So, I get an A word a day email every day (yes, I am that nerdy). Today’s word was schadenfreude. (An excellent word. If you don’t know it, you need to click on that link and learn it, so the rest of this post will make sense. If you are only now learning this word, you’re welcome. Enjoy it. Use it to impress the easily impressed.)
Anyway, so I took note of the lovely word for today, and then I opened facebook, and what should be at the top of my newsfeed (thanks to a cousin’s lady-friend)?
The following video. So you tell me: coincidence? Or is the universe trying to tell me something? (Other than the obvious lesson to not ever play soccer with these guys…)
Okay, so I know I’ve done a total disappearing thing with this blog, but really I have been writing, just not here. Sorry..but not, like super sorry, because:
Only about 20 people read this, so really it’s no big deal.
I’m pretty sure that not one of those 20 people are losing sleep over me not posting.
So the man-of-the-house and I were out in the backyard last night because the dogs were acting suspicious in an area near one of the flowerbeds. As any dog owner knows that means it’s time to go out and see if they’d found some fun dead thing to roll in or fun half-dead thing to torture to death and then roll in.
We took a flashlight and were carefully shining where we were stepping as we picked our way across the grass (any dog owner also knows why we were walking carefully…actually anybody who’s been in the backyard of a dog owner knows why…see how skillfully I managed not to use the words dog shit and yet you knew exactly what I was talking about, right?) Anyway, you can see from the photo what we discovered on our way to the flowerbed. *
I have 3 things to say about this.
Finding this in my backyard was the most amusing thing that happened to me all weekend. And yes, that’s exactly how lame I am.
When hubby and I happened across these two toads in-the-act last night, I said, “I wish I had my phone so I could take a picture.” Then he said, “I have my phone,” to which I replied, “And you’re not taking a picture right now?” That’s how lame he is.
When you ask people, “Would you like to see some toad p0rn?” it’s been my experience that they always, always immediately lean over to look at the photo on your phone. That’s how lame we all are. **
* We found nothing in the flowerbed, in case you were wondering, but probably you weren’t because you’re still looking at the hot, sexy toad-sex photo.
** When people lean over to look at toad-p0rn on your phone, it’s very important to start making “bowchickawowow” sounds so that they can fully can fully enjoy the moment.
Okay, well I know that you guys are expecting some really obnoxious animal sex video…and don’t think I wasn’t tempted. But, I’ve decided that I’m much too classy for that. So instead I’ll give you this extremely classy video….
First of all, I want everyone to know that photo is not me–it is one I found on google images. And second of all, is it just me, or is the water running out of this woman’s nose only the second most disturbing thing about the picture?
Even though they are killing people right and left, my husband likes his neti pot. (And by likes I mean it helps his allergies–I am not insinuating that he enjoys it. Although if that were true, the therapy he would need would make a really awesome blog post.) Anyway, since he thinks it works, I decided to give it a try (with distilled water and my own little pot–yes we’ve been married almost 30 years but I’m not sticking his nettipot up my nose).
The following is my unbiased review of the Neti pot. I’m pretty sure consumer reports would pay good money for this, and you’re getting it for free, so…you’re welcome.
I tried it twice (I know…I am stupid that way) and I hate it. Hate. It.
Of course, to be honest, the results were mixed. Mixed as in it works fine one direction–right nostril to left if you must know–but in the other direction, rather than coming out my right side, the water rushes up into my sinuses and starts down my throat. Now, after enough coughing and gagging it will eventually drip slowly out the right side, but by then it’s too late. I’ve already told anyone who’ll listen where the WMDs are hidden.*
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it was all bad. For the next several hours anytime I leaned over I’d get the interesting little surprise of water pouring out of my right nostril. There’s some amusement to be had with that (and the fact that I feel that way should tell you just how easily I’m amused.) I kinda kept wishing that some little kid would come and annoy me so I could pin him down and lean over his face–it would have been even grosser than the spit thing.
Some of you will say that I was neti potting incorrectly somehow, and I suppose that certainly could be true. But I promise you that I read the directions very carefully. I’m weird that way when I’m considering doing something that can be deadlyand sounds exactly like something a group of seven year old boys would think was a good idea. (Hey, I know, let’s pour water up our noses! Yeah!) The blame, I’ve decided, is my septum. I’ve been told by doctor that it’s deviated (aren’t they all?). So it’s not my fault; it’s just that my nose dresses left.
I know from experience that there are some people who probably should never try to stand on slippery boards and go fast down an icy mountain. I am now amending that to add that there are some people who should never attempt to pour salt water up their nose. I am simply not neti-capable. If God had meant for me to have salt water up my nose he would have arranged for me to be on a beach vacation right now instead of waterboarding myself over my bathroom sink.
I’m betting that all of you are worried hoping that I’m going to post a video of me trying to drown myself over my sink, but you’re wrong. Not that I wouldn’t post it if I had it–even I think it would probably be too awesomely funny to keep to myself–but I didn’t record it and I am NOT going to stick that thing up my nose again just for the sake of art. Fuck art. Instead I’m posting a video that a friend put on facebook, because it’s smart and has important ideas and will perhaps counterbalance the rest of this dumb post.**
*The only Weapons of Mass Destruction at my house are apparently hidden inside my dog, Stella. She deploys them to deadly effect when it’s nearing her dinner time and occasionally if my hubby and I laugh too loudly while watching Jon Stewart.
**I just realized that this blogpost is long, and the video is long which makes this whole thing like an endurance event. If you manage to finish it all, maybe it will be something you can brag about to your friends. Or not.
Okay, I have no reason to write this post except that hubby showed me this hilarious video (hats off to the the funny chiptalk forum guys for the video and the image). This has been going around lately, so you’ve probably seen it, but just in case you haven’t it’s a must-watch. I have a mixture of pity and admiration for the drunk-ass man in the video. Even wasted, this fellow knows his Queen.
Hubby and I have made a solemn pinky-promise that should either one of us get arrested we will perform this number in the patrol car for the enjoyment of the arresting officers and whoever else might ever see the video. So I did a dry-run last night while hubby kept the lyrics page open to check me. I did pretty darn good if I say so myself–about a B+ without studying. (There were a couple spots that I made a substitution of a sound-alike word vs the real ones, of course, and then I somehow left out the whole so you think you can stop me and spit in my eye… verse right near the end. Sheesh!) But overall, I think that with just a little work I’ll be primed for that patrol-car ride for when I begin my life of crime.
Okay, so here’s the story. We’ve been in this house ten months and for all ten months the streetlight in our front yard has been out. Although the obvious question is “why did you ignore the issue for ten months,” that is not the question I’m answering in this post.
So, here we go…
Upon my request, Hubby emailed the home owners association to ask about getting the light turned on (in the spirit of full disclosure, this first step happened about six months ago). The HOA told him that we needed to talk to the city. So, I told him I’d take care of it (that was about six months and one day ago).
Well, apparently there is a statute of limitations on procrastination, because last Wednesday morning I finally called the street department of our fine city and told them about our light. The city worker informed me that a local electric company, Oncor, takes care of all the streetlights. Sooooo, I called Oncor and worked my way through their hellish nifty little phone menu and, when I was at last able to speak to a human, I explained my problem. The woman on the phone replied, “I’m sorry, but there is not a streetlight at that address.”
I happened to be standing at my window, looking at the light in my yard, and I started to laugh. My husband walked past, and so I told him what the Oncor woman had just said, he replied, “She’s right. At this point it’s just a pole with a decorative top.” I shared my husband’s clever comment with the not-very oh-so polite Oncor service representative. She was not amused.
When, despite her many assurances that there was no light, I continued to believe my eyes rather than her words, she finally heaved a sigh and told me that she would have someone call me back. Now I’ll admit, when she hung up I thought, “suuuure you will…” But amazingly less than half an hour later someone else did call back.
This new person seemed less cranky but equally convinced that there was no light in my yard. The woman asked me go out and see if there were any numbers on the pole. So I went outside and sure enough, there were big orange numbers which I read off to her…and then I also read off the numbers on the Oncor box sitting right next to the streetlight. She told me that the streetlight was not one of their lights…but that the box was one of their streetlights. Hmmmm…. In fact, she went on to tell me that there were no streetlights at all on my side of the street (there are many, btw). However, she finally agreed to send a technician to take a look at things.
So I finally got off the phone and went to work and figured that in another ten months I’d try again. But the next morning when I got out of bed too-freakin-early, poured myself a cup of coffee and then went outside in the still-dark morning to get the paper, what do I see outside? Yes!! A light!
I’m sure there’s a moral here somewhere, but I’ll be damned if I can figure it out. Ask–No Insist and ye shall receive? I don’t know.
What I do know is that the video below is what I should have put with my last post where I mentioned 70’s bowchickawowow porno music. I’m pretty sure that’s the soundtrack playing in this guy’s head while he’s doing whatever in the hell he thinks he’s doing.
Imagine my surprise when I got an email that said I had a new comment on this blog which I have shamelessly neglected. And, more surprising was the fact that not only did someone actually come to this site, but she decided that it deserved an award. And no, smarty pants, it’s not the Most in Need of Attention Blog Award (is there one? if not, there should be). No it is the Most Lovely Blog Award. And the twee image for the award has roses nestled in a teacup with a bow and…wait one minute…
That photo above is one I found when I searched the name of the award to snag an image to put on this post. But when I went to the site of the fabulous blogger, Sheila Hurst, who nominated me, the image below is the one she has on her site for the award:
Totally different concept of Most Lovely Blog Award. This blog award needs to have some 70’s porn bowchickawowow music playing in the background. Even the roses in this image seem to be straining and heaving, struggling not to explode out of the cup. Am I right? Much better than the other image, IMO. Ha!
I think the rules to this award are that I nominate 15 other blogs to win it…which seems like a lot to me, because I’m a slacker. But I will share a few (that I admit to) that I read semi-regularily. And then I think I’m also supposed to tell each of them that I nominated them and I’ll probably tell a couple of them, but probably not all. Slacker, remember?
Sonje Jones: a ultra cool writer who has the first of her series of four books coming out soon!
Yuri Zalkow: if you haven’t checked out his blog, you should. He makes these great little instructional videos about writing. They’re wonderful.
Maggie Stiefvater: she hits the sweet spot between blogging about her bestselling YA novels (book tours, audio tapes awards) and just random posts on writing and/or stuff going on in her life.
thekitchensgarden: Careful, this blog is addictive. Just a woman, her small sustainable farm and some great photos. Every morning I read it while I drink my coffee and spend a couple minutes imagining what it would be like to walk in her shoes (farm boots) for a few days.
Justine Musk: Okay, I’ll be honest, I don’t remember to read this one as much as I should–I say that because when I do I think, “now why do I not read this more often?” I’ve moved it to my bookmark bar to remind myself.
Kelly Hitchcock: He’s the owner of the gym where I work out. He’s big into sarcasm, so about half of his posts are serious posts about behavior/fitness and the other half are pseudo-serious rants about things he finds ridiculous.
And just in case you’re still reading and have three more minutes to spare, here’s one of Yuri Zalkow’s videos. Enjoy!
So for the past several months I have have been cutting my husband’s hair. Every week or two we go out on the back patio with the clippers (yes, we are those kind of people) and I give him a pretty crappy haircut. Now, in my defense, I resisted playing barber as long as I could pleading (correctly) that I would really suck at it. But finally, under duress, I agreed to try and now, after a few months, it’s really it’s no big deal (hey, it’s not my hair, right?) He’s been happy with his longish (crappyish) buzz-cut, and I’m happy that he’s happy. It’s all good.
Imagine if the usual guard we’d been using were to pop off one day and get mixed in the box with all the other ones that came with the clippers. And then imagine that we couldn’t decide which one we’d been using for the past six months. So then imagine us picking one that looks right…maybe…that actually ended up being a little bit shorter. After a tentative swipe, I realized the mistake…but I figured it will be okay. Since I used to use the shortest (on the back and sides of his head) and next to shortest (on the top) with the old guard, I decided that this one would be okay as long as I used the longest and second longest on this one.
And it probably would have been just fine if I hadn’t gotten confused somehow (I know, I know, but I’m middle aged and blond) used the shortest setting (on this new shorter guard) on the top of his head instead of the longest.
I realized my mistake after a couple of passes but…well…there’s no turning back at that point. Sigh. Hubby is being a surprisingly good sport about his new almost-bald look (although he was unimpressed with my advice to just avoid mirrors for a couple weeks). And the fact that I couldn’t stop laughing didn’t help much either.
We must all suffer from one of two pains: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The difference is discipline weighs ounces while regret weighs tons. –Jim Rohn
So, I’ve been suffering the pain of discipline lately–back working on the edit-from-hell. Sorry haven’t posted here much. Apparently there are only so many useful words in my brain at one time, and I’ve had to use all the good ones working on my novel. All I have left for this blog are goofy ones like…scuttlebutt or blanche or twaddle.
Christmas was nice around here…nice and quiet. Maybe too quiet? I don’t know. Why is it that I really love having a quiet holiday, but then when it’s over it seems like it didn’t really happen? I don’t think I miss the chaos of a relatives-in-town mixed with small-loud-children but I almost miss the feeling of relief when things quieted back down. Maybe I need some chaos to really relish the calm. Or maybe I’ve lost my mind. You decide.
And while you’re making that decision…answer this question:
So, I had an art teacher five or six years ago who told our class, “You can draw anything you want in this class…but I don’t want to see any rainbows or crying unicorns.”
I will admit that when I picked up a pencil and looked at a blank piece of paper that first day, I really…I mean really, really wanted to draw a freakin’ rainbow and a crying unicorn. I didn’t. of course. I just drew whatever he’d suggested that we work on that first day, but I still remember the feeling of that pencil in my hand, and the grin on my face. God, how hard I had to fight to keep myself from acting like a five year old.
So, is this a silly story about resisting a childish impulse? Or is it an allegory about the string of concessions that is an adult’s life–day after day doing what should be done rather than following a heart’s desire? Or is it just a sorry excuse for a blog post? You be the judge.
The viral adventures continue around here, however we have had a switch from the respiratory system to the gastrointestinal system. Oh, how naive were my complaints about my little cold.
In a Crocodile Dundee-eqsque “Haha…That’s not a knife. This is a knife,” type of move, fate stepped up on Saturday night and said, “That’s not suffering. This is suffering.”
Saturday night, while this virus made multiple attempts to completely empty out my digestive tract, I did have one interesting discovery: If you eat several Mike and Ikes before being struck down by Crocodile-Dundee’s-stomach-virus-from-hell, you will have really pretty rainbow puke the first time you throw-up.
Now really, the funniest thing about the following clip is the funky jive music they start playing when Dundee scares the gangbanger (who happens to look like he just stepped out of an Olivia Newton John video…ha!)