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. :)

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

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. :)

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.

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. :)

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.

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.

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. :)