen's 4-Wheel and Off-road. Burt and Ernie. Jason and the Argonauts. Thelma and Louise. Sears and Roebuck. Calvin and Hobbes. Popcorn and movies. Treasure and Angel Boy. Beauty and the Beast. Guns and Ammo. Pixie and Angel Doll. Red, white, and blue.
Sonny and Cher. (Just kidding!)
Chocolate and peanut butter. (Reese, whoever you are, you are a genius and I love you.)
Hunneypunkin and Chevrolet Mama. Music and dancing. Work and play. Night and day. Renner and Wilson. (You haven't heard? Jeremy Renner for U.S. President 2016. If he doesn't make it onto the ballot, I'm writing him in.)
One of my favorite combinations is butter and brown sugar. Another of my favorite combinations is coffee and chocolate. The very best combination ever is those two combinations combined. Mmmmm...caramel mocha. What's your favorite combo?
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Parents Don't Have Favorites
The Precious thinks I don't love it. I mean, him. And now, after pruning the pear tree that had grown to the point of interfering with internet connection--true story--I can blog about it.
The Precious believes I love Pixie more than I love him because she plays X-box more than he does. It doesn't matter to him that she had finished her chores, sharpened every pocketknife in her collection, and designed an entire clothing line before he ever dragged his groggy self outta the rack. He's just certain that Pixie's my favorite.
I was pretty proud when my Treasure mowed through a two-foot-diameter log with an axe in twelve seconds flat. So The Precious thinks my Treasure is the favoritest.
I sent an immediate response to a text message from Angel Doll this morning, but failed to reply to a text from The Precious for nine whole minutes. Now he thinks Angel Doll is my favorite. (Gimme a break, I was putting groceries in the car. And I hadn't even bought myself any Reese's!)
Today I saw Lefty do a little dance. (Anybody who doesn't live here would never believe that, but it happened.) And I laughed. So. Hard. But I hadn't laughed that hard at The Precious, so he believes that I love Lefty more.
I always say that I heart all my peeps just the same. How could I not? They're splendiferous like Jeremy Renner! But The Precious just wouldn't let it go. Well, he's a legal adult now. So I just told him. I do have a favorite. It's Angel Boy.
The Precious believes I love Pixie more than I love him because she plays X-box more than he does. It doesn't matter to him that she had finished her chores, sharpened every pocketknife in her collection, and designed an entire clothing line before he ever dragged his groggy self outta the rack. He's just certain that Pixie's my favorite.
I was pretty proud when my Treasure mowed through a two-foot-diameter log with an axe in twelve seconds flat. So The Precious thinks my Treasure is the favoritest.
I sent an immediate response to a text message from Angel Doll this morning, but failed to reply to a text from The Precious for nine whole minutes. Now he thinks Angel Doll is my favorite. (Gimme a break, I was putting groceries in the car. And I hadn't even bought myself any Reese's!)
Today I saw Lefty do a little dance. (Anybody who doesn't live here would never believe that, but it happened.) And I laughed. So. Hard. But I hadn't laughed that hard at The Precious, so he believes that I love Lefty more.
I always say that I heart all my peeps just the same. How could I not? They're splendiferous like Jeremy Renner! But The Precious just wouldn't let it go. Well, he's a legal adult now. So I just told him. I do have a favorite. It's Angel Boy.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
My Life Be All, "Blog This!"
The day after payday I was thinking, "Should I pay bills, or buy groceries?" And you know that's a question you should never ask on an empty stomach.
So an hour after returning from spending a brizillion dollars on enough edibles and bath tissue to last the household till three days from next week's payday, Hunneypunkin discovered some really neat little lakes and rivers under the house. Cracks in pipes. Major drippage. It seems we have some subhomenal water features going on. The kind that's going to cost us a lot of the money that we like to pretend we're going to make in the future. (Subhomenal=under the house. Get it? I just made that word up.)
To be honest, if I'm going to spend a buttload of money on watery things, I'd love for it to be a fountain and a pond in the backyard. With fish and frogs and lily pads in it. But I like warm showers and indoor running water too. So.
A fascinating side effect of the plumbing excitement is that the solution is going to involve considerable demolition to at least two rooms. It IS time to repaint, mind you, but I was kinda saving those projects for a time when I could budget for them.
So here's my evil plan. Mama's gonna put my Jeremy Renner pants on and get myself a job--or maybe nine of them--cuz Hunneypunkin seems to only be able to put in ninety-seven hours a week of slave labor before he revolts.
Now I'm beginning to smell that I've burned dinner while I've been blogging, and even worse than allllll of this, I'm all out of the Twixes and Reese's I got for Mother's Day and my birthday. My life does NOT love me right now.
So an hour after returning from spending a brizillion dollars on enough edibles and bath tissue to last the household till three days from next week's payday, Hunneypunkin discovered some really neat little lakes and rivers under the house. Cracks in pipes. Major drippage. It seems we have some subhomenal water features going on. The kind that's going to cost us a lot of the money that we like to pretend we're going to make in the future. (Subhomenal=under the house. Get it? I just made that word up.)
To be honest, if I'm going to spend a buttload of money on watery things, I'd love for it to be a fountain and a pond in the backyard. With fish and frogs and lily pads in it. But I like warm showers and indoor running water too. So.
A fascinating side effect of the plumbing excitement is that the solution is going to involve considerable demolition to at least two rooms. It IS time to repaint, mind you, but I was kinda saving those projects for a time when I could budget for them.
So here's my evil plan. Mama's gonna put my Jeremy Renner pants on and get myself a job--or maybe nine of them--cuz Hunneypunkin seems to only be able to put in ninety-seven hours a week of slave labor before he revolts.
Now I'm beginning to smell that I've burned dinner while I've been blogging, and even worse than allllll of this, I'm all out of the Twixes and Reese's I got for Mother's Day and my birthday. My life does NOT love me right now.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Powers for Good
Angel Doll lied to me.
"My class is going to last a little longer than usual today," she told me. "I'll call you when I'm ready to be picked up." It made perfect sense to believe her since she's never lied before in her life and she was looking me straight in the eye like the cherub that she is.
I dropped her off in the quotidian spot at the quotidian time. I picked her up in the quotidian spot when she called and said she was ready. I'm pretty proud of the word "quotidian". I found it in the thesaurus. That's a book of synonyms, not a dinosaur.
Angel Doll looked the same when I picked her up as she had when I dropped her off. She lugged her quotidian backpack and wore her quotidian expression. I'm not really sure whether I'm using the word "quotidian" correctly but I like it. So.
The Lady of the House met Angel Doll with her quotidian disdainful gaze and greeted her with the quotidian condescending flick of her tail. The point I'm making here is that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was all very, you know. Quotidian.
So three days later Mother's Day showed up, and for the occasion Angel Doll sent me on a ninety-mile, on-foot, uphill-both-ways scavenger hunt to find the present she had built for me, which turned out to be a two potted flowering plants and a brizillian dollar gift card to the best caramel mocha hangout in the western hemisphere. https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Grainery/270676199452
MAMA LOVES MOCHA, and flowering plants! Brizillian is a word I made up myself but I don't recall whether it's spelled brizillian or brizillion. I'm too tired right now to look it up in my previous posts. There's a reason my blog is called Random Unlimited.
Angel Doll hadn't had a longer class. She had sneaked around town after class, buying me presents. She had smuggled her loot home in her backpack. She had stashed the contraband in her room. She had lied to my face about where she had been, and her halo never even tilted. She was so good, Jeremy Renner would have believed her.
You gotta watch those Angels every second. Can you imagine the terror she could wreak if she turned to the dark side? Thank God I taught her to use her powers for good.
"My class is going to last a little longer than usual today," she told me. "I'll call you when I'm ready to be picked up." It made perfect sense to believe her since she's never lied before in her life and she was looking me straight in the eye like the cherub that she is.
I dropped her off in the quotidian spot at the quotidian time. I picked her up in the quotidian spot when she called and said she was ready. I'm pretty proud of the word "quotidian". I found it in the thesaurus. That's a book of synonyms, not a dinosaur.
Angel Doll looked the same when I picked her up as she had when I dropped her off. She lugged her quotidian backpack and wore her quotidian expression. I'm not really sure whether I'm using the word "quotidian" correctly but I like it. So.
The Lady of the House met Angel Doll with her quotidian disdainful gaze and greeted her with the quotidian condescending flick of her tail. The point I'm making here is that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was all very, you know. Quotidian.
So three days later Mother's Day showed up, and for the occasion Angel Doll sent me on a ninety-mile, on-foot, uphill-both-ways scavenger hunt to find the present she had built for me, which turned out to be a two potted flowering plants and a brizillian dollar gift card to the best caramel mocha hangout in the western hemisphere. https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Grainery/270676199452
MAMA LOVES MOCHA, and flowering plants! Brizillian is a word I made up myself but I don't recall whether it's spelled brizillian or brizillion. I'm too tired right now to look it up in my previous posts. There's a reason my blog is called Random Unlimited.
Angel Doll hadn't had a longer class. She had sneaked around town after class, buying me presents. She had smuggled her loot home in her backpack. She had stashed the contraband in her room. She had lied to my face about where she had been, and her halo never even tilted. She was so good, Jeremy Renner would have believed her.
You gotta watch those Angels every second. Can you imagine the terror she could wreak if she turned to the dark side? Thank God I taught her to use her powers for good.
Don't Wonder
It always shocks me when people ask me if I'm being sarcastic. You shouldn't have to wonder. You should just know. I'm tough and cool. I'm Jeremy Renner. I'm the raw material from which sarcasm is forged.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
How My Heart Got Tangled
Once upon a time, I thought my family was complete. I had a Hunneypunkin, two sons, two daughters, multiple pets, a home to keep them all in, and what more could anyone ever want? Plus I had great hair thanks to my parents, Rapunzel and the Wookie. (Also I drove an Impala. Everybody wants an Impala whether they realize it or not.)
I had it all, and then a Treasure, an Angel Boy, and a Prince walked into my life. It wasn't so great a mystery that they walked into my life, but somehow they walked into my heart, and I never figured out how they did it.
It really wasn't even so great a mystery that they walked into my heart, because after all, everybody loves a Treasure, you already know I have a seriously soft spot for Angels, and who wouldn't want their own Prince? The mystery was how, once they walked into my heart, it got all tangled up in them.
I was supposed to be tough and cool. I was Jeremy Renner. Unbreachable. Invincible. There was no way I could possibly be vinced. How could I let my heart get tangled? But I did, and the best part is: I don't care. My tough and cool got breached by a Treasure, an Angel Boy, and a Prince, and I don't mind at all. In legality, I have four children, but in my tangled heart, I have seven.
I had it all, and then a Treasure, an Angel Boy, and a Prince walked into my life. It wasn't so great a mystery that they walked into my life, but somehow they walked into my heart, and I never figured out how they did it.
It really wasn't even so great a mystery that they walked into my heart, because after all, everybody loves a Treasure, you already know I have a seriously soft spot for Angels, and who wouldn't want their own Prince? The mystery was how, once they walked into my heart, it got all tangled up in them.
I was supposed to be tough and cool. I was Jeremy Renner. Unbreachable. Invincible. There was no way I could possibly be vinced. How could I let my heart get tangled? But I did, and the best part is: I don't care. My tough and cool got breached by a Treasure, an Angel Boy, and a Prince, and I don't mind at all. In legality, I have four children, but in my tangled heart, I have seven.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Lice and a Tumor
It's not really that The Precious is a hypochondriac. If you ask him, he'll tell you.
You: "The Precious, are you a hypochondriac?"
The Precious: "I am not a hypochondriac. Wait, what's a hypochondriac? Can you die from it?"
No, he's not a hypochondriac at all, he's just ultra-conscious of his own homeostasis. And he bugs me about it endlessly.
"I had to scratch my head twice this morning, and it itched again just now. Do I have lice?" You have dry scalp. Use conditioner next time you wash your hair.
"I got a cut on my hand. Is it going to get infected?" Use Neosporin. Here's a Spiderman Band-aid.
"Do you see this spot on my arm? What is that? Do I have skin cancer?" I'm blogging right now, quit yammering towards me. It's dirt. Wash it off.
"I was outside when the crop duster flew over the field. Will I die from chemical poisoning?" Not immediately. Take a shower and change your clothes. And leave me alone for a minute, I'm concentrating my magic to pay $1984 worth of bills with $423.
"My stomach hurts. Do I have an ulcer?" No! Drink a glass of water and ease up on the Flamin Hot Cheetos.
"What exactly is an ulcer?" It's a, you know, stomach thing, that, like, hurts or whatever. Stop knocking on the door with stupid questions and let me pee all by myself! Google it! Look it up in one of my sciencey books!
"Look at this bump on my wrist. Is this a tumor?" And then you HAVE to answer in your Schwarzenegger voice but he doesn't get it because Kindergarten Cop was before his time.
"There's something in my eye. Am I going to go blind?" Sorry, you're not likely to need a cool Nick Fury eye patch. Watch a Jeremy Renner movie, he's a sight for sore eyes.
"Mother, I have a big mosquito bite on my head. It's driving me crazy." Are you sure it's not lice and a tumor?
You: "The Precious, are you a hypochondriac?"
The Precious: "I am not a hypochondriac. Wait, what's a hypochondriac? Can you die from it?"
No, he's not a hypochondriac at all, he's just ultra-conscious of his own homeostasis. And he bugs me about it endlessly.
"I had to scratch my head twice this morning, and it itched again just now. Do I have lice?" You have dry scalp. Use conditioner next time you wash your hair.
"I got a cut on my hand. Is it going to get infected?" Use Neosporin. Here's a Spiderman Band-aid.
"Do you see this spot on my arm? What is that? Do I have skin cancer?" I'm blogging right now, quit yammering towards me. It's dirt. Wash it off.
"I was outside when the crop duster flew over the field. Will I die from chemical poisoning?" Not immediately. Take a shower and change your clothes. And leave me alone for a minute, I'm concentrating my magic to pay $1984 worth of bills with $423.
"My stomach hurts. Do I have an ulcer?" No! Drink a glass of water and ease up on the Flamin Hot Cheetos.
"What exactly is an ulcer?" It's a, you know, stomach thing, that, like, hurts or whatever. Stop knocking on the door with stupid questions and let me pee all by myself! Google it! Look it up in one of my sciencey books!
"Look at this bump on my wrist. Is this a tumor?" And then you HAVE to answer in your Schwarzenegger voice but he doesn't get it because Kindergarten Cop was before his time.
"There's something in my eye. Am I going to go blind?" Sorry, you're not likely to need a cool Nick Fury eye patch. Watch a Jeremy Renner movie, he's a sight for sore eyes.
"Mother, I have a big mosquito bite on my head. It's driving me crazy." Are you sure it's not lice and a tumor?
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Somebody Walked Into a Bar
I love "walked into a bar" jokes.
A blond walked into a bar. You'd think she would have seen it. -Richard Armitage.
A grasshopper walked into a bar. The bartender said, "Hey, we have a drink named after you!" The grasshopper said, "You have a drink called Steve?" -Santa Claussen
Two guys walked into a bar. You'd think the second one would duck. -Andrew R.
Two strings walked into a bar. The bartender said, "We don't serve strings here. Get out of my bar." The first string left. The second string went into the bathroom, tied himself in half, ratted his hair, and went back to the bar. The bartender said, "We don't serve strings here. You're not a string, are you?" The string answered, "I'm afraid not." (You have to think outside the spelling.) -Rapunzel
Two elves walked into a bar. A Hobbit laughed and walked under it. -Pixie
A bear walked into a bar and said, "I'll have a gin.........and tonic." The bartender asked, "Why the big pause?" The bear said, "I got them from my dad." (I had to think a moment before I got that one. Again, it's the spelling.) -Again, Santa Claussen
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was a tense moment. -Facebook
A Roman walked into a bar. He held up two fingers, and said, "I'll have five beers." -Pixie
A depressed cat walked into a bar. The bartender gave the cat a shot. The cat slowly pushed the shot glass to the edge of the bar, watched it fall to the floor and shatter, then said, "Another." -The Internets
Jeremy Renner walked into a bar. He said it hurt. -I made that up myself.
Can't remember where I heard it, but it's my personal all-time favorite:
A dyslexic guy walked into a bra.
A blond walked into a bar. You'd think she would have seen it. -Richard Armitage.
A grasshopper walked into a bar. The bartender said, "Hey, we have a drink named after you!" The grasshopper said, "You have a drink called Steve?" -Santa Claussen
Two guys walked into a bar. You'd think the second one would duck. -Andrew R.
Two strings walked into a bar. The bartender said, "We don't serve strings here. Get out of my bar." The first string left. The second string went into the bathroom, tied himself in half, ratted his hair, and went back to the bar. The bartender said, "We don't serve strings here. You're not a string, are you?" The string answered, "I'm afraid not." (You have to think outside the spelling.) -Rapunzel
Two elves walked into a bar. A Hobbit laughed and walked under it. -Pixie
A bear walked into a bar and said, "I'll have a gin.........and tonic." The bartender asked, "Why the big pause?" The bear said, "I got them from my dad." (I had to think a moment before I got that one. Again, it's the spelling.) -Again, Santa Claussen
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was a tense moment. -Facebook
A Roman walked into a bar. He held up two fingers, and said, "I'll have five beers." -Pixie
A depressed cat walked into a bar. The bartender gave the cat a shot. The cat slowly pushed the shot glass to the edge of the bar, watched it fall to the floor and shatter, then said, "Another." -The Internets
Jeremy Renner walked into a bar. He said it hurt. -I made that up myself.
Can't remember where I heard it, but it's my personal all-time favorite:
A dyslexic guy walked into a bra.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Bipolar
Since I have too many things to do, I needed to waste some time. Doesn't make sense? Of course not, that's what this blog is all about. So because I have Richard Armitage on the brain, I started youtubing North and South.
(...time lapse...)
I'm not sure when I started this blog entry, but I finished watching North and South a long time ago. North and South...that's why the title is "Bipolar"...get it? Not sure what else I was planning to write that day, but apparently I got distracted.
Anyway, North and South is on my "If Hunneypunkin Goes Shopping for my Birthday" list. I'll pop me some corn and melt me some butter and watch North and South with Hunneypunkin and Jeremy Renner.
(...time lapse...)
I'm not sure when I started this blog entry, but I finished watching North and South a long time ago. North and South...that's why the title is "Bipolar"...get it? Not sure what else I was planning to write that day, but apparently I got distracted.
Anyway, North and South is on my "If Hunneypunkin Goes Shopping for my Birthday" list. I'll pop me some corn and melt me some butter and watch North and South with Hunneypunkin and Jeremy Renner.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Inappropriate Use of Packing Tape
I'm breathing easy after having survived an uneventful April Fool's Day. Usually an innocent bystander, I must confess that this one time, I started it. My boss's boss came to town, took the guys to lunch, and left me alone in the office. With his laptop. (How did this guy get into upper management?) Not one to ignore opportunity when she knocks, I utilized two teensy slices of packing tape to seal BossBoss's laptop shut.
In my defense I must explain that I spent all waking hours in that constricting office--true story, I slept while I drove home--with only Tom's Coffee and stale ramen for sustenance and only chronic migraines and sinus infections for company. It was quite necessary to provide myself with occasional enrichment exercises.
Okay, the sustenance/company story is not completely true. I did have a daily visit with, and chocolate chip cookie from, Santa Claussen. TWO daily if I was good. Nevertheless, the need for occasional enrichment exercises still stood.
I had downed my ramen and was on a conference call when BossBoss, Boss, and Crew returned from mightily feasting. I had actually forgotten my packing tape exercise until BossBoss, fumbling with his laptop, looked at me and said, "Let me guess. Your boss?" Not one to throw my boss under the bus, I tried to throw a coworker under the bus. "I TOLD Santa Claussen not to do that," I said. The bonus of ranking too low for a business luncheon, is also ranking too low to be a prank suspect.
Apparently I also ranked too low for BossBoss to believe me, because he still suspected my boss and gave him a proper thanking. Not one to take false incrimination lightly, Boss took up the packing tape himself. When I got to the office next morning, the exercise ball with which I had replaced my desk chair had been thoroughly packaged in tape. So I taped Boss's mouse to his mouse pad. So Boss packing-taped my mouse and mouse pad. I taped down the handset of his desk phone. He taped down the handset of my desk phone. I taped his desk drawers shut.
Boss upped the ante from packing tape to rubber spiders. Rubber SPIDERS! Not one to be one-upped, I raided the coffee station to replace the sugar with salt.
I no longer work there. Boss doesn't either. (Not necessarily because of inappropriate use of packing tape.) I don't think Boss ever got me back for the salted coffee. Sometimes I wake up in the night and worry about that. All I can do is put on my best tough-and-cool Jeremy Renner face so nobody knows that I'm constantly looking over my shoulder.
In my defense I must explain that I spent all waking hours in that constricting office--true story, I slept while I drove home--with only Tom's Coffee and stale ramen for sustenance and only chronic migraines and sinus infections for company. It was quite necessary to provide myself with occasional enrichment exercises.
Okay, the sustenance/company story is not completely true. I did have a daily visit with, and chocolate chip cookie from, Santa Claussen. TWO daily if I was good. Nevertheless, the need for occasional enrichment exercises still stood.
I had downed my ramen and was on a conference call when BossBoss, Boss, and Crew returned from mightily feasting. I had actually forgotten my packing tape exercise until BossBoss, fumbling with his laptop, looked at me and said, "Let me guess. Your boss?" Not one to throw my boss under the bus, I tried to throw a coworker under the bus. "I TOLD Santa Claussen not to do that," I said. The bonus of ranking too low for a business luncheon, is also ranking too low to be a prank suspect.
Apparently I also ranked too low for BossBoss to believe me, because he still suspected my boss and gave him a proper thanking. Not one to take false incrimination lightly, Boss took up the packing tape himself. When I got to the office next morning, the exercise ball with which I had replaced my desk chair had been thoroughly packaged in tape. So I taped Boss's mouse to his mouse pad. So Boss packing-taped my mouse and mouse pad. I taped down the handset of his desk phone. He taped down the handset of my desk phone. I taped his desk drawers shut.
Boss upped the ante from packing tape to rubber spiders. Rubber SPIDERS! Not one to be one-upped, I raided the coffee station to replace the sugar with salt.
I no longer work there. Boss doesn't either. (Not necessarily because of inappropriate use of packing tape.) I don't think Boss ever got me back for the salted coffee. Sometimes I wake up in the night and worry about that. All I can do is put on my best tough-and-cool Jeremy Renner face so nobody knows that I'm constantly looking over my shoulder.
Friday, March 28, 2014
Happy, happy, happy
My laptop came home from the doctor today. It's fast. It's clean. It works as it's supposed to. All the keys function. It didn't cost my right leg. I'm happier than The Precious at the movies. I'm happier than Lefty eating hot dogs. I'm happier than Angel Doll with a cookbook.
I'm happy even though it's Friday and Blue Bloods isn't on tonight. Sorry, basketball fans, March Madness is a rotten reason to blow off the Reagans. Maybe I'll watch an episode I missed a couple weeks ago, on my laptop that won't overheat and shut itself down after thirteen minutes. I'm happier than Pixie in an arsenal or on the X-box or at a fashion show. I'm happier than Jeremy Renner with a turkey bacon cheeseburger.
I'm happy even though it's Friday and Blue Bloods isn't on tonight. Sorry, basketball fans, March Madness is a rotten reason to blow off the Reagans. Maybe I'll watch an episode I missed a couple weeks ago, on my laptop that won't overheat and shut itself down after thirteen minutes. I'm happier than Pixie in an arsenal or on the X-box or at a fashion show. I'm happier than Jeremy Renner with a turkey bacon cheeseburger.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Stupid Modern Technology
I didn't think I'd need to print the Excel file, so I just saved it to the desktop of my laptop and left to make a pitstop.
Meanwhile, other things came up like a game of whack-a-mole, and today, when I needed the Excel file like now-ish...I didn't have it because I had taken my laptop to the doctor. No problemo, I thought. I logged in to my email on Elder Computer, only to find I had deleted the email because, you know, I had saved the file. I like to keep my inbox cleaned out, but this is like when I was a teenager and my mother Rapunzel used to tell me, all in good fun, that I was too blasted efficient. She'd go looking for her coffee, and I'd have dumped it out and washed the mug.
I had to beg the sender to resend the file, which she promptly did, at which time I was cruelly reminded that Elder Computer doesn't have Excel. I'm going into town tonight, so I'll apprehend someone else's computer and open my file there. Wait...what's my stinkin password? Elder Computer knows what my password is. I don't.
I had to further beg the sender to reresend the file, to another email address whose password I DO know. Either she's cursing me right now, or she has the patience of Jeremy Renner. Again she obliged, and Voila! thanks to Excel Online and the fact that I can access it from this email program, I now have the file. I'm trying really hard not to print seventy-nine copies of it just in case.
Just as I was about to post this blog entry to Facebook, as if there are people out there who actually want to read it, what should I hear from across the house but, "This one?"--CLICK--computer off. Because The Precious was turning off breakers for Hunneypunkin who was doing some electrical work. No, not that one. That was the one that powered the computer. True story.
Meanwhile, other things came up like a game of whack-a-mole, and today, when I needed the Excel file like now-ish...I didn't have it because I had taken my laptop to the doctor. No problemo, I thought. I logged in to my email on Elder Computer, only to find I had deleted the email because, you know, I had saved the file. I like to keep my inbox cleaned out, but this is like when I was a teenager and my mother Rapunzel used to tell me, all in good fun, that I was too blasted efficient. She'd go looking for her coffee, and I'd have dumped it out and washed the mug.
I had to beg the sender to resend the file, which she promptly did, at which time I was cruelly reminded that Elder Computer doesn't have Excel. I'm going into town tonight, so I'll apprehend someone else's computer and open my file there. Wait...what's my stinkin password? Elder Computer knows what my password is. I don't.
I had to further beg the sender to reresend the file, to another email address whose password I DO know. Either she's cursing me right now, or she has the patience of Jeremy Renner. Again she obliged, and Voila! thanks to Excel Online and the fact that I can access it from this email program, I now have the file. I'm trying really hard not to print seventy-nine copies of it just in case.
Just as I was about to post this blog entry to Facebook, as if there are people out there who actually want to read it, what should I hear from across the house but, "This one?"--CLICK--computer off. Because The Precious was turning off breakers for Hunneypunkin who was doing some electrical work. No, not that one. That was the one that powered the computer. True story.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Play By Play
KWWW http://www.kw3.com/ plays "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons.
Lefty turns up the radio.
I play my personal playlist on my personal subwoofer.
Lefty turns up the radio.
I turn up my subwoofer.
Lefty turns up the radio.
Angel Doll goes deaf.
The Precious tells Lefty to turn up the radio.
Pixie flees the scene.
"Radioactive" ends and "All of Me" by John Legend begins.
I turn off my playlist so I can hear "All of Me".
Pixie, Lefty, and The Precious roll their eyes and fall asleep.
Angel Doll dances with me.
Jeremy Renner gives us all the smolder from his cardboard cutout in the corner.
I love Imagine Dragons.
I just don't love "Radioactive".
Sorry already.
Lefty turns up the radio.
I play my personal playlist on my personal subwoofer.
Lefty turns up the radio.
I turn up my subwoofer.
Lefty turns up the radio.
Angel Doll goes deaf.
The Precious tells Lefty to turn up the radio.
Pixie flees the scene.
"Radioactive" ends and "All of Me" by John Legend begins.
I turn off my playlist so I can hear "All of Me".
Pixie, Lefty, and The Precious roll their eyes and fall asleep.
Angel Doll dances with me.
Jeremy Renner gives us all the smolder from his cardboard cutout in the corner.
I love Imagine Dragons.
I just don't love "Radioactive".
Sorry already.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Bird Poop Brownies
I try so hard to follow the directions and just be normal like everybody else, but no, I have to sprinkle my life with special ingredients. So once upon a spring day while my babies were playing inside the fenced yard and I was melting a cup of butter to make brownies because sugar and chocolate are so healthy for my family, I got bored with the regular recipe.
After adding 3/4 of a cup of cocoa, two cups of sugar, three or four eggs, a splash of vanilla, and a cup and a half of flour to the melted butter, I picked out the eggshells that shone so brightly in the brown goo. Then I ransacked my cabinets for other neat things to add to the batter. I prefer boy brownies (you know, they kind that have nuts) but I'm outnumbered five to one in my household so I decided not to add nuts. (If I ever grow up and move out, I'll eat what I want.)
I threw in a fistful-minus-five chocolate chips, as if there isn't enough chocolate already in brownies. I would have added the entire fistful except five of the bittersweet morsels fell inside my face. Thank you, Nestle. Then I found some crusty stale marshmallows. Well, they're no good for anything else, so I chopped them up and dumped them into the brownie batter.
After half an hour at three hundred fifty degrees on the temperature scale proposed by Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit (1686-1736), the batter had turned into a beautiful glossy brick of delectability. Besides the usual sheen across the top, there were also little white and gold globs here and there where the marshmallows had peeked out of the batter to toast themselves.
My babies came in from the backyard, all sniffing. "Yum!" and, "Smells like brownies!" and, "What's that stuff on the brownies?" And then The Precious had to say, "It looks like bird poop." It was true. The melted marshmallows looked like bird poop.
Like any self-respecting mother would, I said, "Yep. It is bird poop. I went out to the front yard and collected bird poop, and then I made brownies out of it."
If they didn't believe me, they'd have a funny story to laugh at, and if they did believe me, I could eat all the brownies myself. Definitely a win-win. As usual, they didn't believe a word I said. Which is probably a good thing, or I'd be looking like the purple Willie Wonka girl right now. Even Jeremy Renner would get fat on these things.
Bird Poop Brownies became a household tradition that day, one I'm proud to say has passed on to the next gen. Pixie just baked some up today.
After adding 3/4 of a cup of cocoa, two cups of sugar, three or four eggs, a splash of vanilla, and a cup and a half of flour to the melted butter, I picked out the eggshells that shone so brightly in the brown goo. Then I ransacked my cabinets for other neat things to add to the batter. I prefer boy brownies (you know, they kind that have nuts) but I'm outnumbered five to one in my household so I decided not to add nuts. (If I ever grow up and move out, I'll eat what I want.)
I threw in a fistful-minus-five chocolate chips, as if there isn't enough chocolate already in brownies. I would have added the entire fistful except five of the bittersweet morsels fell inside my face. Thank you, Nestle. Then I found some crusty stale marshmallows. Well, they're no good for anything else, so I chopped them up and dumped them into the brownie batter.
After half an hour at three hundred fifty degrees on the temperature scale proposed by Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit (1686-1736), the batter had turned into a beautiful glossy brick of delectability. Besides the usual sheen across the top, there were also little white and gold globs here and there where the marshmallows had peeked out of the batter to toast themselves.
My babies came in from the backyard, all sniffing. "Yum!" and, "Smells like brownies!" and, "What's that stuff on the brownies?" And then The Precious had to say, "It looks like bird poop." It was true. The melted marshmallows looked like bird poop.
Like any self-respecting mother would, I said, "Yep. It is bird poop. I went out to the front yard and collected bird poop, and then I made brownies out of it."
If they didn't believe me, they'd have a funny story to laugh at, and if they did believe me, I could eat all the brownies myself. Definitely a win-win. As usual, they didn't believe a word I said. Which is probably a good thing, or I'd be looking like the purple Willie Wonka girl right now. Even Jeremy Renner would get fat on these things.
Bird Poop Brownies became a household tradition that day, one I'm proud to say has passed on to the next gen. Pixie just baked some up today.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Galadriel
We were offered a milk goat. Because sometimes people just have an extra milk goat, right?
Hunneypunkin's first reaction was an emphatic no. When the goat arrived, Hunneypunkin's second reaction was an emphatic what-are-we-going-to-do-with-a-milk-goat. And I pretended to be all indignant: "She has a name," even though I was thinking the same thing.
Her name was Galadriel, which totally made me laugh because, you know, Lothlorien elf-witches are, like, all beautiful and flowing and grace-y and goats are, like, just goofy. Galadriel reminds me of Middle Earth. Middle Earth reminds me of Thorin Oakenshield. Oh, no, mental loop...
Angel Doll milked the goat twice daily till her wrists fell off. I did it for a while till I thought, "Hey, I have other children." So Lefty and The Precious got stuck with it just because I'm mean. They weren't even motivated by the promise that milking would give them the muscular structure of Jeremy Renner.
Turns out Galadriel is a sexist. She adores Angel Doll, and she's all smiles for me, but she doesn't like the boys at all. The turkeys let it slip that she'd been plotting to stomp the boys half to death with her hooves, till the turkeys reminded her that it's the boys who feed her. Now she just stares at the boys with telepathic disapproval and they return the favor.
The People drank some of the milk for a while, but as time went on the milk started to taste more like how you might imagine a goat would taste if you licked it on the fur. For the record, I have not ever licked a goat on the fur. Or anywhere. So now we have jars and cartons of goat milk in the freezer all saved up for those times when suddenly you realize you need some frozen goat milk, and so then you don't have to go to the frozen goat milk store because you already have your own endless supply of goat milk in the freezer.
Much to my sons' relief, Galadriel eventually, finally, at long last, dried up. I was so glad, because I almost stapled my ears shut for all the boys' complaining about having to do the milking.
Galadriel haunts the pasture now, waiting for spring, wishing for other goats, bored with the turkeys, and occasionally escaping the fence just because she can. She searches for Angel Doll. There's nothing in the world that is funnier, and possibly more unnerving, than looking out your kitchen window and being stared down by a bored goat.
Hunneypunkin's first reaction was an emphatic no. When the goat arrived, Hunneypunkin's second reaction was an emphatic what-are-we-going-to-do-with-a-milk-goat. And I pretended to be all indignant: "She has a name," even though I was thinking the same thing.
Her name was Galadriel, which totally made me laugh because, you know, Lothlorien elf-witches are, like, all beautiful and flowing and grace-y and goats are, like, just goofy. Galadriel reminds me of Middle Earth. Middle Earth reminds me of Thorin Oakenshield. Oh, no, mental loop...
Angel Doll milked the goat twice daily till her wrists fell off. I did it for a while till I thought, "Hey, I have other children." So Lefty and The Precious got stuck with it just because I'm mean. They weren't even motivated by the promise that milking would give them the muscular structure of Jeremy Renner.
Turns out Galadriel is a sexist. She adores Angel Doll, and she's all smiles for me, but she doesn't like the boys at all. The turkeys let it slip that she'd been plotting to stomp the boys half to death with her hooves, till the turkeys reminded her that it's the boys who feed her. Now she just stares at the boys with telepathic disapproval and they return the favor.
The People drank some of the milk for a while, but as time went on the milk started to taste more like how you might imagine a goat would taste if you licked it on the fur. For the record, I have not ever licked a goat on the fur. Or anywhere. So now we have jars and cartons of goat milk in the freezer all saved up for those times when suddenly you realize you need some frozen goat milk, and so then you don't have to go to the frozen goat milk store because you already have your own endless supply of goat milk in the freezer.
Much to my sons' relief, Galadriel eventually, finally, at long last, dried up. I was so glad, because I almost stapled my ears shut for all the boys' complaining about having to do the milking.
Galadriel haunts the pasture now, waiting for spring, wishing for other goats, bored with the turkeys, and occasionally escaping the fence just because she can. She searches for Angel Doll. There's nothing in the world that is funnier, and possibly more unnerving, than looking out your kitchen window and being stared down by a bored goat.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Vomit on the Spoon
I recently enjoyed the privilege of watching a bestie feeding Gerber goobers to an adorable teensy person. It brought back happy memories. I haven't spooned Mashed Whatever into a miniature mouth in years. (I still try sometimes. Pixie gets mad. Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious just look at me weird.)
Anyway, Hunneypunkin asked Bestie what, exactly, this baby food was made of. It was some mixture of organic spinach and peaches, or salisbury steak and apricots, or something like that. I don't know. I just remember its appearance resembled caterpillar innards.
Bestie said we should have seen one of the baby foods she'd fed the teensy last week. It had been another unique combo of odd foods, plus there were chia seeds in it. She said it looked like vomit on the spoon. That was such a poetic phrase, I had to blog it. Vomit on the Spoon. It rolls off the tongue, like Fiddler on the Roof, or Annie Get Your Gun.
Now don't give me crap about this. I know it's a lame topic. But hey, you're the one who chose to read an entry entitled Vomit on the Spoon. At any rate, the little dude ate his goobers like the happy boy that he is and he's going to grow up tougher than Jeremy Renner, and the rest of us watched and tried to forget that at one time in our lives, we too were spoon fed stuff that was good for us but looked like vomit on the spoon.
Anyway, Hunneypunkin asked Bestie what, exactly, this baby food was made of. It was some mixture of organic spinach and peaches, or salisbury steak and apricots, or something like that. I don't know. I just remember its appearance resembled caterpillar innards.
Bestie said we should have seen one of the baby foods she'd fed the teensy last week. It had been another unique combo of odd foods, plus there were chia seeds in it. She said it looked like vomit on the spoon. That was such a poetic phrase, I had to blog it. Vomit on the Spoon. It rolls off the tongue, like Fiddler on the Roof, or Annie Get Your Gun.
Now don't give me crap about this. I know it's a lame topic. But hey, you're the one who chose to read an entry entitled Vomit on the Spoon. At any rate, the little dude ate his goobers like the happy boy that he is and he's going to grow up tougher than Jeremy Renner, and the rest of us watched and tried to forget that at one time in our lives, we too were spoon fed stuff that was good for us but looked like vomit on the spoon.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Cinderelling for Rapunzel With Dawn
What kind of fool has four children and no dishwasher? Chevrolet Mama.
Remember when you were little and you asked your mom if you could "help with the dishes" and she took off all your clothes and dressed you in a swimsuit and stood you on a chair in front of the kitchen sink and let you spend the next seven hours playing with plastic cups in the bubbly water? I made that mistake once. Gimme a break, I was four years old. How could I know I'd just doomed myself to a childhood of slave labor?
My mother Rapunzel told me from the time I had to stand on a chair to scrub the pots, "Only Dawn gets the grease off the dishes." She was right.
My parents bought a dishwasher when I got married and left them. They bought one for themselves, I mean. Not for me. I cry foul! But I digress. (Which is, in fact, the whole point of this entire blog.)
Two valuable lessons came from my decade and a half of Cinderelling in Rapunzel's kitchen. One: Parents reserve the right to press their children into KP. And two: not all blue dish soap is Dawn. I learned both lessons well. Pixie, Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious wash the dishes here, and you can bet they do it with Dawn.
As you can imagine, with six mouths to feed in this house, I've built a whole craft of pulling Hunneypunkin's paychecks as tight as they'll stretch. But I've never saved money by using cheap dish soap. I just had to use more of it and change the dishwater after every third plate. Uncool! And you KNOW that the offspring are coloring on the walls and stapling the dog while you're re-rewashing dishes.
Don't get the idea that I'm plugging Dawn soap here. What I'm promoting, if anything, is teaching your children to work. If Jeremy Renner had dinner at my house, would I wash his dishes with Dawn dish soap? Absolutely not. I'd have the children do it. For Asgard! SAVE THORIN!
Remember when you were little and you asked your mom if you could "help with the dishes" and she took off all your clothes and dressed you in a swimsuit and stood you on a chair in front of the kitchen sink and let you spend the next seven hours playing with plastic cups in the bubbly water? I made that mistake once. Gimme a break, I was four years old. How could I know I'd just doomed myself to a childhood of slave labor?
My mother Rapunzel told me from the time I had to stand on a chair to scrub the pots, "Only Dawn gets the grease off the dishes." She was right.
My parents bought a dishwasher when I got married and left them. They bought one for themselves, I mean. Not for me. I cry foul! But I digress. (Which is, in fact, the whole point of this entire blog.)
Two valuable lessons came from my decade and a half of Cinderelling in Rapunzel's kitchen. One: Parents reserve the right to press their children into KP. And two: not all blue dish soap is Dawn. I learned both lessons well. Pixie, Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious wash the dishes here, and you can bet they do it with Dawn.
As you can imagine, with six mouths to feed in this house, I've built a whole craft of pulling Hunneypunkin's paychecks as tight as they'll stretch. But I've never saved money by using cheap dish soap. I just had to use more of it and change the dishwater after every third plate. Uncool! And you KNOW that the offspring are coloring on the walls and stapling the dog while you're re-rewashing dishes.
Don't get the idea that I'm plugging Dawn soap here. What I'm promoting, if anything, is teaching your children to work. If Jeremy Renner had dinner at my house, would I wash his dishes with Dawn dish soap? Absolutely not. I'd have the children do it. For Asgard! SAVE THORIN!
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Un Voyage Inattendu
Hunneypunkin asked what he was doing for me for Valentine's Day, and I said he was going to give me a small heart-shaped box of chocolates that were a brand name he recognized because those candies with weird labels taste bad. When I woke up on Heart Morning, there on his pillow was my heart box, but Hunneypunkin's idea of small is waaay bigger than mine. It's going to take me at least several hours to eat all that. Hunneypunkin's the BEST.
In the midst of my Russell Stover episode, Angel Doll decided to watch The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. In Francais. Turns out Thorin Oakenshield is just as magnificent as a French dwarf as he is in English.
Lefty figured it was appropriate to watch The Hobbit in French, what with it being Valentine's Day, and French being the language of love.
Listening to all that French, I kept expecting one of the dwarves to shout, "Sacrebleu!" which of course, as this is a homeschool household and we question everything here, led to wondering what sacrebleu actually means, and we learned all we ever wanted to know on that topic thanks to Bing and Wikipedia.
Pondering the term sacrebleu, in turn, led to the TV show Perfect Strangers from back in the late 1900's--anybody else remember that?--specifically, the episode where Balki was trying to cheer up a child using a sock puppet which he spontaneously named Sockrebleu. I got the giggles about that and decided I'd done enough messing around for the day and needed to start acting like a grown-up for at least a few minutes before dinner so I could feel awesome while I sat to watch the Olympics. GO TEAM USA!
So, because I was already at my desk researching French expletives, I returned to the current millennium and finished e-filing my 2013 income taxes. Then my laptop overheated and shut itself off. It does that a lot. Probably because of the hunky dwarf picture I have on it, but I don't want to take it down.
I'm considering making a film starring both Richard Armitage and Jeremy Renner. I already picked the leading men so all I have to do now is come up with a plot, write a script, and learn movie production.
The whole day turned out so differently from the normal life I had intended for myself. Some days I think it would be nice to have an attention span. Perhaps even some self-discipline. But truthfully, I love this unexpected journey.
In the midst of my Russell Stover episode, Angel Doll decided to watch The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. In Francais. Turns out Thorin Oakenshield is just as magnificent as a French dwarf as he is in English.
Lefty figured it was appropriate to watch The Hobbit in French, what with it being Valentine's Day, and French being the language of love.
Listening to all that French, I kept expecting one of the dwarves to shout, "Sacrebleu!" which of course, as this is a homeschool household and we question everything here, led to wondering what sacrebleu actually means, and we learned all we ever wanted to know on that topic thanks to Bing and Wikipedia.
Pondering the term sacrebleu, in turn, led to the TV show Perfect Strangers from back in the late 1900's--anybody else remember that?--specifically, the episode where Balki was trying to cheer up a child using a sock puppet which he spontaneously named Sockrebleu. I got the giggles about that and decided I'd done enough messing around for the day and needed to start acting like a grown-up for at least a few minutes before dinner so I could feel awesome while I sat to watch the Olympics. GO TEAM USA!
So, because I was already at my desk researching French expletives, I returned to the current millennium and finished e-filing my 2013 income taxes. Then my laptop overheated and shut itself off. It does that a lot. Probably because of the hunky dwarf picture I have on it, but I don't want to take it down.
I'm considering making a film starring both Richard Armitage and Jeremy Renner. I already picked the leading men so all I have to do now is come up with a plot, write a script, and learn movie production.
The whole day turned out so differently from the normal life I had intended for myself. Some days I think it would be nice to have an attention span. Perhaps even some self-discipline. But truthfully, I love this unexpected journey.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Giraffes and Gravy
Their initial is about the only thing that giraffes have in common with gravy, especially considering giraffes have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans (just way bigger), whereas gravy, if it's a good gravy, is actually boneless.
When Pixie was extra-miniature, giraffes were her favorite animal at Woodland Park Zoo. I wanted to check out the big cats, but Pixie would plead for the "'waffes". We bought her a finger-puppet 'waffe from the zoo's gift shop so she'd quit begging for a live one. For all her love of 'waffes, Pixie didn't really give a monkey's butt about gravy.
I hear it's a well-known statistic that Jeremy Renner is ninety-two percent more likely to have any use for gravy than for giraffes, and I would recommend checking the origin before obtaining either one. If the label says "made in China", you're not getting a giraffe from it's native origin, and you'll have no idea how fresh your gravy really is.
Proper storage is of utmost importance, as gravy should be refrigerated until ready to eat but chilling would be harmful to a giraffe.
Giraffes are notably spotted, while one may be concerned if one finds spots in one's gravy, depending on what kind of gravy. Unnecessary lumps are distasteful in both giraffes and gravy. Due to the Turkey Frosting incident at Grandma's house years ago, my family understands the importance of clearly labeling such kitchen staples as cornstarch and powdered sugar. Powdered sugar puts lumps in the gravy but, we now know, doesn't cause it to thicken. However, none of us have yet tested the effects of powdered sugar on a giraffe.
I would like to conclude by stating that whilst I am most definitely a carnivore, and I do like gravy on my meat, I have never to my knowledge eaten giraffe, with or without gravy.
When Pixie was extra-miniature, giraffes were her favorite animal at Woodland Park Zoo. I wanted to check out the big cats, but Pixie would plead for the "'waffes". We bought her a finger-puppet 'waffe from the zoo's gift shop so she'd quit begging for a live one. For all her love of 'waffes, Pixie didn't really give a monkey's butt about gravy.
I hear it's a well-known statistic that Jeremy Renner is ninety-two percent more likely to have any use for gravy than for giraffes, and I would recommend checking the origin before obtaining either one. If the label says "made in China", you're not getting a giraffe from it's native origin, and you'll have no idea how fresh your gravy really is.
Proper storage is of utmost importance, as gravy should be refrigerated until ready to eat but chilling would be harmful to a giraffe.
Giraffes are notably spotted, while one may be concerned if one finds spots in one's gravy, depending on what kind of gravy. Unnecessary lumps are distasteful in both giraffes and gravy. Due to the Turkey Frosting incident at Grandma's house years ago, my family understands the importance of clearly labeling such kitchen staples as cornstarch and powdered sugar. Powdered sugar puts lumps in the gravy but, we now know, doesn't cause it to thicken. However, none of us have yet tested the effects of powdered sugar on a giraffe.
I would like to conclude by stating that whilst I am most definitely a carnivore, and I do like gravy on my meat, I have never to my knowledge eaten giraffe, with or without gravy.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Empty Headed
Campaigning to save Thorin got me stuck in a mental loop and I need a new blog topic. Make your suggestions. The most random topic, wins. No fair requesting info about Jeremy Renner, I don't even know the guy. Ready? Go!
Saturday, February 1, 2014
**SAVE THORIN**
I don't know who Ms. Gigglepants is but I concur (as would Jeremy Renner if he has any sense whatsoever):
http://msgigglepants.wordpress.com/2013/12/16/a-new-thought-on-desolation-of-smaug-and-this-ones-a-happy-one/
"Image copyright Warner Bros., manip. Dark Jackal, text mine
SAVE THORIN!!
…and you might spare Fili and Kili too. Fili’s the heir and Kili, well; the boy has game. “She walks in starlight, somewhere far away from me…” or something like that, I don’t know, I was swooning. It’s almost Shakespeare. Between the three of these lads, we’ll have the Line of Durin repopulated in no time. Whew! Is it hot in here? Oh yeah. SAVE THORIN."
Also, I'm cheezed that Ms. Gigglepants thought of this before I did.
http://msgigglepants.wordpress.com/2013/12/16/a-new-thought-on-desolation-of-smaug-and-this-ones-a-happy-one/
"Image copyright Warner Bros., manip. Dark Jackal, text mine
SAVE THORIN!!
…and you might spare Fili and Kili too. Fili’s the heir and Kili, well; the boy has game. “She walks in starlight, somewhere far away from me…” or something like that, I don’t know, I was swooning. It’s almost Shakespeare. Between the three of these lads, we’ll have the Line of Durin repopulated in no time. Whew! Is it hot in here? Oh yeah. SAVE THORIN."
Also, I'm cheezed that Ms. Gigglepants thought of this before I did.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Dairy Diet Diary
The Precious put itself on a dairy diet.
Then he texted me: "I ruined it. I had one piece of popcorn with butter on it."
I assured him his dairy diet wasn't ruined, and after eighteen straight hours of intense therapy he decided he could carry on.
Two days later The Precious said, "I've ruined my dairy diet! I've been having creamer in my coffee every day!"
I said, "Hello! The word 'cream' in the word 'creamer' didn't clue you in?"
The Precious said, "I just never thought about it!"
"Wait," I said, "What kind of creamer? This stuff? This is non-dairy creamer, even though the phrase is an oxymoron."
"But I read the ingredients," said The Precious.
''Are you sure?" I said, "Because the can says in bright red letter, 'dairy free, lactose free'."
"There's an ingredient that says it's a milk derivative," said The Precious.
I read the ingredients. He was right. "But it still says 'dairy free, lactose free'," I said.
After ninety minutes of discussion and a sort-of night's sleep, The Precious decided he would carry on.
Then there was a birthday in the house. Years ago our family traded traditional birthday parties--sending invitations, advance housecleaning, entertaining guests--for a simple day of unloading all the love on the birthday person. The birthday person gets to choose the breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu for the day, we relax and hang out, and anyone who chances upon us that day gets some birthday cake. Angel Doll chose a birthday menu loaded with dairy products, so The Precious had to choose. Partake, or pass? Jeremy Renner himself couldn't say no to our milk-and-butter chocolate cake. http://www.hersheys.com/pure-recipes/details.aspx?id=184&name=HERSHEY%27S
The dairy diet will re-commence at a later date.
Then he texted me: "I ruined it. I had one piece of popcorn with butter on it."
I assured him his dairy diet wasn't ruined, and after eighteen straight hours of intense therapy he decided he could carry on.
Two days later The Precious said, "I've ruined my dairy diet! I've been having creamer in my coffee every day!"
I said, "Hello! The word 'cream' in the word 'creamer' didn't clue you in?"
The Precious said, "I just never thought about it!"
"Wait," I said, "What kind of creamer? This stuff? This is non-dairy creamer, even though the phrase is an oxymoron."
"But I read the ingredients," said The Precious.
''Are you sure?" I said, "Because the can says in bright red letter, 'dairy free, lactose free'."
"There's an ingredient that says it's a milk derivative," said The Precious.
I read the ingredients. He was right. "But it still says 'dairy free, lactose free'," I said.
After ninety minutes of discussion and a sort-of night's sleep, The Precious decided he would carry on.
Then there was a birthday in the house. Years ago our family traded traditional birthday parties--sending invitations, advance housecleaning, entertaining guests--for a simple day of unloading all the love on the birthday person. The birthday person gets to choose the breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu for the day, we relax and hang out, and anyone who chances upon us that day gets some birthday cake. Angel Doll chose a birthday menu loaded with dairy products, so The Precious had to choose. Partake, or pass? Jeremy Renner himself couldn't say no to our milk-and-butter chocolate cake. http://www.hersheys.com/pure-recipes/details.aspx?id=184&name=HERSHEY%27S
The dairy diet will re-commence at a later date.
Time Off for Bad Behavior
The best part of a small town is that everything and everyone is right there. The worst part of a small town is that everything and everyone is right there. Convenient, except that everyone's business is everybody else's business and no one can plant a tree, pee in the outdoors, or stick a piece of tape on the cat's paw without becoming public record. And if the community doesn't approve, your record gets a remix and goes platinum.
If common sense and common courtesy were truly common, all would be well, but, as Zazu said to Mufasa, "There's one in every family, Sire. Two in mine, actually..." It might be family, friend, foe, or just your run-of-the-mill neighborhood sociopath, but everyone seems to have that special stalker or two who makes a practice of dropping in to spy on and mock you without bothering to call first, like all your regular fans do.
Your regular fans can be reasoned with and will politely give you space when you need it. That special stalker, however, refuses the hints you drop for it, ignores boundaries you set for it, forces you to go all Jeremy Renner on it, then cries because you hurt it. The only way to handle your special stalker is like any other naughty child: you have to give it time off for bad behavior. Kick it to the back porch of your life and lock the back door for a while. Yes, your s.s. will likely remix your record and illegally distribute counterfeits, but your diehard fans know your work and will recognize the forgery.
Don't hate your special stalkers, and don't hate the community that gossips about you. Just remember, everybody serves a purpose. If no other redeeming qualities can be found, your s.s. can still serve as a poor example. Besides, someone, somewhere, is probably stalking your stalker right now and gossiping about those who gossiped about you.
Then to add insult to injury, some twit is going to blog about it.
Hawk on.
If common sense and common courtesy were truly common, all would be well, but, as Zazu said to Mufasa, "There's one in every family, Sire. Two in mine, actually..." It might be family, friend, foe, or just your run-of-the-mill neighborhood sociopath, but everyone seems to have that special stalker or two who makes a practice of dropping in to spy on and mock you without bothering to call first, like all your regular fans do.
Your regular fans can be reasoned with and will politely give you space when you need it. That special stalker, however, refuses the hints you drop for it, ignores boundaries you set for it, forces you to go all Jeremy Renner on it, then cries because you hurt it. The only way to handle your special stalker is like any other naughty child: you have to give it time off for bad behavior. Kick it to the back porch of your life and lock the back door for a while. Yes, your s.s. will likely remix your record and illegally distribute counterfeits, but your diehard fans know your work and will recognize the forgery.
Don't hate your special stalkers, and don't hate the community that gossips about you. Just remember, everybody serves a purpose. If no other redeeming qualities can be found, your s.s. can still serve as a poor example. Besides, someone, somewhere, is probably stalking your stalker right now and gossiping about those who gossiped about you.
Then to add insult to injury, some twit is going to blog about it.
Hawk on.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Fast Furious Angel Doll
I forgot that before you go to the Department of Licensing you should have your mail forwarded there. The DOL waiting room would try even Jeremy Renner's patience. But I won't complain, because the nice lady who works there is, in fact, a nice lady, which helps to balance out the boredom from hours of watching the sign on the wall that tells which number is currently being helped.
I took Angel Doll to the driving school where she passed the written driver's test this morning, like a pro. You'd expect taking the test would take more time than actually getting the permit, but. You know. The driving school is private, whereas the DOL is government op'd, and Nice Lady is apparently the only employee they own.
It was the ride home from the DOL, though, that was a most fascinating event. Even though it snowed several inches last night, and Angel Doll has only driven once before, I had enough confidence in her abilities to buckle myself into the passenger seat for the ride home. But then she plugged in her music for her first cruise as a permitted driver. Should I be concerned that it was the Fast and Furious theme song?
I took Angel Doll to the driving school where she passed the written driver's test this morning, like a pro. You'd expect taking the test would take more time than actually getting the permit, but. You know. The driving school is private, whereas the DOL is government op'd, and Nice Lady is apparently the only employee they own.
It was the ride home from the DOL, though, that was a most fascinating event. Even though it snowed several inches last night, and Angel Doll has only driven once before, I had enough confidence in her abilities to buckle myself into the passenger seat for the ride home. But then she plugged in her music for her first cruise as a permitted driver. Should I be concerned that it was the Fast and Furious theme song?
Monday, January 27, 2014
Phrases I'd Have Coined Had I Thought of Them First (Compilation in Progress)
"Follow your heart. But take your brain with you." -Anonymous
"Dating without the intention to marry is like going to the grocery store with no money. You either leave unsatisfied, or you end up taking something that isn't yours." -Anonymous
"Fear is just not a part of my life--so much so that if it's involved in somebody else's life and they're close to me, I won't be around them." -Jeremy Renner
"Whatever He says to you, do it." -Mary, mother of Jesus
"Grape trumps cherry every time. Strawberry trumps everything." -The Precious
"I like people-watching. But I don't like people watching ME." -Angel Doll
"Negative results are still results." -Kunal Nayyar as Rajesh Koothrappali
"Dating without the intention to marry is like going to the grocery store with no money. You either leave unsatisfied, or you end up taking something that isn't yours." -Anonymous
"Fear is just not a part of my life--so much so that if it's involved in somebody else's life and they're close to me, I won't be around them." -Jeremy Renner
"Whatever He says to you, do it." -Mary, mother of Jesus
"Grape trumps cherry every time. Strawberry trumps everything." -The Precious
"I like people-watching. But I don't like people watching ME." -Angel Doll
"Negative results are still results." -Kunal Nayyar as Rajesh Koothrappali
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Too Tired for Passive Aggression
In my crankiness, I'm occasionally tempted to sink into passive aggression. I'm so irritable I could draw a mustache on my life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout. Fortunately I'm too lethargic to be passive aggressive. I'm even too tired to be passive assertive.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
Annihilation of the Funk
For those of you slogging with me through the wasteland between winter and spring, these are my weapons of choice for the assault against the drudgery.
Sight
Everything outside is ugly, so we mark our computer desktop with something beautiful.
http://www.superbwallpapers.com/movies/the-hobbit-the-desolation-of-smaug-26198/
And then we browse on Pinterest and look at gardening ideas.
http://www.pinterest.com/chevroletmama/
Smell
We continue burning the pine-scented candles that we bought at the after-Christmas sale to save for next holiday season. It's okay, we can buy more next holiday season.
And then we browse on Pinterest and find ways to make good-smelly things.
http://www.pinterest.com/pin/534028468286073093/
Sound
We keep youtubing The Gael, written by Dougie Maclean and featured in the Daniel Day-Lewis movie The Last of the Mohicans.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_R7bJahcwc
Or Victor de Andres' rock version of the same, with a little Pirates thrown in for good measure.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTDrl6i3FBA
And then we browse Pinterest while the music soaks into us.
Taste
The holidays are over so we're not supposed to eat anything yummy anymore, except we sneak many additives into the coffee that we're not supposed to be drinking either.
We sip it while we browse Pinterest for healthy recipes that taste good, as if such a thing existed.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremy_Renner
Touch
We wear lotion to hydrate our crackly winter knuckles, and we need to buy some from
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Simple-Joys-Antiques-Gifts/111714792266463?ref=profile
And then we browse Pinterest for homemade lotion recipes and tutorials.
http://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=homemade%20lotion
How do YOU do it? What do YOU do to get rid of the funk of this non-season? Spill to me your secrets. Don't leave me in this alone!
Sight
Everything outside is ugly, so we mark our computer desktop with something beautiful.
http://www.superbwallpapers.com/movies/the-hobbit-the-desolation-of-smaug-26198/
And then we browse on Pinterest and look at gardening ideas.
http://www.pinterest.com/chevroletmama/
Smell
We continue burning the pine-scented candles that we bought at the after-Christmas sale to save for next holiday season. It's okay, we can buy more next holiday season.
And then we browse on Pinterest and find ways to make good-smelly things.
http://www.pinterest.com/pin/534028468286073093/
Sound
We keep youtubing The Gael, written by Dougie Maclean and featured in the Daniel Day-Lewis movie The Last of the Mohicans.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_R7bJahcwc
Or Victor de Andres' rock version of the same, with a little Pirates thrown in for good measure.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTDrl6i3FBA
And then we browse Pinterest while the music soaks into us.
Taste
The holidays are over so we're not supposed to eat anything yummy anymore, except we sneak many additives into the coffee that we're not supposed to be drinking either.
We sip it while we browse Pinterest for healthy recipes that taste good, as if such a thing existed.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremy_Renner
Touch
We wear lotion to hydrate our crackly winter knuckles, and we need to buy some from
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Simple-Joys-Antiques-Gifts/111714792266463?ref=profile
And then we browse Pinterest for homemade lotion recipes and tutorials.
http://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=homemade%20lotion
How do YOU do it? What do YOU do to get rid of the funk of this non-season? Spill to me your secrets. Don't leave me in this alone!
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
The Part I Don't Love
Every time the season changes I think, "This is my favorite time of year!" I love watching the green infiltrate the inert world in the spring. I love living my life outdoors during the summer. I love the warm hues and tastes of the fall. I love the radiance of the snow through the winter.
Except right now. There's a mini-season between winter and spring that is my unfavoritest time of year. After the last snow and before the new life, there is only ugly. The sparkle of Christmas is all boxed up, the earth is lifeless, the sky and the ground are the same color: dead. The outdoors is dirty and it's too cold to wash. The Precious is cranky. Lefty is quiet. Angel Doll is preoccupied. Pixie keeps flying into the window glass in a vain attempt to flee to a warmer climate with the rest of her kind. Hunneypunkin hibernates. Jeremy Renner is happy to live in Cali.
I'm restless and irritable and the money is gone. There is no attention span. I want colors. Flavor. Heat. Fire! Music. Beauty. Life. I want to pick lunch from the garden. I want ultravioletness. I want New Zealand.
We carry on, zombie-like, waiting for Genesis. It's too long till Easter. I need resurrection.
Except right now. There's a mini-season between winter and spring that is my unfavoritest time of year. After the last snow and before the new life, there is only ugly. The sparkle of Christmas is all boxed up, the earth is lifeless, the sky and the ground are the same color: dead. The outdoors is dirty and it's too cold to wash. The Precious is cranky. Lefty is quiet. Angel Doll is preoccupied. Pixie keeps flying into the window glass in a vain attempt to flee to a warmer climate with the rest of her kind. Hunneypunkin hibernates. Jeremy Renner is happy to live in Cali.
I'm restless and irritable and the money is gone. There is no attention span. I want colors. Flavor. Heat. Fire! Music. Beauty. Life. I want to pick lunch from the garden. I want ultravioletness. I want New Zealand.
We carry on, zombie-like, waiting for Genesis. It's too long till Easter. I need resurrection.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Oh To Be a Dwarf
The Precious insisted that I go see The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug before it left the theater, lest I break my record of having seen all the Lord of the Rings & Hobbit films on the big screen. It was a magnificent idea, so Pixie and I, along with besties danilb https://www.blogger.com/profile/14147195839561049985 and Munchkin, spent a magnificent hundred and sixty-one minutes gazing upon the magnificent Richard Armitage in his magnificent portrayal of the magnificent Thorin Oakenshield. Studmuffin alert! You kinda wanna sink your fingers into that luxurious hair and climb up his braids and bite him on the lip. Admit it, ladies of America, you're all thinking it. I'm just the only one with enough judgement lapse to say it out loud. The whole thing is so red-blooded, you keep expecting Jeremy Renner.
I got to thinking, watching those rock-dwellers with their fabulous manes trekking through the perilous terrain, that the poor gents needed a girl along on that trip to help with the cooking and to babysit Bilbo. All of us who have ever left the youngsters home with Dad (speaking of lapses in judgment) know that you need a girl for childcare. How many times and how many ways can you lose a Hobbit for crying out loud? Strap that little dude to your back and get hiking already!
Couldn't I watch the movie like a normal individual? Nope. I just can't stop being the Mama, and analyzing what an easier time those adorable sirs would have had of it, had I been there to manage their affairs and help spank the bad guys. And just think how perfectly I, with my impressive lineage of excessive hair, would fit in with an amassment of dwarves. I'd never have to use a razor again, and my tweezers could be reserved for slivers.
I got to thinking, watching those rock-dwellers with their fabulous manes trekking through the perilous terrain, that the poor gents needed a girl along on that trip to help with the cooking and to babysit Bilbo. All of us who have ever left the youngsters home with Dad (speaking of lapses in judgment) know that you need a girl for childcare. How many times and how many ways can you lose a Hobbit for crying out loud? Strap that little dude to your back and get hiking already!
Couldn't I watch the movie like a normal individual? Nope. I just can't stop being the Mama, and analyzing what an easier time those adorable sirs would have had of it, had I been there to manage their affairs and help spank the bad guys. And just think how perfectly I, with my impressive lineage of excessive hair, would fit in with an amassment of dwarves. I'd never have to use a razor again, and my tweezers could be reserved for slivers.
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