You know...I get that there aren't that many eating establishments here in Vicksburg. When I first moved here, I drove all over town looking for a Boston Market. I guess I should have looked in the phone-book first, but what can I say. I never did find one, but I did find the Chexican restaurant in our pseudo-mall.
Chexican...you ask?
Yes...the Chinese restaurant run by a Mexican family. Chexican. Sadly, the food tastes neither Mexican, nor Chinese. It tastes like fluffy nothing. There also used to be a Chinese restaurant over there by Fred's. The one and only time I ventured in there...the special of the day was sweet and sour catfish balls. You know I had to try one.
My mother always taught me that it was impolite to spit food out that others have cooked. Your own nasty concoction, if spat politely...fine. Other peoples...you better choke it down. That day, I did choke down that nasty catfish ball, but vowed that I would be a little more discriminant after that. Sniff first, politely beg off (if possible), or make sure you have lots of liquids available to help wash it down, just in case.
So, the other day, I saw a sign that our local KFC is now serving grilled chicken. Alright!!, I thought. I got in the drive through line, eagerly anticipating my healthy grilled chicken lunch. I was only 4 cars back, which usually equals 25 minutes of waiting time in our little burg. We aren't exactly known for our speediness, which is why I always have a book on hand.
Seventeen minutes later, with no less than 3 cars behind me now, I make it to the intercom.
Bored voice: Welcome to KFC, can I take your order?
Damyankee: Yes, m'am...I would like to order two grilled chicken breasts, please.
KFC: Silence, following by some crackly static.
Damyankee:Pardon??
KFC: Could you repeat your order?
Damyankee:Two Grilled Chicken Breasts. Please. M'am.
KFC: M'am. We don't sell the grilled breasts individually. You have to buy a bucket.
Damyankee:Pardon? (which is Southern for What in the Hell are you talking about???)
KFC: Buck-et. You have to buy a bucket of them.
Damyankee:I don't want a bucket. I just want a couple of them.
KFC: You gotta buy the bucket.
Damyankee: Seriously, I do not want an entire bucket of chicken for lunch. Just a couple of pieces. In fact, just one piece will do. (Ideally, you should never show them how desperate you are)
KFC: M'am, would you just pull up to the window.
Great, now I am in trouble. Unfortunately, I could not pull up to the window anytime soon as there were still 2 cars on front of me. I couldn't back out either, with all of the cars behind me. Ordinarily, I would have just gotten out of line, and avoided the "window of shame", but I was ....stuck...grrr.
I just know I am not getting any chicken now. *sigh*. And even if they do give me some chicken, I bet it will be some "special" grilled chicken...rubbed on God knows what nasty body part of theirs first. (and yes, I was envisioning my bucket-o-chicken being rubbed on the drive-through lady's butt)
So, I get to the window, and I could tell that I have completely pissed her off by trying to order something that is just completely out of the realm of happening in her little fiefdom. Apparently, although they are a CHICKEN place, and DO IN FACT sell grilled chicken, and you can buy individual pieces of chicken that are FRIED (original recipe or extra crispy), GLAZED, or BB-Q'd, you cannot buy anything less an ENTIRE BUCKET of grilled chicken under any circumstances no matter what.
To this I say: Pardon????
So, I went back to work and ate a nasty lean cuisine and stewed. I contemplated writing KFC, but I am sure all that will net me is a couple of free coupons to a restaurant that I am probably no longer welcome at. For whatever reason (that I cannot fathom), people tend to remember me, and that will pretty much guarantee me the "special" rubbed-on chicken. Yay.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
I'm shedding!
You know...I think somewhere in my genetic mix, there must be a little bit of Irish-setter. Twice a year...I go though these shedding phases, and everywhere you look, my car, my desk, my bathroom counter and floors you see hair. Honestly, it just grosses me out.
Before I leave for work every morning, I have to roller lint my shoulders nearly all the way down to my waist. Unfortunately, my boobs seems to catch the majority of the hair, and if it weren't for the clothes I am wearing, I would only look one step above Cro-Magnon woman...only with hairy boobs. Groketta. If they ask me to start appearing in those Geico commercials, it's gonna be "on".
It's when I start shedding like this that I think about cutting my hair short again. In fact, several years ago, I did cut it to my shoulders, and it looked cute for all of about 2 days. By Day Three, I dearly missed my ponytail and all I could produce was a sad pathetic looking pony-nub. Despite the fact that I looked ridiculous, I still wore it anyway, and my face, chubby even on my thinnest days, began to resemble that of a chipmunk, preparing for winter. Nice.
[Hmmm...*maybe*...this isn't my best look. ]
So, I immediately began growing it out again. Two years later, it's almost down to my bra-strap, and fairly healthy. With the exception of the profuse shedding. My friend Mitzi suggested that maybe I was "molting". hmmm....shedding just sounds so much better.
At one point, I decided to speak to my doctor about this, wondering if I had some sort of thyroid problem. He assured me that hair loss was normal, and that I had nothing to worry about. Hmmm...REALLY? I mean, I had to call a plumber out to the house to snake the drain in my shower due to all of the hair clogging it up. Is that normal?
Is it normal for my husband to wake up one morning, go to use the bathroom, only to find that one of my long hairs has somehow wrapped itself around his "junk", strangling it to the point of cutting off circulation? AND that it has happened more than once! That's normal? Let me tell you what, both times, although he loves my hair, he has threatened to cut it all off himself if "something wasn't done".
So, I started taking hair and nailhorse-pills vitamins again. After a month of that, the hair loss has slowed down, and my nails (particularly my toenails) are veritable daggers, and very difficult to cut without "heavy duty" clippers. If it gets to the point where I need to trim them using a bench grinder, then I will probably slow down on the horse-pills. Until then...this seems to be helping.
However, if you run into me...and notice that I am covered in hair, just keep it to yourself. Trust me, I get it. :)
Before I leave for work every morning, I have to roller lint my shoulders nearly all the way down to my waist. Unfortunately, my boobs seems to catch the majority of the hair, and if it weren't for the clothes I am wearing, I would only look one step above Cro-Magnon woman...only with hairy boobs. Groketta. If they ask me to start appearing in those Geico commercials, it's gonna be "on".
It's when I start shedding like this that I think about cutting my hair short again. In fact, several years ago, I did cut it to my shoulders, and it looked cute for all of about 2 days. By Day Three, I dearly missed my ponytail and all I could produce was a sad pathetic looking pony-nub. Despite the fact that I looked ridiculous, I still wore it anyway, and my face, chubby even on my thinnest days, began to resemble that of a chipmunk, preparing for winter. Nice.
[Hmmm...*maybe*...this isn't my best look. ]
So, I immediately began growing it out again. Two years later, it's almost down to my bra-strap, and fairly healthy. With the exception of the profuse shedding. My friend Mitzi suggested that maybe I was "molting". hmmm....shedding just sounds so much better.
At one point, I decided to speak to my doctor about this, wondering if I had some sort of thyroid problem. He assured me that hair loss was normal, and that I had nothing to worry about. Hmmm...REALLY? I mean, I had to call a plumber out to the house to snake the drain in my shower due to all of the hair clogging it up. Is that normal?
Is it normal for my husband to wake up one morning, go to use the bathroom, only to find that one of my long hairs has somehow wrapped itself around his "junk", strangling it to the point of cutting off circulation? AND that it has happened more than once! That's normal? Let me tell you what, both times, although he loves my hair, he has threatened to cut it all off himself if "something wasn't done".
So, I started taking hair and nail
However, if you run into me...and notice that I am covered in hair, just keep it to yourself. Trust me, I get it. :)
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Flu...
Do I really need to say more? Probably not, but I will...
So, we finally got to take that "family vacation" we have been longing for. Unfortunately, it was entirely forced. One by one...like domino's...we fell.
First, Cole started off with what appeared to be a sinus infection, mild fever and extreme whininess. Katie came home the next day from school and went straight to bed, sick as a dog. Starting Monday morning, I placed over 90 calls (NO, I am not even kidding) to the pediatrician's office before I got to speak to a live human being and was able to get an appointment for Wednesday.
The doctor didn't even test them, pronounced that they didn't have the flu, but a "flu-like" virus. OH, ok....good. She suggested I give them thera-flu. Have you ever tasted that stuff? In comparison, Nyquil tastes like water. I think what theraflu has going for it...is that it burns all of the germs out of your insides. Much like...say....vodka or crown royal would. VILE VILE stuff.
That same day, Kayla comes home and goes straight to bed. It must be pretty fun in high school, because even though she was told NOT to go to school, she got up anyway and got on the bus before any of the rest of us were up. The school called at 7:53 to please for the love of God and all that is Holy...come get her, from the quarantined area in which she was placed. We were given a stern note from the nurse that suggested (in a not so nice tone) that our dumb@sses might need to take her to the doctor and to NOT bring her back anytime soon.
Meanwhile, what started out as a mild backache, joint achiness, soreness in both Lloyd and I on that Monday had progressed to all-out...we feel like HELL. Throats burning, congestion, coughing, fever...Although we tried, it was hard to be nice to each other, under the circumstances.
We could not get Kayla into the clinic on Thursday, and on Friday, the dr. on call tested her. Lloyd said he broke out into a cold sweat when the she came back into the room wearing a SARS mask and gloves that went up to her elbows and proclaimed that Kayla did have swine flu AND...due to all of the symptoms that we all had...we all had it too. YAY. We're statistics.
Of course, as the rest of us are progressively getting worse, Cole has rebounded, and was steadily kicking our butts. You know you are sick when you are laying on the couch with a kleenex wadded up into each of your nostrils and your child is hitting you repeatedly on the head with mallet from his Whack-A-Mole game, and you just don't even care or try to take it away from him. We watched the movie Wild Hogs approximately 75 times that week. Yeah, I know...not exactly appropriate for a 3 year old, but give me a break. It kept him quiet, somewhat, and YOU try to take care of a rambunctious 3 year old when you have the swine flu. Let me know how that works out for ya.
Well meaning friends and family offered to bring us food...and leave it at the end of our driveway. HA. Like we would have even had the energy to schlep all the way out there to get it! We did good just going from the bed, to the couch and vice versa. Although we did end up getting the world's best smoked butt out of the deal, so it did help to take the sting out of being stuck at home with the flu!...Thanks M&M. :)
My poor husband, normally as hot natured as they come...wore his fleece winter jammies and three blankets 99% of the time. Meanwhile, I...normally very cold natured, and dressed for a fire and any given time...had taken to wearing pasties and the skimpiest of shorts. Ok...I didn't wear pasties, but I was sweating 85% of the time.
Finally, by Monday, a week later...we were all better. A WHOLE fun-filled, snot-ridden, phlegm-having, coughing, sneezing, aching, stuffy-nose, fever, cannot rest...sort of vacation.
On the plus side...we don't need to get the swine-flu shot. I am sure when they make it mandatory, we will be forced to get one anyway.
I hate to say it, but I have never seen anything quite as contagious as this, except maybe the chicken pox. I mean, I was literally bathing in germ-x every day, I had washed my hands so many times a day my cuticles had started to rip, and I STILL got it. My house had been lysoled, cloroxed, 409'd...and we ALL still got it.
I really hope that you all fare better than we did.
So, we finally got to take that "family vacation" we have been longing for. Unfortunately, it was entirely forced. One by one...like domino's...we fell.
First, Cole started off with what appeared to be a sinus infection, mild fever and extreme whininess. Katie came home the next day from school and went straight to bed, sick as a dog. Starting Monday morning, I placed over 90 calls (NO, I am not even kidding) to the pediatrician's office before I got to speak to a live human being and was able to get an appointment for Wednesday.
The doctor didn't even test them, pronounced that they didn't have the flu, but a "flu-like" virus. OH, ok....good. She suggested I give them thera-flu. Have you ever tasted that stuff? In comparison, Nyquil tastes like water. I think what theraflu has going for it...is that it burns all of the germs out of your insides. Much like...say....vodka or crown royal would. VILE VILE stuff.
That same day, Kayla comes home and goes straight to bed. It must be pretty fun in high school, because even though she was told NOT to go to school, she got up anyway and got on the bus before any of the rest of us were up. The school called at 7:53 to please for the love of God and all that is Holy...come get her, from the quarantined area in which she was placed. We were given a stern note from the nurse that suggested (in a not so nice tone) that our dumb@sses might need to take her to the doctor and to NOT bring her back anytime soon.
Meanwhile, what started out as a mild backache, joint achiness, soreness in both Lloyd and I on that Monday had progressed to all-out...we feel like HELL. Throats burning, congestion, coughing, fever...Although we tried, it was hard to be nice to each other, under the circumstances.
We could not get Kayla into the clinic on Thursday, and on Friday, the dr. on call tested her. Lloyd said he broke out into a cold sweat when the she came back into the room wearing a SARS mask and gloves that went up to her elbows and proclaimed that Kayla did have swine flu AND...due to all of the symptoms that we all had...we all had it too. YAY. We're statistics.
Of course, as the rest of us are progressively getting worse, Cole has rebounded, and was steadily kicking our butts. You know you are sick when you are laying on the couch with a kleenex wadded up into each of your nostrils and your child is hitting you repeatedly on the head with mallet from his Whack-A-Mole game, and you just don't even care or try to take it away from him. We watched the movie Wild Hogs approximately 75 times that week. Yeah, I know...not exactly appropriate for a 3 year old, but give me a break. It kept him quiet, somewhat, and YOU try to take care of a rambunctious 3 year old when you have the swine flu. Let me know how that works out for ya.
Well meaning friends and family offered to bring us food...and leave it at the end of our driveway. HA. Like we would have even had the energy to schlep all the way out there to get it! We did good just going from the bed, to the couch and vice versa. Although we did end up getting the world's best smoked butt out of the deal, so it did help to take the sting out of being stuck at home with the flu!...Thanks M&M. :)
My poor husband, normally as hot natured as they come...wore his fleece winter jammies and three blankets 99% of the time. Meanwhile, I...normally very cold natured, and dressed for a fire and any given time...had taken to wearing pasties and the skimpiest of shorts. Ok...I didn't wear pasties, but I was sweating 85% of the time.
Finally, by Monday, a week later...we were all better. A WHOLE fun-filled, snot-ridden, phlegm-having, coughing, sneezing, aching, stuffy-nose, fever, cannot rest...sort of vacation.
On the plus side...we don't need to get the swine-flu shot. I am sure when they make it mandatory, we will be forced to get one anyway.
I hate to say it, but I have never seen anything quite as contagious as this, except maybe the chicken pox. I mean, I was literally bathing in germ-x every day, I had washed my hands so many times a day my cuticles had started to rip, and I STILL got it. My house had been lysoled, cloroxed, 409'd...and we ALL still got it.
I really hope that you all fare better than we did.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Look before you sit!
So...last week was a pretty craptastic week, to say the least. It was one of those weeks when everything you touch falls apart, everything you say comes out wrong, or you trip on smooth carpeting in front of 10 of your co-workers, and you walk out of the public bathroom with a very long piece of toilet paper hanging off of your shoe. That kind of week.
So, on one of those days, I came home, tired...the house is a wreck. There is nothing to eat. My youngest child is whiny, and will remain so until I feed him. My oldest child needs a ride somewhere, which will not be conducive to getting the youngest to quit whining. I just wanted to go and lay in a nice relaxing calgon bath. Instead...
I take Kayla where she needs to go, which is not anywhere near the house, come back, feed Cole, clean up the mess that my wonderful husband and equally wonderful daughter left for me in the kitchen, despite the fact that neither of them had ANYTHING to do all afternoon. But, I digress..
After I get the kitchen cleaned, I tackled all of the messes in the living room, again...that I did not make. Crushed up sunchips all over my end tables, some gooey substance stuck to my coffee table, 2 empty Capri Sun's stuffed in between my couch cushions, and about 15 other things that looked questionable. I then decided to vacuum the majority of the house as I noticed that my socks looked a little "hairy". I am sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that I was dog sitting my dad's 100lb Chocolate Shedding Lab. Good thing I love him too. I had two loads of clothes to fold that had been thrown on the treadmill, I don't guess either of the above mentioned wonderful people knew about that either.
Finally, around 12, past the point of exhausted, I was ready to go to bed. Jammies are on, my face has been washed...I just needed to use the little girls room, and I was done for the day. Halleluah.
So, there I am...sitting on the potty (as it we call it for the benefit of our 3 year old), contemplating the crappious day, I quickly finish my business...look down...and OH HOLY HELL WHAT IS THAT???
I jump up, start screaming!!!.... I tried to run away, but in my haste, I had forgotten to pull up my pajama bottoms and I toppled over, splatting my face onto the floor with my bare butt sticking straight up in the air. Undeterred, I army crawled onto the carpeting pulling my bottoms up simultaneously.
Now that I was properly dressed, and slightly hyperventilating...I decided to go back and give it a closer inspection...this is what I saw on the INSIDE of the bowl, just underneath the rim when I looked down:
Yeah...that's right! That was not even "2" inches underneath my dangling butt. I guess that it had been hanging on the rim as I never saw it when I sat down, and crawled onto the bowl while I was seated. So, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I grabbed my camera. lol...
After taking several shots, I then got the camera phone and snapped a few more to send to my husband. You see, he was on duty...and despite the fact that he was working, I wanted him to share in my misery. That's what married couples do.
So, on one of those days, I came home, tired...the house is a wreck. There is nothing to eat. My youngest child is whiny, and will remain so until I feed him. My oldest child needs a ride somewhere, which will not be conducive to getting the youngest to quit whining. I just wanted to go and lay in a nice relaxing calgon bath. Instead...
I take Kayla where she needs to go, which is not anywhere near the house, come back, feed Cole, clean up the mess that my wonderful husband and equally wonderful daughter left for me in the kitchen, despite the fact that neither of them had ANYTHING to do all afternoon. But, I digress..
After I get the kitchen cleaned, I tackled all of the messes in the living room, again...that I did not make. Crushed up sunchips all over my end tables, some gooey substance stuck to my coffee table, 2 empty Capri Sun's stuffed in between my couch cushions, and about 15 other things that looked questionable. I then decided to vacuum the majority of the house as I noticed that my socks looked a little "hairy". I am sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that I was dog sitting my dad's 100lb Chocolate Shedding Lab. Good thing I love him too. I had two loads of clothes to fold that had been thrown on the treadmill, I don't guess either of the above mentioned wonderful people knew about that either.
Finally, around 12, past the point of exhausted, I was ready to go to bed. Jammies are on, my face has been washed...I just needed to use the little girls room, and I was done for the day. Halleluah.
So, there I am...sitting on the potty (as it we call it for the benefit of our 3 year old), contemplating the crappious day, I quickly finish my business...look down...and OH HOLY HELL WHAT IS THAT???
I jump up, start screaming!!!.... I tried to run away, but in my haste, I had forgotten to pull up my pajama bottoms and I toppled over, splatting my face onto the floor with my bare butt sticking straight up in the air. Undeterred, I army crawled onto the carpeting pulling my bottoms up simultaneously.
Now that I was properly dressed, and slightly hyperventilating...I decided to go back and give it a closer inspection...this is what I saw on the INSIDE of the bowl, just underneath the rim when I looked down:
Yeah...that's right! That was not even "2" inches underneath my dangling butt. I guess that it had been hanging on the rim as I never saw it when I sat down, and crawled onto the bowl while I was seated. So, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I grabbed my camera. lol...
After taking several shots, I then got the camera phone and snapped a few more to send to my husband. You see, he was on duty...and despite the fact that he was working, I wanted him to share in my misery. That's what married couples do.
(Do you agree to have and hold this person, sharing in their misery until such time that you both shall part? Yes I do.)
Not to mention, I was trying to prove yet another point that he needed to *DO SOMETHING* about the dayum spiders in this house!!!
After he recieved the text, he immediately called and asked what I was going to do about it. Ummm...what do you mean, what am *I* going to do about it? Killing bugs is YOUR job.
He asked if I wanted him to come home and kill it. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he really didn't want to...because he is a REAL titty baby when it comes to spiders, so I already knew that he was going to be worthless in this situation. In truth, he was laughing about the fact that I was seriously freaking out. I had the worst case of willies I have had in a really long time.
I forced him into listening to my mini-rant for several minutes, all the while he continued laughing. I mean, what IF that thing had jumped on my butt? Worse...what if it had jumped on my cooter? Huh!!?? THEN WHAT??
(hmm...I don't seem to be garnering the sympathy I was looking for here...I need to switch tactics.)
Lloyd...what if it was YOU sitting on the toilet and that spider had jumped on your man parts? Hmmm? How do you think YOU would feel to look down and see the 2nd largest wolf spider ever...hanging upside down off of your balls? What THEN?? Do you think you would still be laughing?
(a long pause...)
Him:...that's just not even funny. You shouldn't stay stuff like that. In fact, we need to quit talking about this altogether. I can't believe you said that. You know how I feel about my man-parts.
My work here is done.
For what it's worth...I wasn't able to just flush the toilet and have the spider go down. I had to stick a toilet brush in there and shove it down as I flushed. 8 times.
Now, if I could just kill Wolfie, the spider so large (that he had to be named) that currently lives in our garage , I would feel a whole lot better. In fact, I will probably let him live...as long as he stays out of my toilet.
After he recieved the text, he immediately called and asked what I was going to do about it. Ummm...what do you mean, what am *I* going to do about it? Killing bugs is YOUR job.
He asked if I wanted him to come home and kill it. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he really didn't want to...because he is a REAL titty baby when it comes to spiders, so I already knew that he was going to be worthless in this situation. In truth, he was laughing about the fact that I was seriously freaking out. I had the worst case of willies I have had in a really long time.
I forced him into listening to my mini-rant for several minutes, all the while he continued laughing. I mean, what IF that thing had jumped on my butt? Worse...what if it had jumped on my cooter? Huh!!?? THEN WHAT??
(hmm...I don't seem to be garnering the sympathy I was looking for here...I need to switch tactics.)
Lloyd...what if it was YOU sitting on the toilet and that spider had jumped on your man parts? Hmmm? How do you think YOU would feel to look down and see the 2nd largest wolf spider ever...hanging upside down off of your balls? What THEN?? Do you think you would still be laughing?
(a long pause...)
Him:...that's just not even funny. You shouldn't stay stuff like that. In fact, we need to quit talking about this altogether. I can't believe you said that. You know how I feel about my man-parts.
My work here is done.
For what it's worth...I wasn't able to just flush the toilet and have the spider go down. I had to stick a toilet brush in there and shove it down as I flushed. 8 times.
Now, if I could just kill Wolfie, the spider so large (that he had to be named) that currently lives in our garage , I would feel a whole lot better. In fact, I will probably let him live...as long as he stays out of my toilet.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Uni-Pony...
My youngest daughter, Katie...now 12, has always been a hair "experimenter". I suspect this will get worse as she gets older. I may or may not be speaking from experience. Right Stephanie and Meg?
One late afternoon, I went to pick up Katie from Prime-time, an after school program sponsored by the YMCA. When I walked into the school cafeteria, I noticed that she had a long ponytail smack-dab in the middle of her forehead. It took me off guard a little...this certainly wasn't a normal hairstyle for her.
One late afternoon, I went to pick up Katie from Prime-time, an after school program sponsored by the YMCA. When I walked into the school cafeteria, I noticed that she had a long ponytail smack-dab in the middle of her forehead. It took me off guard a little...this certainly wasn't a normal hairstyle for her.
Damyankee: Well, that's new...
Katie: uh huh.
Damyankee: ah. looks good.
I have learned, over these years, that you must pick your battles. Hair...is not worth battling over. If she wants to walk around looking like a unicorn...so be it. I figure that either she will start a new fashion trend or kids would call her unicorn-doody-head and she will find a new style.
This is not my first go-round with Katie and her hair. When she was in first grade (her first foray into Mississippi public education) she came home one day and asked if she could wear her hair like some other girls in her class. She said it looked cool!
Damyankee:What kind of style would that be?
Katie:"Well, they have all these braids all over their head, and a big barrette at the end with dingle balls. I want some dingle balls mommy!"
Damyankee:What kind of style would that be?
Katie:"Well, they have all these braids all over their head, and a big barrette at the end with dingle balls. I want some dingle balls mommy!"
Damyankee:I am pretty sure they aren't called dingle balls Kate. Anyway, that's beside the point. I don't think I can braid your hair like that, it's just too fine. It won't hold.
Katie: Sobbing...But I waaaaaaaaaaaant it.
I went on to explain that her hair was different than some of the girls in her class. That her friends hair had more texture (with a short course on what texture meant) and that it was easier to braid hair when it had more texture. Katie seemed pacified and I thought nothing more of it.
....Until .....
I went to pick her up the next day from school. She had *50* little braids sticking up all over her head with multicolored barrettes (some with dingle balls) on the ends. Apparently, one of her little classmates had given her a makeover during recess.
Fortunately, she didn't wear it like that again because she said it HURT to have all those braids put in and she didn't like getting her hair yanked on. She said that her little friend must be a lot tougher than she is to have that done everyday! Indeed.
Three years later...having picked up the Uni-Pony Kid from school, we go home to start working on dinner, doing homework, etc. She stays suspiciously quiet throughout the evening. I knew something wasn't right, but couldn't quite put my finger on it. Hmmm...
I went to pick her up the next day from school. She had *50* little braids sticking up all over her head with multicolored barrettes (some with dingle balls) on the ends. Apparently, one of her little classmates had given her a makeover during recess.
Fortunately, she didn't wear it like that again because she said it HURT to have all those braids put in and she didn't like getting her hair yanked on. She said that her little friend must be a lot tougher than she is to have that done everyday! Indeed.
Three years later...having picked up the Uni-Pony Kid from school, we go home to start working on dinner, doing homework, etc. She stays suspiciously quiet throughout the evening. I knew something wasn't right, but couldn't quite put my finger on it. Hmmm...
Eventually, she gets ready for bed, which includes a shower first. I was at my desk working on something when she comes out of the bathroom wearing a towel on her head. She stares at me for a few minutes...and then just starts to WAIL. Big huge crocodile tears... (what in the world??)
Damyankee: Oh my gosh Katie...what's wrong?
Katie: (sobbing)...I don't want to tell you...you're gonna be maaaaad....
*sigh*...those 4 words have the power to clinch a butt tight enough to flatten a nickel...
*sigh*...those 4 words have the power to clinch a butt tight enough to flatten a nickel...
Damyankee: Well, I promise I won't get mad. I'm sure it isn't as bad as you think. (parenting mistake #5,227 here. Never ever promise you won't get mad. You should say you won't get AS mad...that way you aren't lying.)
She takes the towel off of her head...and my eyes bulged. I would give *anything* for a poker face sometimes.
Damyankee: WHAT DID YOU DO??? (editors note: I feel certain that I didn't say it quite that nicely)
Katie: (still sobbing) It was an acccc..ci...denttttt....
Damyankee: WHAT??? That's no accident!
Apparently, her sister had dared her to cut her hair...with poultry scissors. She started off just cutting a snippet of bangs to her nose. But, she figured that I would notice that right off since we had been painfully growing out her bangs for the last year. So, she just cut them to the scalp....and then went back a little further to make it look "more natural".
Damyankee: Katie...you have school pictures in just a few weeks!!
It's gonna grow mom! You said you wouldn't be mad!
Damyankee: Ok...I am not mad...(gritting my teeth)...I am upset.
They did grow back...not before pictures were taken, but she sported a nice comb-over that year. She then moved on to the flat-top growing through the comb-over until such time that she could plaster it with enough hair spray to get them to lay down flat. It wasn't her best hair year.
I haven't told her all my stories, but I am sure one day she will find out all of the "mistakes" that I made too....and still make.
They did grow back...not before pictures were taken, but she sported a nice comb-over that year. She then moved on to the flat-top growing through the comb-over until such time that she could plaster it with enough hair spray to get them to lay down flat. It wasn't her best hair year.
I haven't told her all my stories, but I am sure one day she will find out all of the "mistakes" that I made too....and still make.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Waterpark...O How I Love Thee...
Let me count the ways...
It's that time of year again...WATER PARK season! I wish I could describe to you how much I love going to Geyser Falls. From the moment we start to get close, I am suddenly 10 years old again, bouncing in my seat with anticipation. Wait for it...wait for it...THERE IT IS THERE IT IS!!!
So, why do I love the water park so much? well...for one...there are no live 'gators or snakes trying to bite me on my nearly bare butt that dangles through an inner tube as I float down the lazy river. Always a plus.
I also love laying in the lagoon, looking at the faux imported sand, real palm trees and in my fantasy I imagine myself swimming up to the tiki bar ordering a Coco-Loco, served by an Adonis looking, heavily accented man named Paolo. My fantasy comes to an abrupt halt when I hear my young son shrieking because he has dropped his dippin' dots into the lagoon two seconds after my poor husband has walked nearly a mile over the 1,000 degree concrete, flesh peeling from the bottoms of his feet to get them. But for a minute, I had channeled myself to a Greek Island somewhere... *sigh*
One of the best parts about going to the water park...is that in comparison to some, I look like a supermodel. No kidding. I know...HARD to believe, but oh so true.
The first few times I went, I was so self-conscious, I wouldn't take off the shirt or shorts I had worn over my suit. It sucks when all that stretchy cotton gets wet because the shirt that used to hang at your waist has become as long as a Pentecostal skirt. The shorts...about two inches longer than that. If I ever had an accident at the park, they would be able to determine where I had been previously, with a fair amount of precision, due to the wet drag marks my clothes left in my wake.
However, I got over the self-consciousness when I started to really look around. Holy crap...some people have NO modesty.
Men wearing Euro-speedos...banana hammocks, really. Funny how you never see a good looking guy wearing one, it's always the ones that have the huge beer gut that overhangs the banana, forcing the back end of the suit to become a thong. I have a theory that men don't really lose their hair, it just becomes displaced...to their butt. (pardon me while I vurp). <== vomit+burp=vurp. Now you know.
Last summer, we were hanging out by the dippin' dots stand, when we saw a very large woman wearing a bikini. Well...you couldn't actually see the bottom to her suit, but I feel certain she had to be wearing something! That's what I am going with, anyway. It wasn't even the bikini that she was wearing and the fact that a couple hundred pounds of fat were covering it up that got our attention. It was the sight of her monstrously overgrown bush...that went half-way down her thighs. I was just scanning the crowd, and briefly glanced at her...
DOUBLE TAKE...what the hell was that? My mind couldn't compute.
Wait...OH....MY...GOSH...that's not part of her suit! ok..full on stare now. Train wreck. Must.look.away. CAN'T!
Honestly, I felt bad for her...the only way she was going to be able to trim that up was if she had a weed whacker. It was that bad. Just then, my dad and brother noticed. Both did the double take, and Dave said..."DAAAAYYYUUUMMM".... kinda loud. My dad said, "GoodGodA'Mighty"!
We pretty much ran from the dippin' dots area, and sent Lloyd back to get them after that! haha...
For what it's worth, I have no issues with people being too thin, or large, or anywhere in between. We are all made of many shapes and sizes. But for the love of God and all that is Holy...you have GOT to shave the cha-cha if you are going to the water park. It should be one of the rules posted on the sign as you are walking in:
1) No bottles or open containers
2) No outside food
3) Children under 12 must be accompanied by an adult
4) No peeing in the pool areas
5) Kindly shave your CHA-CHA so that it stays within the bounds of your swim suit.
Regards,
Management
All that aside, I do love Geyser Falls. The kids have a great time, and a bonus is that they are too exhausted to fight with each other on the way home. Lloyd and I spend at least several relaxing hours riding the lazy river forgetting about all of life's stresses. If I had the $, I would *so* put one in my backyard. Tacky maybe, but I bet at least a couple of our favorite neighbors would enjoy it too!
Happy 4th of July everyone!
AND a special shout-out to Meg & David...17 years! Happy Anniversary, I hope you both have a great one. :)
It's that time of year again...WATER PARK season! I wish I could describe to you how much I love going to Geyser Falls. From the moment we start to get close, I am suddenly 10 years old again, bouncing in my seat with anticipation. Wait for it...wait for it...THERE IT IS THERE IT IS!!!
So, why do I love the water park so much? well...for one...there are no live 'gators or snakes trying to bite me on my nearly bare butt that dangles through an inner tube as I float down the lazy river. Always a plus.
I also love laying in the lagoon, looking at the faux imported sand, real palm trees and in my fantasy I imagine myself swimming up to the tiki bar ordering a Coco-Loco, served by an Adonis looking, heavily accented man named Paolo. My fantasy comes to an abrupt halt when I hear my young son shrieking because he has dropped his dippin' dots into the lagoon two seconds after my poor husband has walked nearly a mile over the 1,000 degree concrete, flesh peeling from the bottoms of his feet to get them. But for a minute, I had channeled myself to a Greek Island somewhere... *sigh*
One of the best parts about going to the water park...is that in comparison to some, I look like a supermodel. No kidding. I know...HARD to believe, but oh so true.
The first few times I went, I was so self-conscious, I wouldn't take off the shirt or shorts I had worn over my suit. It sucks when all that stretchy cotton gets wet because the shirt that used to hang at your waist has become as long as a Pentecostal skirt. The shorts...about two inches longer than that. If I ever had an accident at the park, they would be able to determine where I had been previously, with a fair amount of precision, due to the wet drag marks my clothes left in my wake.
However, I got over the self-consciousness when I started to really look around. Holy crap...some people have NO modesty.
Men wearing Euro-speedos...banana hammocks, really. Funny how you never see a good looking guy wearing one, it's always the ones that have the huge beer gut that overhangs the banana, forcing the back end of the suit to become a thong. I have a theory that men don't really lose their hair, it just becomes displaced...to their butt. (pardon me while I vurp). <== vomit+burp=vurp. Now you know.
Last summer, we were hanging out by the dippin' dots stand, when we saw a very large woman wearing a bikini. Well...you couldn't actually see the bottom to her suit, but I feel certain she had to be wearing something! That's what I am going with, anyway. It wasn't even the bikini that she was wearing and the fact that a couple hundred pounds of fat were covering it up that got our attention. It was the sight of her monstrously overgrown bush...that went half-way down her thighs. I was just scanning the crowd, and briefly glanced at her...
DOUBLE TAKE...what the hell was that? My mind couldn't compute.
Wait...OH....MY...GOSH...that's not part of her suit! ok..full on stare now. Train wreck. Must.look.away. CAN'T!
Honestly, I felt bad for her...the only way she was going to be able to trim that up was if she had a weed whacker. It was that bad. Just then, my dad and brother noticed. Both did the double take, and Dave said..."DAAAAYYYUUUMMM".... kinda loud. My dad said, "GoodGodA'Mighty"!
We pretty much ran from the dippin' dots area, and sent Lloyd back to get them after that! haha...
For what it's worth, I have no issues with people being too thin, or large, or anywhere in between. We are all made of many shapes and sizes. But for the love of God and all that is Holy...you have GOT to shave the cha-cha if you are going to the water park. It should be one of the rules posted on the sign as you are walking in:
1) No bottles or open containers
2) No outside food
3) Children under 12 must be accompanied by an adult
4) No peeing in the pool areas
5) Kindly shave your CHA-CHA so that it stays within the bounds of your swim suit.
Regards,
Management
All that aside, I do love Geyser Falls. The kids have a great time, and a bonus is that they are too exhausted to fight with each other on the way home. Lloyd and I spend at least several relaxing hours riding the lazy river forgetting about all of life's stresses. If I had the $, I would *so* put one in my backyard. Tacky maybe, but I bet at least a couple of our favorite neighbors would enjoy it too!
Happy 4th of July everyone!
AND a special shout-out to Meg & David...17 years! Happy Anniversary, I hope you both have a great one. :)
Friday, June 26, 2009
PET PEEVES...It's called MERGING...
Dear Fetus driving the newish white Altima in front of me today that nearly got us both killed:
Glad I was on my way home at lunch, because that's where I keep fresh pairs of panties. I hate to admit this to you, but I very nearly crapped my pants following behind you while we attempted to merge onto the Interstate from Indiana Avenue. Gratefully, my butt puckered up like Fort Knox, or I would have been REALLY mad at you.
I can't be certain, but you seem unaware that one of the key elements of merging onto an interstate, is that you use the looong length of the merging roadway to gain speed in order to match that of traffic already on the interstate. The idea is to blend in seamlessly. At 3/4 of the way down the merge lane, and we had just gotten up to 35MPH, I broke into a cold sweat. When we finally made it onto I20, we were going a whopping 38 miles per hour. Thirty-eight. OMG, we are gonna die. My cold sweat turned into a stomach cramp that can only produce BAD THINGS.
In almost 25 years of driving, I have never had to pass someone in a right-hand emergency lane, but you didn't even look over when I did it to see me flipping you the bird. Imagine my surprise...when I saw that not only were you a fetus (thank you Mitzi for that one!), but you were TEXTING.
That's right...texting!! While merging onto a busy interstate. In the words of my father: Have you lost your mind?
No offense, but you are a moron, plain and simple.
Nah, I am selling both of us short with that last statement.
I DO mean to offend you by saying that you are so much more than a moron, but I can't put that sort of language in here; it should be noted that I still feel like strangling you some four hours later. I wish that I had the foresight to have gotten your license plate number because I would pay a visit to your parents, and let them do their own share of strangling. However, I was too busy trying to keep myself from having an accident, both literally, and figuratively.
Although I do not know your name, I do know that this is a small town and somehow, I have to hope that you will end up reading this or at the very least hearing about it. If you ever see a dark blue 4-Runner with a crazy eyed looking lady driving past you, giving you the finger, now you know why.
Regards,
Damyankee
Glad I was on my way home at lunch, because that's where I keep fresh pairs of panties. I hate to admit this to you, but I very nearly crapped my pants following behind you while we attempted to merge onto the Interstate from Indiana Avenue. Gratefully, my butt puckered up like Fort Knox, or I would have been REALLY mad at you.
I can't be certain, but you seem unaware that one of the key elements of merging onto an interstate, is that you use the looong length of the merging roadway to gain speed in order to match that of traffic already on the interstate. The idea is to blend in seamlessly. At 3/4 of the way down the merge lane, and we had just gotten up to 35MPH, I broke into a cold sweat. When we finally made it onto I20, we were going a whopping 38 miles per hour. Thirty-eight. OMG, we are gonna die. My cold sweat turned into a stomach cramp that can only produce BAD THINGS.
In almost 25 years of driving, I have never had to pass someone in a right-hand emergency lane, but you didn't even look over when I did it to see me flipping you the bird. Imagine my surprise...when I saw that not only were you a fetus (thank you Mitzi for that one!), but you were TEXTING.
That's right...texting!! While merging onto a busy interstate. In the words of my father: Have you lost your mind?
No offense, but you are a moron, plain and simple.
Nah, I am selling both of us short with that last statement.
I DO mean to offend you by saying that you are so much more than a moron, but I can't put that sort of language in here; it should be noted that I still feel like strangling you some four hours later. I wish that I had the foresight to have gotten your license plate number because I would pay a visit to your parents, and let them do their own share of strangling. However, I was too busy trying to keep myself from having an accident, both literally, and figuratively.
Although I do not know your name, I do know that this is a small town and somehow, I have to hope that you will end up reading this or at the very least hearing about it. If you ever see a dark blue 4-Runner with a crazy eyed looking lady driving past you, giving you the finger, now you know why.
Regards,
Damyankee
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Ladies Room...
Click here to view the original blog.
I work in a large facility (at least for around here), with a number of women. In my lab there are at least four ladies bathrooms that I am aware of. Let me say this as kindly as I can: some women are just nasty. I have seen several that don't wash their hands after they go, and others that did the half-flush. UM...yeah, you may have needed to flush that twice. And then clorox it, 'cuz DAYUM.
However, this past week...I experienced something that has never happened to me before. I walked into one of the larger bathrooms and had crossed the point of no return (the one in which they would be able to identify me by my shoes when I ran out of there gagging). *sniff sniff* OH LORD that is just awful. I almost choked it was so bad. I picked a stall and practiced breathing through my mouth while I took care of business. Not *that* business! If I have any sort of intestinal issues, I am going home, possibly breaking a few laws on the way if need be. That's just the way I operate.
So, there I am, trying hard not to gag, hurrying as fast as my bladder will allow, when I heard her open her door and begin to wash her hands. Just as I thought she was walking out, and I was about to exit my stall, out of politeness, I tried to put on my game face in the event that she was still around.
I usually don't have much of a poker face, but I willed the muscles around my nose and mouth to relax from the stench smelling grimace they had locked themselves into. I won't be winning any Oscars for my performance, because my eyes bugged out, and my nostrils instantly re-flared when she suddenly came back around the corner, pointed to her stall and said that she looked for some air freshener, but couldn't find any. Huh?
I was SO taken off guard that she had just owned up to what could be a record setting smelly turd, and was apologizing for it, that I literally stuttered. In all the years I have worked out there, not one single person has ever done that. Most of the time they will pretend it wasn't them, or that they didn't smell anything; other times they acknowledge the smell, but are quick to inform you that it wasn't them, and whoever was in here before them clearly had "issues".
But not this girl, not only had she ponied up to it, in the politest way possible, she actually had looked for some spray. I stuttered to her that I thought there might be some spray in the other bathroom down the hall, but I didn't finish that sentence before I started a new one, jumbling all of the words. Spray, here didn't see glade bathroom HELL I...don't...matches...Ihaven'tseen.here.ever.spray...candles good.
*crap*...what did I just say? jeez, I am a such a moron. At this point, it was her that couldn't get out of the bathroom fast enough to be away from the crazy lady.
I suddenly had a much better understanding of Amy Poehlers character in Deuce Bigelow: BALLHAIR!!
warning: not safe for work...at least wear headphones! :)
As a side note before people think I am making fun of people with Tourettes: I went to school with a guy from 3rd through 8th grade that had Tourettes that was mostly controlled through medication. However, he could come up with some off the wall stuff, and some kids were mean to him, I guess because they were just ignorant. However, I loved the rare occasions when he had an outburst, especially during Algebra...he always made the boring, much more interesting. Thanks Brian. :)
I work in a large facility (at least for around here), with a number of women. In my lab there are at least four ladies bathrooms that I am aware of. Let me say this as kindly as I can: some women are just nasty. I have seen several that don't wash their hands after they go, and others that did the half-flush. UM...yeah, you may have needed to flush that twice. And then clorox it, 'cuz DAYUM.
However, this past week...I experienced something that has never happened to me before. I walked into one of the larger bathrooms and had crossed the point of no return (the one in which they would be able to identify me by my shoes when I ran out of there gagging). *sniff sniff* OH LORD that is just awful. I almost choked it was so bad. I picked a stall and practiced breathing through my mouth while I took care of business. Not *that* business! If I have any sort of intestinal issues, I am going home, possibly breaking a few laws on the way if need be. That's just the way I operate.
So, there I am, trying hard not to gag, hurrying as fast as my bladder will allow, when I heard her open her door and begin to wash her hands. Just as I thought she was walking out, and I was about to exit my stall, out of politeness, I tried to put on my game face in the event that she was still around.
I usually don't have much of a poker face, but I willed the muscles around my nose and mouth to relax from the stench smelling grimace they had locked themselves into. I won't be winning any Oscars for my performance, because my eyes bugged out, and my nostrils instantly re-flared when she suddenly came back around the corner, pointed to her stall and said that she looked for some air freshener, but couldn't find any. Huh?
I was SO taken off guard that she had just owned up to what could be a record setting smelly turd, and was apologizing for it, that I literally stuttered. In all the years I have worked out there, not one single person has ever done that. Most of the time they will pretend it wasn't them, or that they didn't smell anything; other times they acknowledge the smell, but are quick to inform you that it wasn't them, and whoever was in here before them clearly had "issues".
But not this girl, not only had she ponied up to it, in the politest way possible, she actually had looked for some spray. I stuttered to her that I thought there might be some spray in the other bathroom down the hall, but I didn't finish that sentence before I started a new one, jumbling all of the words. Spray, here didn't see glade bathroom HELL I...don't...matches...Ihaven'tseen.here.ever.spray...candles good.
*crap*...what did I just say? jeez, I am a such a moron. At this point, it was her that couldn't get out of the bathroom fast enough to be away from the crazy lady.
I suddenly had a much better understanding of Amy Poehlers character in Deuce Bigelow: BALLHAIR!!
warning: not safe for work...at least wear headphones! :)
As a side note before people think I am making fun of people with Tourettes: I went to school with a guy from 3rd through 8th grade that had Tourettes that was mostly controlled through medication. However, he could come up with some off the wall stuff, and some kids were mean to him, I guess because they were just ignorant. However, I loved the rare occasions when he had an outburst, especially during Algebra...he always made the boring, much more interesting. Thanks Brian. :)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Lil' Bit...Future Gator Snack..
Click here to view the original blog.
Family members of ours...Jay & Sara have a mangy little rat terrier named Lil' Bit. Now, before I get any hate emails, let me preface the forthcoming ugliness, and state that I love animals. Most animals anyway. I am not all that fond of birds, but that is a whole 'nother blog.
I have nearly driven off the road to avoid running over a dog, cat or even a rodent-like squirrel that inadvertently dashed in front of my car. Despite my best efforts, I have accidentally run over a couple of animals, and felt TERRIBLE afterwards. So, let's keep that in mind when you read the following below. K?
Jay & Sara adopted Lil' Bit a couple of years ago. I don't recall all the whys and wherefore's of how they obtained her, but I believe she was about 2 years old at the time, making her about 4 now. Immediately, she took to Sara and simply tolerates the rest of the family members in their house.
From day one..this dog has hated me. All dogs LOVE me, except this one. This little ankle biter even hates my husband Lloyd and he is the veritable pied piper of animals. Even the mangiest of cats, will curl up in his lap and purr like a newborn kitten. Then there is Lil' Bit. The underbite havin', non-stop barking, pees when you look at her, separation-anxiety ridden, Prozac needing rat terrier.
Last summer, we were all out at the lake house and she barked for three solid hours. Whole time. No breaks. I prayed to the Gods of Barking Dogs that she would go hoarse. But nooo. Never happened.
You see, Sara was out on the boat for the afternoon and Lil' Bit absolutely couldn't handle it. Unfortunately, I was stuck at the house and despite all the vile threats I uttered to her, she never shut up for even a second. I finally raided some aspirin and Advil bottles for their cotton balls and marginally soundproofed myself against her tirade. I briefly considered giving her some Benedryl (and a maybe a little Bud Light chaser) knowing that would probably shut her up for awhile, but I worried about it shutting her up a little too permanently. Truth is, I just didn't see how I could get away with it without getting caught. Not good to have both motive and no alibi.
Another time, *early* one morning, she had been let out on the back porch and barked for an entire hour to come back in. Personally, I think Jay & Sara must be deaf to it as they didn't let her back in. WE heard her loud and clear, though. Finally, I jumped out of bed and started hollering I was going to kill that little turd if she didn't shut up! lol...They heard that.
Sara: "Hurry Jay, I think she's going to kill Lil' Bit!".
Nah...I wasn't going to kill her. I was just going to "help" her inside to their bedroom, but he beat me to her.
Now, I wasn't going to blog about her. While she has been a bit of a barker, I get that she has emotional doggy problems, and she can't help it. However, that changed this week...she became fair game...when she bit me in the butt.
Jay is back for two weeks from Afghanistan and he and his family spent the week out at the lake house. We went to visit them one evening, and immediately Lil' Bit started growling and snarling at me and Lloyd. Hmm...seems she hasn't forgotten us.
We all decided to take a leisurely boat ride, the sun was just setting and it was absolutely gorgeous. I wasn't on board for even a minute before that little wench jumped up and bit my butt! I am not sure what hurt more...my butt or my pride at being sneak-attacked and bitten...UNPROVOKED. Neither felt very good, and I started thinking some very bad thoughts about what I might do to their little dog. Sara must have sensed my murderous thoughts and scooped Lil' Bit up before I could act on them.
Shortly after we took off, we spotted our first alligator. I cut my eyes towards Lil' Bit, still being protectively held by Sara, and mind-vibed her in my best Italian mob voice: Do it again you little heifer and you will be swimming with the fishes. Big ones.
Maybe 45 minutes later, she bit Lloyd in the ankle. lol...glad it's not just me.
He very calmly asked Jay if Lil' Bit could swim. Sara scooped the little she-devil back up again before he could give more serious discussion to tossing her overboard.
Aside from Lil' Bit's "issues", we really did have a very nice time, and I took some of the best pictures I have ever taken.
Just after dark, we made our way back to the dock, and began the walk back up the hill to the house. I guess she felt safe, being off the water...no gators in sight, because she jumped up in front of me and bit the inside of my thigh! This one hurt a whole lot worse than my butt...and I yelled out. Holy Crap, she just bit me again!! DAYUM!!
It's a good thing for her sake that we weren't still on the boat. I make no guarantees or promises that she wouldn't have suffered an unfortunate "accident", and been swept overboard into the waiting jaws of the nearest alligator. A Gator Snack. :)
OK...I may have thought it, but I won't actually do it. For whatever reason, Sara loves this ugly@ss dog, and Jay is only home for a few weeks. I would imagine it would put a damper in things if I fed their dog to an alligator while he is on leave.
For what it's worth, I tend to think about doing a whole lot of things, but almost never do them. Unfortunately, if anything ever does happen to their little dog, I am sure they will be pointing a finger or two my way.
muwahahaha.
Family members of ours...Jay & Sara have a mangy little rat terrier named Lil' Bit. Now, before I get any hate emails, let me preface the forthcoming ugliness, and state that I love animals. Most animals anyway. I am not all that fond of birds, but that is a whole 'nother blog.
I have nearly driven off the road to avoid running over a dog, cat or even a rodent-like squirrel that inadvertently dashed in front of my car. Despite my best efforts, I have accidentally run over a couple of animals, and felt TERRIBLE afterwards. So, let's keep that in mind when you read the following below. K?
Jay & Sara adopted Lil' Bit a couple of years ago. I don't recall all the whys and wherefore's of how they obtained her, but I believe she was about 2 years old at the time, making her about 4 now. Immediately, she took to Sara and simply tolerates the rest of the family members in their house.
From day one..this dog has hated me. All dogs LOVE me, except this one. This little ankle biter even hates my husband Lloyd and he is the veritable pied piper of animals. Even the mangiest of cats, will curl up in his lap and purr like a newborn kitten. Then there is Lil' Bit. The underbite havin', non-stop barking, pees when you look at her, separation-anxiety ridden, Prozac needing rat terrier.
Last summer, we were all out at the lake house and she barked for three solid hours. Whole time. No breaks. I prayed to the Gods of Barking Dogs that she would go hoarse. But nooo. Never happened.
You see, Sara was out on the boat for the afternoon and Lil' Bit absolutely couldn't handle it. Unfortunately, I was stuck at the house and despite all the vile threats I uttered to her, she never shut up for even a second. I finally raided some aspirin and Advil bottles for their cotton balls and marginally soundproofed myself against her tirade. I briefly considered giving her some Benedryl (and a maybe a little Bud Light chaser) knowing that would probably shut her up for awhile, but I worried about it shutting her up a little too permanently. Truth is, I just didn't see how I could get away with it without getting caught. Not good to have both motive and no alibi.
Another time, *early* one morning, she had been let out on the back porch and barked for an entire hour to come back in. Personally, I think Jay & Sara must be deaf to it as they didn't let her back in. WE heard her loud and clear, though. Finally, I jumped out of bed and started hollering I was going to kill that little turd if she didn't shut up! lol...They heard that.
Sara: "Hurry Jay, I think she's going to kill Lil' Bit!".
Nah...I wasn't going to kill her. I was just going to "help" her inside to their bedroom, but he beat me to her.
Now, I wasn't going to blog about her. While she has been a bit of a barker, I get that she has emotional doggy problems, and she can't help it. However, that changed this week...she became fair game...when she bit me in the butt.
Jay is back for two weeks from Afghanistan and he and his family spent the week out at the lake house. We went to visit them one evening, and immediately Lil' Bit started growling and snarling at me and Lloyd. Hmm...seems she hasn't forgotten us.
We all decided to take a leisurely boat ride, the sun was just setting and it was absolutely gorgeous. I wasn't on board for even a minute before that little wench jumped up and bit my butt! I am not sure what hurt more...my butt or my pride at being sneak-attacked and bitten...UNPROVOKED. Neither felt very good, and I started thinking some very bad thoughts about what I might do to their little dog. Sara must have sensed my murderous thoughts and scooped Lil' Bit up before I could act on them.
Shortly after we took off, we spotted our first alligator. I cut my eyes towards Lil' Bit, still being protectively held by Sara, and mind-vibed her in my best Italian mob voice: Do it again you little heifer and you will be swimming with the fishes. Big ones.
Maybe 45 minutes later, she bit Lloyd in the ankle. lol...glad it's not just me.
He very calmly asked Jay if Lil' Bit could swim. Sara scooped the little she-devil back up again before he could give more serious discussion to tossing her overboard.
Aside from Lil' Bit's "issues", we really did have a very nice time, and I took some of the best pictures I have ever taken.
Just after dark, we made our way back to the dock, and began the walk back up the hill to the house. I guess she felt safe, being off the water...no gators in sight, because she jumped up in front of me and bit the inside of my thigh! This one hurt a whole lot worse than my butt...and I yelled out. Holy Crap, she just bit me again!! DAYUM!!
It's a good thing for her sake that we weren't still on the boat. I make no guarantees or promises that she wouldn't have suffered an unfortunate "accident", and been swept overboard into the waiting jaws of the nearest alligator. A Gator Snack. :)
OK...I may have thought it, but I won't actually do it. For whatever reason, Sara loves this ugly@ss dog, and Jay is only home for a few weeks. I would imagine it would put a damper in things if I fed their dog to an alligator while he is on leave.
For what it's worth, I tend to think about doing a whole lot of things, but almost never do them. Unfortunately, if anything ever does happen to their little dog, I am sure they will be pointing a finger or two my way.
muwahahaha.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Windtunnel Hunk O Junk...
I have met very few vacuum cleaners that I couldn't break...within an hour. Whatever you do...don't ever lend me yours, especially if it is a cheap piece of junk.
When we were living in our old house, I desperately needed to vacuum one weekend, as I had taken to wearing shoes in all parts of the house, even to bed. My girls, who don't wear shoes, unless forced, looked like they had grocery store feet. Nasty.
At the time, I had a Hoover Windtunnel Bagless something or other. Hunk.of.Junk. I HATE the bagless kind, because you have to pry the door open, empty it out, as you become enveloped in a Hiroshima-like cloud of fuzzy dirt nastiness; then take out the hepa filter, that reeks like wet dog, beat it against the fence outside, shaking off all the remaining dirt, creating another dust-bowl cloud that blankets you in even more crap.
Then you have to try to shove the filter back in the right way, and then put the plastic "waste container" back into the properly fitted slots, which is NO EASY feat...let me tell you. The average idiot would never be able to figure the mechanics in all of that out. Good thing I am an above average idiot. ;)
I had to do this for every 1/2 (yes, you read that right, ONE HALF) of room that I vacuumed. Three times for the living room alone. When I finished vacuuming, I looked like the Miner 49'er, minus the cool beard.
And on top of that...the opening hole to the hose, just beyond the agitator brush would get clogged up very easily. A little too easily, if you ask me.
So, in order to get to that, you have to remove all four 12" long screws. To remove the screws...you need the right sized Phillips head screwdriver. This is easier said than done as my husband tries to hide his good tools from me; you know, the ones that will actually unscrew something. Instead, I am left with the 15 Pack-O-ScrewStrippers from The Dollar Store (retail value $4.99) that I got as a stocking stuffer one year. Thanks a lot Santa.
After searching for the right one for at least 30 minutes, and then tucking it in my waistband, sneaking through the house so that he doesn't know I am messing with the vacuum cleaner again...(or playing with his tools), I am ready to remove the nasty agitator brush to get to the hose.
With that off, and only losing one of the FOOT LONG screws, I then have to find something long and skinny to pry that crap out with. It's ironic that the screws I just removed aren't long enough. A little household tip here: I do NOT recommend the sharp side of bamboo skewers. I can 100% guarantee you that it WILL puncture the obviously VERY cheap plastic hose. I found out that little nugget of information 10 MINUTES after using it the very first time and sucking up a Barbie Doll dress that needed to be pried out. (I may be an above average idiot; but I am still an idiot, nonetheless.)
But...that's what duct tape is for...and fortunately the silver matched the hose nicely. I was able to get away with that repair for almost 2 weeks before my husband noticed.
Him: What happened to the new vacuum cleaner?
Damyankee: What do you mean?
Him: Why is there duct tape on the hose?
Damyankee: (blink blink) I don't see anything.
Him: RIGHT THERE. The grey duct tape...RIGHT THERE on the HOSE!
Damyankee: Ohhhh! that duct tape. I didn't even notice it. Maybe it came like that?
That particular weekend, I was 1/2 way done with vacuuming the entire house, when I noticed that I didn't have as much suction. Crap...clogged hose. I found a screwdriver, and snuck the vacuum cleaner back to the bedroom, locked the door and took it apart. I unclogged it with a state of the art, precision-engineered coat hanger and then cut all of the strings, dental floss and about a pound of hair out of the agitator brush.
Very gently, I put the brush back on...being extremely careful to put the flimsy rubber band of a belt back on properly. I can LOOK at a belt and break it. Another household tip: in a pinch, duct tape can fix a broken belt too. In fact, duct tape can fix most anything, along with some Gorilla glue. :)
I then moved it back into the living room...as if nothing had happened. I turned it on and this cloud of white smoke started coming out from under it. DAYUM...I had blown another belt. The smell in unmistakable...and I couldn't get the febreze out fast enough before my husband was onto the fact that something had gone horribly wrong with the vacuum (again). And if that wasn't clue enough...he walked into the living room to see me kicking the crap out it.
What's worse is that I had to sell my previous vacuum, that I really liked, at a garage sale because I sucked up fresh soft-serve dog poo with it. (Hey. It's a garage sale...it's not like selling a house in which you have to disclose every little thing...jeez).
Apparently, my sweet little Rorie, who hates to get her wittle paws wet when it is the slightest bit damp outside, had just pooped underneath the little play table, on a dark rug, in my daughters room. I must have gone in there 30 seconds later to vacuum. The smell coming out of the exhaust after I sucked it up was absolutely hideous. *Sniff Sniff* Huh? Oh, no!!!...did I just suck up poo? OH HELL NO. I did!
Even though I scrubbed it, cleaned it, hosed it down, even bought new filters for it and then sprayed the filters with my some of my husband's Acqua Di Gio because it STILL stunk, every time I vacuumed it smelled sickeningly like "Acqua Di POOGio". Both the cologne and the vacuum cleaner had to go after that, and I made a few people at my garage sale very happy that day, at least until they got home. What a bargain.
As for the Windtunnel Hunk O Junk, I wouldn't have wished that vacuum on my worst enemy. Although it technically worked, even after I kicked the crap out of it, I threw it straight in the garbage and went and bought a much nicer one that I haven't broken...yet. :)
When we were living in our old house, I desperately needed to vacuum one weekend, as I had taken to wearing shoes in all parts of the house, even to bed. My girls, who don't wear shoes, unless forced, looked like they had grocery store feet. Nasty.
At the time, I had a Hoover Windtunnel Bagless something or other. Hunk.of.Junk. I HATE the bagless kind, because you have to pry the door open, empty it out, as you become enveloped in a Hiroshima-like cloud of fuzzy dirt nastiness; then take out the hepa filter, that reeks like wet dog, beat it against the fence outside, shaking off all the remaining dirt, creating another dust-bowl cloud that blankets you in even more crap.
Then you have to try to shove the filter back in the right way, and then put the plastic "waste container" back into the properly fitted slots, which is NO EASY feat...let me tell you. The average idiot would never be able to figure the mechanics in all of that out. Good thing I am an above average idiot. ;)
I had to do this for every 1/2 (yes, you read that right, ONE HALF) of room that I vacuumed. Three times for the living room alone. When I finished vacuuming, I looked like the Miner 49'er, minus the cool beard.
And on top of that...the opening hole to the hose, just beyond the agitator brush would get clogged up very easily. A little too easily, if you ask me.
So, in order to get to that, you have to remove all four 12" long screws. To remove the screws...you need the right sized Phillips head screwdriver. This is easier said than done as my husband tries to hide his good tools from me; you know, the ones that will actually unscrew something. Instead, I am left with the 15 Pack-O-ScrewStrippers from The Dollar Store (retail value $4.99) that I got as a stocking stuffer one year. Thanks a lot Santa.
After searching for the right one for at least 30 minutes, and then tucking it in my waistband, sneaking through the house so that he doesn't know I am messing with the vacuum cleaner again...(or playing with his tools), I am ready to remove the nasty agitator brush to get to the hose.
With that off, and only losing one of the FOOT LONG screws, I then have to find something long and skinny to pry that crap out with. It's ironic that the screws I just removed aren't long enough. A little household tip here: I do NOT recommend the sharp side of bamboo skewers. I can 100% guarantee you that it WILL puncture the obviously VERY cheap plastic hose. I found out that little nugget of information 10 MINUTES after using it the very first time and sucking up a Barbie Doll dress that needed to be pried out. (I may be an above average idiot; but I am still an idiot, nonetheless.)
But...that's what duct tape is for...and fortunately the silver matched the hose nicely. I was able to get away with that repair for almost 2 weeks before my husband noticed.
Him: What happened to the new vacuum cleaner?
Damyankee: What do you mean?
Him: Why is there duct tape on the hose?
Damyankee: (blink blink) I don't see anything.
Him: RIGHT THERE. The grey duct tape...RIGHT THERE on the HOSE!
Damyankee: Ohhhh! that duct tape. I didn't even notice it. Maybe it came like that?
That particular weekend, I was 1/2 way done with vacuuming the entire house, when I noticed that I didn't have as much suction. Crap...clogged hose. I found a screwdriver, and snuck the vacuum cleaner back to the bedroom, locked the door and took it apart. I unclogged it with a state of the art, precision-engineered coat hanger and then cut all of the strings, dental floss and about a pound of hair out of the agitator brush.
Very gently, I put the brush back on...being extremely careful to put the flimsy rubber band of a belt back on properly. I can LOOK at a belt and break it. Another household tip: in a pinch, duct tape can fix a broken belt too. In fact, duct tape can fix most anything, along with some Gorilla glue. :)
I then moved it back into the living room...as if nothing had happened. I turned it on and this cloud of white smoke started coming out from under it. DAYUM...I had blown another belt. The smell in unmistakable...and I couldn't get the febreze out fast enough before my husband was onto the fact that something had gone horribly wrong with the vacuum (again). And if that wasn't clue enough...he walked into the living room to see me kicking the crap out it.
What's worse is that I had to sell my previous vacuum, that I really liked, at a garage sale because I sucked up fresh soft-serve dog poo with it. (Hey. It's a garage sale...it's not like selling a house in which you have to disclose every little thing...jeez).
Apparently, my sweet little Rorie, who hates to get her wittle paws wet when it is the slightest bit damp outside, had just pooped underneath the little play table, on a dark rug, in my daughters room. I must have gone in there 30 seconds later to vacuum. The smell coming out of the exhaust after I sucked it up was absolutely hideous. *Sniff Sniff* Huh? Oh, no!!!...did I just suck up poo? OH HELL NO. I did!
Even though I scrubbed it, cleaned it, hosed it down, even bought new filters for it and then sprayed the filters with my some of my husband's Acqua Di Gio because it STILL stunk, every time I vacuumed it smelled sickeningly like "Acqua Di POOGio". Both the cologne and the vacuum cleaner had to go after that, and I made a few people at my garage sale very happy that day, at least until they got home. What a bargain.
As for the Windtunnel Hunk O Junk, I wouldn't have wished that vacuum on my worst enemy. Although it technically worked, even after I kicked the crap out of it, I threw it straight in the garbage and went and bought a much nicer one that I haven't broken...yet. :)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Oh why oh why does sleep elude me?
That is the question of the day....why does sleep elude me?
Could it be because I drank 7 glasses of sweet tea (liquid southern crack goodness) throughout the course of the day? Yes, this could be a reason, but I my body has adapted to drinking a pitcher of tea a day and this no longer affects me. I no longer have the shakes, nor do I foam at the mouth, or suffer from erratic eye twitching from over consumption. I have succumbed to my addiction and I love the precious.
Could it be because I stayed up watching Forensic Files in which a young women was hacked into little pieces and they solved the case (in under 30 minutes, no less) by identifying the perpetrator through a wayward microscopic hair that had fallen off of a dogs butt onto a blanket used to transport the victim? Again, yes...this could be a reason. But I am sufficiently disturbed enough after YEARS of watching crime shows that this sort of thing no longer bothers me the way that it used to. (or the way it should)
Maybe it was because I had also just finished reading a novel about a serial killer that preyed on prostitutes, torturing them with poisonous spiders before killing them. Eh...this isn't the reason...it's just fiction, and I've read far worse before bed.
It could be because, after having had three kids, my poor deformed bladder will only hold 4 ounces of liquid at any given time and I have to get up 3 times at night to ensure that I don't become a bed wetter. (A situation I am sure my husband would not enjoy) This too is a problem, but probably not THE reason.
Could it be because my cute, sweet, precious cat-dogs are busy groom-licking themselves while lying underneath my side of the bed? A possibility. I am not willing to rule this one out, but I know deep down this isn't the REAL reason I can't sleep.
So...what's the story? Why am I not sleeping tonight? If anything I should be getting a great nights sleep. My husband is on duty tonight, I have the entire bed to myself.
Could it be because I drank 7 glasses of sweet tea (liquid southern crack goodness) throughout the course of the day? Yes, this could be a reason, but I my body has adapted to drinking a pitcher of tea a day and this no longer affects me. I no longer have the shakes, nor do I foam at the mouth, or suffer from erratic eye twitching from over consumption. I have succumbed to my addiction and I love the precious.
Could it be because I stayed up watching Forensic Files in which a young women was hacked into little pieces and they solved the case (in under 30 minutes, no less) by identifying the perpetrator through a wayward microscopic hair that had fallen off of a dogs butt onto a blanket used to transport the victim? Again, yes...this could be a reason. But I am sufficiently disturbed enough after YEARS of watching crime shows that this sort of thing no longer bothers me the way that it used to. (or the way it should)
Maybe it was because I had also just finished reading a novel about a serial killer that preyed on prostitutes, torturing them with poisonous spiders before killing them. Eh...this isn't the reason...it's just fiction, and I've read far worse before bed.
It could be because, after having had three kids, my poor deformed bladder will only hold 4 ounces of liquid at any given time and I have to get up 3 times at night to ensure that I don't become a bed wetter. (A situation I am sure my husband would not enjoy) This too is a problem, but probably not THE reason.
Could it be because my cute, sweet, precious cat-dogs are busy groom-licking themselves while lying underneath my side of the bed? A possibility. I am not willing to rule this one out, but I know deep down this isn't the REAL reason I can't sleep.
So...what's the story? Why am I not sleeping tonight? If anything I should be getting a great nights sleep. My husband is on duty tonight, I have the entire bed to myself.
hmmm...maybe it is because I am being torn to hell by two aggressive vampire mosquitoes.
I have 10 bites on my left arm and hand, 4 bites on my right. I have gotten up looking for the little bastards no less than 15 times in the last hour and have only managed to kill one. The remaining elusive mosquito must be using some type of Klingon cloaking device, because no matter what tactic I employ, I cannot find him. But I can hear him. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee......
I decide to bury myself under all my covers, but now I am thinking of coffins, Edgar Allen Poe's The Premature Burial, having my head wrapped in a dry cleaning bag and every other suffocating thought my sick imagination could can up with. *sigh*....
Alright...that's it!!...I now have two bites on my jaw and one near my ear; the little turd is under the covers with me. To add insult to injury...I have run out of benedryl cream. grrrrrr.
There is only one thing left to do....600 thread count buttery soft Pima cotton sheets be damned.
I must have DEET. And lots of it. Off! Deep Woods Insect Repellent, in fact.
Not that sissy Avon Skin So Soft. You know that crap never works.
A quick trip outside, a liberal spray of the strongest, yet still legal amount of DEET available in the United States, and I am ready for bed. I smell like a skunks unwashed @ss, but I dare that little bastard to try to bite me now.
Yeah..I know...nasty. I don't want to hear it. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that. I will buy new sheets tomorrow.
*yawn*....'night.
Monday, June 1, 2009
I am a bad wife...
Sometimes.
My husband was very sick awhile back. There he was, laying next to me in the bed shaking, with a high fever, seemingly freezing cold, yet enough heat coming off of him to fry bacon. One minute he was buried underneath several blankets, the next, even a sheet grazing his baby toe was intolerable to him. He tossed, he turned, he moaned, he flung covers off and on and then begged for more covers.
I truly felt awful for him...he was so delirious and I could only make out 1 of every 10 words he said. I pondered moving to the couch, but he seemed insistent that I stay. Misery loves company, I suppose. Late that night, he woke me up, mumbling something...incoherent. Red Koolaid...mumble mumble....advil...mumble mumble...that was all I got.
Off to the kitchen I went and made him some red Koolaid and brought him three Advil. My work here is done.
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Several hours later, his fever broke. Mercifully. I knew that this had happened because one minute I was dry and the next, I thought I may have had "an accident" as the sheets and everything else were soaked. Ahhh...I guess that's what they mean to sweat out a fever. *gross* I watched him slumber peacefully for a few minutes, before I went and changed clothes and moved myself to the couch.
The next morning, he asked me why I didn't take him to the hospital the previous night.
Damyankee: Huh? What do you mean? You were just running a fever. It's not like you had blood coming out of your eyeballs or anything.
Him: I begged you to take me to the hospital.
Damyankee: No..no...you asked me for some red Koolaid and some Advil, which is what I brought you.
Him: Nooo...I sure didn't. I thought I was dying and I was begging you to get me to the hospital and all you brought me was some Koolaid and Advil. I thought maybe you were trying to kill me.
Damyankee: Wow. I had no idea that's what you were saying, you were so delirious. And you know perfectly well if I was trying to kill you, I would make it look like an accident. *grin*
Him: blink.blink..........blink.
[the operation was called hobbling]
Sometimes he just doesn't appreciate my sense of humour. :)
My husband was very sick awhile back. There he was, laying next to me in the bed shaking, with a high fever, seemingly freezing cold, yet enough heat coming off of him to fry bacon. One minute he was buried underneath several blankets, the next, even a sheet grazing his baby toe was intolerable to him. He tossed, he turned, he moaned, he flung covers off and on and then begged for more covers.
I truly felt awful for him...he was so delirious and I could only make out 1 of every 10 words he said. I pondered moving to the couch, but he seemed insistent that I stay. Misery loves company, I suppose. Late that night, he woke me up, mumbling something...incoherent. Red Koolaid...mumble mumble....advil...mumble mumble...that was all I got.
Off to the kitchen I went and made him some red Koolaid and brought him three Advil. My work here is done.
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Several hours later, his fever broke. Mercifully. I knew that this had happened because one minute I was dry and the next, I thought I may have had "an accident" as the sheets and everything else were soaked. Ahhh...I guess that's what they mean to sweat out a fever. *gross* I watched him slumber peacefully for a few minutes, before I went and changed clothes and moved myself to the couch.
The next morning, he asked me why I didn't take him to the hospital the previous night.
Damyankee: Huh? What do you mean? You were just running a fever. It's not like you had blood coming out of your eyeballs or anything.
Him: I begged you to take me to the hospital.
Damyankee: No..no...you asked me for some red Koolaid and some Advil, which is what I brought you.
Him: Nooo...I sure didn't. I thought I was dying and I was begging you to get me to the hospital and all you brought me was some Koolaid and Advil. I thought maybe you were trying to kill me.
Damyankee: Wow. I had no idea that's what you were saying, you were so delirious. And you know perfectly well if I was trying to kill you, I would make it look like an accident. *grin*
Him: blink.blink..........blink.
[the operation was called hobbling]
Sometimes he just doesn't appreciate my sense of humour. :)
Friday, May 29, 2009
I don't think those are peppercorns...
I have mentioned before that sometimes I am just dumb. I promise you, it is not my intention to be dumb. I read all the time, try to stay current on news and world events, watch educational programs on TV, all in an effort to expand my knowledge. I know a little bit about a lot of things, and a great deal about a few. When it comes to playing games like Trivial Pursuit, there is a pretty good chance that I am going to kick your butt, especially when partnered with my husband. He and I are the king and queen...of useless knowledge.
That being said, I continue to say and do...very dumb things.
Last summer, we had a large cookout at my dads lake house. Lloyd was outside frying catfish, fried green tomatoes and other things, and I was supposed to be preparing the "inside food". That works out good for me because then I get to be in the air conditioning. I like air conditioning...a lot.
So, one of the foods I was supposed to prepare was a large thing of boiled shrimp. I hadn't ever boiled shrimp before, so Lloyd came in and patiently explained the process. You boil the water, add a couple of things of crab boil, stick the shrimp in, let them boil, remove and drain them, and Voila! boiled shrimp.
(Good deal...I can handle this.) The shrimp get done boiling, and I noticed that the bags of crab boil had burst in the pot. No biggie, that will get rinsed off in the colander.
In the kitchen with me, I had my brothers girlfriend Hope and his friend Victor. Hope hasn't cooked a lot so she was interested in learning. (Given this particular situation, I can't say that I may be the best person for her to learn from.) Victor was just there for the air conditioning and beer.
So, I go to rinse the shrimp and noticed that there were peppercorns, apparently from the crab boil, all over the shrimp. So, I rinsed...and rinsed...and rinsed...and they would not come off to save my life.
*sigh*...man...those things are spicy when you bite into them, I really have to get them off. But we are talking...10lbs of shrimp...that's a lot of peppercorn removal. Especially if they are "boiled on".
These particular shrimp were "shell-on" shrimp. I don't generally eat shrimp like that, as I don't like to have to remove the flipper-thingies, or the exoskeleton. It just grosses me out because inevitably you have the little legs stuck everywhere on you, and you never quite get all of the shell off and unless the shrimp is fried, it just shouldn't be crunchy. If we go out to eat, Lloyd will usually peel a few for me, probably out of pity. Please sir...may I have some more.
So, I started looking at the shrimp a little closer and realize that these particular shrimp are a little more "shell-on" than I had realized. The head was still on them.
huh. Head.still.on.them.
Damyankee: you know...I just don't think the black things on these shrimp are peppercorns.
Victor: um...yeah. You thought the eyeballs were peppercorns? Is that what you have been trying to rinse off for the last 15 minutes???? bwahahahaaha...(and then he ran outside to tell my husband what an idiot his wife was...like he didn't already KNOW that).
Damyankee: Well, what am I supposed to do? Why would the head still be on there?
Hope: (grossed out look on her face) I don't know.
Damyankee: Well, am I supposed to serve them like this, you think?
Hope: um....well...um....I just don't think I can eat something with the eyeballs still on there.
Damyankee: yeah...I see what you mean. It's like they are lookin' at you. What do we do? (see how I have now made this *our* problem...lol)
Hope: I don't know. Maybe you can just cut the heads off. (hmm...she isn't seeming too keen on it being "our problem" and helping me mutilate these shrimp)
Meanwhile, Victor has come back inside from tattling on me, like the little girl he is. He watches me cut the head off of a couple of the shrimp...and I look down at the 5 billion or so left to go. I hadn't actually planned to touch the shrimp with my bare hands, and my dad doesn't carry disposable gloves at the lake house. A problem I plan to remedy this year. No house should be without a 500 count box of disposable gloves, as far as I am concerned.
He then tells me that I am "doing it wrong". He said you don't cut the heads off...you "pop" them off.
(Oh hell no...you have to be kidding me. I am not popping nothin' off with my bare hands.)
He grabs a shrimp and basically just rips the head off and throws it into another bowl. No big thang jangalang.
Crap. So, there I am...ripping the heads off, tossing them aside, for at least 45 minutes. When I got done, I had at least 5,000 little flippers stuck everywhere on me, in addition to several hundred eyeballs that had became dislodged (probably because I had loosened the hell out of them trying to rinse them off for 15 minutes), and I stunk. Like nasty tootie-tootie. (you know what I mean)
Needless to say, I didn't eat any shrimp that night. I hope everyone else enjoyed it, though, because it will be the LAST "whole head-on eyeballs and flippers included shrimp" we will ever bring up there.
That being said, I continue to say and do...very dumb things.
Last summer, we had a large cookout at my dads lake house. Lloyd was outside frying catfish, fried green tomatoes and other things, and I was supposed to be preparing the "inside food". That works out good for me because then I get to be in the air conditioning. I like air conditioning...a lot.
So, one of the foods I was supposed to prepare was a large thing of boiled shrimp. I hadn't ever boiled shrimp before, so Lloyd came in and patiently explained the process. You boil the water, add a couple of things of crab boil, stick the shrimp in, let them boil, remove and drain them, and Voila! boiled shrimp.
(Good deal...I can handle this.) The shrimp get done boiling, and I noticed that the bags of crab boil had burst in the pot. No biggie, that will get rinsed off in the colander.
In the kitchen with me, I had my brothers girlfriend Hope and his friend Victor. Hope hasn't cooked a lot so she was interested in learning. (Given this particular situation, I can't say that I may be the best person for her to learn from.) Victor was just there for the air conditioning and beer.
So, I go to rinse the shrimp and noticed that there were peppercorns, apparently from the crab boil, all over the shrimp. So, I rinsed...and rinsed...and rinsed...and they would not come off to save my life.
*sigh*...man...those things are spicy when you bite into them, I really have to get them off. But we are talking...10lbs of shrimp...that's a lot of peppercorn removal. Especially if they are "boiled on".
These particular shrimp were "shell-on" shrimp. I don't generally eat shrimp like that, as I don't like to have to remove the flipper-thingies, or the exoskeleton. It just grosses me out because inevitably you have the little legs stuck everywhere on you, and you never quite get all of the shell off and unless the shrimp is fried, it just shouldn't be crunchy. If we go out to eat, Lloyd will usually peel a few for me, probably out of pity. Please sir...may I have some more.
So, I started looking at the shrimp a little closer and realize that these particular shrimp are a little more "shell-on" than I had realized. The head was still on them.
huh. Head.still.on.them.
Damyankee: you know...I just don't think the black things on these shrimp are peppercorns.
Victor: um...yeah. You thought the eyeballs were peppercorns? Is that what you have been trying to rinse off for the last 15 minutes???? bwahahahaaha...(and then he ran outside to tell my husband what an idiot his wife was...like he didn't already KNOW that).
Damyankee: Well, what am I supposed to do? Why would the head still be on there?
Hope: (grossed out look on her face) I don't know.
Damyankee: Well, am I supposed to serve them like this, you think?
Hope: um....well...um....I just don't think I can eat something with the eyeballs still on there.
Damyankee: yeah...I see what you mean. It's like they are lookin' at you. What do we do? (see how I have now made this *our* problem...lol)
Hope: I don't know. Maybe you can just cut the heads off. (hmm...she isn't seeming too keen on it being "our problem" and helping me mutilate these shrimp)
Meanwhile, Victor has come back inside from tattling on me, like the little girl he is. He watches me cut the head off of a couple of the shrimp...and I look down at the 5 billion or so left to go. I hadn't actually planned to touch the shrimp with my bare hands, and my dad doesn't carry disposable gloves at the lake house. A problem I plan to remedy this year. No house should be without a 500 count box of disposable gloves, as far as I am concerned.
He then tells me that I am "doing it wrong". He said you don't cut the heads off...you "pop" them off.
(Oh hell no...you have to be kidding me. I am not popping nothin' off with my bare hands.)
He grabs a shrimp and basically just rips the head off and throws it into another bowl. No big thang jangalang.
Crap. So, there I am...ripping the heads off, tossing them aside, for at least 45 minutes. When I got done, I had at least 5,000 little flippers stuck everywhere on me, in addition to several hundred eyeballs that had became dislodged (probably because I had loosened the hell out of them trying to rinse them off for 15 minutes), and I stunk. Like nasty tootie-tootie. (you know what I mean)
Needless to say, I didn't eat any shrimp that night. I hope everyone else enjoyed it, though, because it will be the LAST "whole head-on eyeballs and flippers included shrimp" we will ever bring up there.
:)
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Farm living is the life for me....
The cube farm that is....
I am coming up on nearly 9 years of sitting in the cube farm. The walls are grey, the carpeting is grey, even our desks and cabinets are grey. I remember the first time I walked in here, I thought there was no way I was going to be able to sit in there without feeling claustrophobic. Caged, even. Jeez...where's my little spinny wheel?
However, like most anything, you get used to your environment, and you adapt. Like guinea pigs. In your cage.
I can't say it's really all that bad...I have a great job, one that I am happy to have. Over the years, though, I have had some *truly* whacked out people that have sat near me.
Obviously, there is no privacy. If you are on the phone, anyone sitting near you can hear everything you say with acute clarity...even more so if you are trying to be private about your conversation. Suddenly there are no more clackity-clack sounds, whispered conversations grind to a halt...and the silence is deafening. Fight with your spouse? I know about it. Little heathens for kids? Yeah, I know all about that too. Problems with your credit? trying to buy a house? an embarrassing medical problem? on a diet?...yep, I know allll about it. And wish I didn't.
There's one guy that used to sit in the farm....he hated his wife, or maybe just women in general, but especially his wife. No doubt. He was so mean to her on the phone...raising his voice, telling her to shut up, that she was stupid, criticizing any little thing she did. He just made me want to throw up every time I saw his ugly face. Every so often, I may or may not have buried some tuna or other rotten smelling food in his garbage can when he walked away from his desk. I imagine that the stench was unreal...especially when it got hot in here in the afternoon. This probably wouldn't have been so bad if our garbage was picked up more than twice a week. Yeah, I know...that's wasn't nice, but it wasn't to make me feel better...it was for his wife.
I remember another guy that used to sit a few rows away from me that would talk on his speaker-phone all morning long. For those that don't sit in a farm, this is a pretty major social faux pas. It's just not done. Worse, he was a pompous @ss that had been booted from a nice cushy office and felt that he was too good to be sitting in the farm. *sigh*. He really had to go; he just wasn't fitting into the farm schema. What to do?
Welllllll.....near him sat an old school fax machine that had run out of toner, perhaps a few years before. You could dial the fax machine, but it wouldn't pick up...and would just ring and ring. Very annoying...if you sat right beside it. Every time he got on a speaker-phone call, I may or may not have dialled the number to the fax machine and then placed the phone down on my desk for 5 or even...10 minutes. Riiiiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiing. Inevitably, he would have to switch off of speakerphone because the person he was talking to couldn't hear him, and he seemed genuinely puzzled (and highly irritated) that it always seemed to do that when he was talking on the phone. Odd. He lasted a month.
The first Christmas that I worked here, I sat right near a guy that played the same Irish Christmas CD over and over and over again. All day long, every day. By the 8th day, I thought I might be going insane and despite the fact that I was wearing noise cancelling headphones, I could still hear every single note played. Being new, I didn't understand that normal societal politeness just doesn't apply in the farm with some people; I went to him and told him how much I enjoyed the music he was playing. I was wondering, however, if he had any other Christmas CD's? That as much as I liked the current selection, it was getting a little "old". He smiled, and said absolutely...and for the next 10 straight days, I listened to wonderful sounds of Christmas as represented by bagpipes. It's a Scottish Christmas. Yay. That's so much better...thank you.
My mistake was in not going with my first inclination which would have been to render his CD/DVD drive permanently inoperable. A few well placed toothpicks and some peanut butter and that sucker would have never opened again. But, that would be destroying property, and I don't do that. The better option would have been to hide his speakers, until such time that Christmas was over. The following year.
On the whole, there are some very nice people that sit near me, and we all tend to leave each other alone and behave like civilized folks. Every now and again...we get a dolt in the mix.
I almost feel sorry for them. muwahahaha....
I am coming up on nearly 9 years of sitting in the cube farm. The walls are grey, the carpeting is grey, even our desks and cabinets are grey. I remember the first time I walked in here, I thought there was no way I was going to be able to sit in there without feeling claustrophobic. Caged, even. Jeez...where's my little spinny wheel?
However, like most anything, you get used to your environment, and you adapt. Like guinea pigs. In your cage.
I can't say it's really all that bad...I have a great job, one that I am happy to have. Over the years, though, I have had some *truly* whacked out people that have sat near me.
Obviously, there is no privacy. If you are on the phone, anyone sitting near you can hear everything you say with acute clarity...even more so if you are trying to be private about your conversation. Suddenly there are no more clackity-clack sounds, whispered conversations grind to a halt...and the silence is deafening. Fight with your spouse? I know about it. Little heathens for kids? Yeah, I know all about that too. Problems with your credit? trying to buy a house? an embarrassing medical problem? on a diet?...yep, I know allll about it. And wish I didn't.
There's one guy that used to sit in the farm....he hated his wife, or maybe just women in general, but especially his wife. No doubt. He was so mean to her on the phone...raising his voice, telling her to shut up, that she was stupid, criticizing any little thing she did. He just made me want to throw up every time I saw his ugly face. Every so often, I may or may not have buried some tuna or other rotten smelling food in his garbage can when he walked away from his desk. I imagine that the stench was unreal...especially when it got hot in here in the afternoon. This probably wouldn't have been so bad if our garbage was picked up more than twice a week. Yeah, I know...that's wasn't nice, but it wasn't to make me feel better...it was for his wife.
I remember another guy that used to sit a few rows away from me that would talk on his speaker-phone all morning long. For those that don't sit in a farm, this is a pretty major social faux pas. It's just not done. Worse, he was a pompous @ss that had been booted from a nice cushy office and felt that he was too good to be sitting in the farm. *sigh*. He really had to go; he just wasn't fitting into the farm schema. What to do?
Welllllll.....near him sat an old school fax machine that had run out of toner, perhaps a few years before. You could dial the fax machine, but it wouldn't pick up...and would just ring and ring. Very annoying...if you sat right beside it. Every time he got on a speaker-phone call, I may or may not have dialled the number to the fax machine and then placed the phone down on my desk for 5 or even...10 minutes. Riiiiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiing. Inevitably, he would have to switch off of speakerphone because the person he was talking to couldn't hear him, and he seemed genuinely puzzled (and highly irritated) that it always seemed to do that when he was talking on the phone. Odd. He lasted a month.
The first Christmas that I worked here, I sat right near a guy that played the same Irish Christmas CD over and over and over again. All day long, every day. By the 8th day, I thought I might be going insane and despite the fact that I was wearing noise cancelling headphones, I could still hear every single note played. Being new, I didn't understand that normal societal politeness just doesn't apply in the farm with some people; I went to him and told him how much I enjoyed the music he was playing. I was wondering, however, if he had any other Christmas CD's? That as much as I liked the current selection, it was getting a little "old". He smiled, and said absolutely...and for the next 10 straight days, I listened to wonderful sounds of Christmas as represented by bagpipes. It's a Scottish Christmas. Yay. That's so much better...thank you.
My mistake was in not going with my first inclination which would have been to render his CD/DVD drive permanently inoperable. A few well placed toothpicks and some peanut butter and that sucker would have never opened again. But, that would be destroying property, and I don't do that. The better option would have been to hide his speakers, until such time that Christmas was over. The following year.
On the whole, there are some very nice people that sit near me, and we all tend to leave each other alone and behave like civilized folks. Every now and again...we get a dolt in the mix.
I almost feel sorry for them. muwahahaha....
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