Happy Halloween!
Oh, and even though 6 is a neurotic germaphobe I'll miss his constant blathering and tidying up behind me. We make a pretty good team and things will be awfully quiet around here with him out on the road.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Taking A Personal Day
6 is home today getting ready to leave for his new job on Sunday and gawd knows I can't carry a thought with him yammering in my ear all day so I'll be back in November :)
Happy Halloween!
Oh, and even though 6 is a neurotic germaphobe I'll miss his constant blathering and tidying up behind me. We make a pretty good team and things will be awfully quiet around here with him out on the road.
Happy Halloween!
Oh, and even though 6 is a neurotic germaphobe I'll miss his constant blathering and tidying up behind me. We make a pretty good team and things will be awfully quiet around here with him out on the road.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
I had A Dream
Ughhhh..... I have so much I need to be doing but I don't want to do it so I'll tell you about this crazy dream I had last night instead.
6 and I were having an in the ground pool built in the front yard, but for some reason we had to live in the garage while they were digging it. I had a hot plate on a shelf and a mini fridge which is weird because in real life we have a full size fridge in the garage. Anyway, we all three had to sleep in the car, my Grammies old car, an 82 Caddy, but in my dream 6 had put a lift kit on it so it was all jacked up and hard to get in and out of. So in my dream, 6 had left for work and Wyatt had gone to school and I was just getting up and stepping out of the jacked up Caddy still in my pajamas when this voice says, "which side do you want the deep end" and I turned around and saw that it was my favorite ex husband, #3! I was really excited to see him and of course I suppose he was shocked out of his mind to see me, but I could hardly talk to him because half way out of the Caddy I realized I was in my nightgown and not wearing a bra and I started freaking out because I was afraid my boobs looked all saggy. I mean in all reality they were probably saggy when we were married, but in my dream it was a huge deal and I didn't want to jump down from the car but I had to get in the house to put on a bra. You can imagine how stressful this was in my dream because in dreams things are already so weird and here I was hanging off a jacked up 82 bustle back Seville braless talking to my third ex husband who was digging my pool. Anyway, even though it was early I offered him some wine from the box in the fridge and was able to divert his attention while I jumped down from the car and found a bra but after I got dressed and came back he was gone and instead of a pool they were adding a third floor on the house and the Cadillac was gone and just Pepper the blind peacock was in the garage.
So if I had to determine the meaning of this dream it would be to never alter the suspension of a classic car and always wear a bra in case unexpected guests drop by.
I wish I really was getting a pool.
6 and I were having an in the ground pool built in the front yard, but for some reason we had to live in the garage while they were digging it. I had a hot plate on a shelf and a mini fridge which is weird because in real life we have a full size fridge in the garage. Anyway, we all three had to sleep in the car, my Grammies old car, an 82 Caddy, but in my dream 6 had put a lift kit on it so it was all jacked up and hard to get in and out of. So in my dream, 6 had left for work and Wyatt had gone to school and I was just getting up and stepping out of the jacked up Caddy still in my pajamas when this voice says, "which side do you want the deep end" and I turned around and saw that it was my favorite ex husband, #3! I was really excited to see him and of course I suppose he was shocked out of his mind to see me, but I could hardly talk to him because half way out of the Caddy I realized I was in my nightgown and not wearing a bra and I started freaking out because I was afraid my boobs looked all saggy. I mean in all reality they were probably saggy when we were married, but in my dream it was a huge deal and I didn't want to jump down from the car but I had to get in the house to put on a bra. You can imagine how stressful this was in my dream because in dreams things are already so weird and here I was hanging off a jacked up 82 bustle back Seville braless talking to my third ex husband who was digging my pool. Anyway, even though it was early I offered him some wine from the box in the fridge and was able to divert his attention while I jumped down from the car and found a bra but after I got dressed and came back he was gone and instead of a pool they were adding a third floor on the house and the Cadillac was gone and just Pepper the blind peacock was in the garage.
So if I had to determine the meaning of this dream it would be to never alter the suspension of a classic car and always wear a bra in case unexpected guests drop by.
I wish I really was getting a pool.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Small Talk
I don't have anything interesting to say today, but since I don't let that stop me any other day here goes...
Sometimes I feel really bad for Belle. The other sheep don't like her because she herds them and she spends all her time at the gate yelling for us to come get her or with Joe and Molly and so she probably thinks she's a bony old man horse, an ill-tempered spotted mule or a fat lady in pajamas. The way I figure, since there aren't any mirrors in nature you just assume you look like what you see. Poor Baby Belle, we're going to need to find her a good analyst.
My dogs have fleas and we're all going crazy. Supposedly there's some kind of flea drop shortage in this country and all the stores that have it are charging a bazillion dollars for it so I ordered some online for HALF the price and got free shipping but we have to wait three to five days for it to get here. I feel sorry for the boys, but I feel sorry for me too.
Is election season almost over and can that sh!t get ANY crazier?
I want (6) to paint the entire interior of the house. Right now it's all panelling which I'm sure was stunning at some point in time, but I'm really ready for some taupe walls with white trim. Just sayin.
Last night I made my favorite dinner in the whole world. I could eat it every night and I would too if I didn't live with a bunch of nellies who insist on meal time variety. I should have taken a picture because it truly is a sight to behold. Here's the link to my world famous trailerpark chicken and rice.
Ummmm, so, ok, I think that about wraps things up for today. I need to go get on with my fabulous life of laundry and trying to beat Kathy Stiller's high score in Bejeweled.
See ya tomorrow.
Sometimes I feel really bad for Belle. The other sheep don't like her because she herds them and she spends all her time at the gate yelling for us to come get her or with Joe and Molly and so she probably thinks she's a bony old man horse, an ill-tempered spotted mule or a fat lady in pajamas. The way I figure, since there aren't any mirrors in nature you just assume you look like what you see. Poor Baby Belle, we're going to need to find her a good analyst.
My dogs have fleas and we're all going crazy. Supposedly there's some kind of flea drop shortage in this country and all the stores that have it are charging a bazillion dollars for it so I ordered some online for HALF the price and got free shipping but we have to wait three to five days for it to get here. I feel sorry for the boys, but I feel sorry for me too.
Is election season almost over and can that sh!t get ANY crazier?
I want (6) to paint the entire interior of the house. Right now it's all panelling which I'm sure was stunning at some point in time, but I'm really ready for some taupe walls with white trim. Just sayin.
Last night I made my favorite dinner in the whole world. I could eat it every night and I would too if I didn't live with a bunch of nellies who insist on meal time variety. I should have taken a picture because it truly is a sight to behold. Here's the link to my world famous trailerpark chicken and rice.
Ummmm, so, ok, I think that about wraps things up for today. I need to go get on with my fabulous life of laundry and trying to beat Kathy Stiller's high score in Bejeweled.
See ya tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Home Fires Burning...
Great, I'm living with a firestarter.
Last night as I sat doing what I usually do on Monday nights, watching Hoarders and proudly feeling like the Queen of Clean, a faint smell of smoke wafted through the air. I immediately jumped from my seat yelling "FIRE", but I have to be honest, deep down I knew that someday this moment would come, and I felt quite smug as I anticipated standing in my driveway surrounded by fire trucks wearing underpants. Back to the story... The smell of smoke was strong as we searched the house only to find that the smell was isolated to Wyatt's room. It wasn't outside, it wasn't in the bathroom, it wasn't in the kitchen and it wasn't upstairs. Was it a wonky electrical outlet? Curtains on the baseboard? Was Jose' Chip some sort of demonic fire pig sent here by the forces of darkness to destroy us? I was starting to freak out a tiny bit but I knew I had to be strong for my family and maintain a level head so I could lead us safely from the raging inferno. As it turns out, as I was going over exit strategies, counting dogs and trying to decide how much food to pack to sustain us in a time of crisis, 6 was going over every inch of Wyatt's room and that's when he found it. The smoking gun (fire pun intended). A recently extinguished candle and a beat up Bic. I started to shake like a woman gone mad as my finger uncontrollably rose to the front of Wyatt's fearful face and my voice rose to levels that even the neighbors could hear and it was without control or restraint that I yelled WHATHEFWEREYOUTHINKING!!!!! But I didn't say "f", I said the whole word just like my Mother used to say to me. The smell of smoke was beginning to fade as tears rose to my young son's eyes and I realized that maybe, just maybe I was having some sort of psychotic break and needed to step off a minute. I took a deep breath and decided the best way to fight this fire was with love and I then went on to explain to him that it was because I loved him that he was grounded from the t.v and internet for the forseeable future and that if he would have just friGGin told us he had lit a mother f'n candle this whole freak show could have been avoided. I also told him that there was never ever any reason to be afraid of me and that he could tell me anything, but I don't think he was on board with that last night and I think I see a little bridge building in my future.
As Wyatt quietly and albeit fearfully settled down in his chair with a book and I settled back down in front of my program, I began mentally assessing my parenting skills and that's when it hit me... When I was eleven years old I was a chain smoker and if memory serves me correctly I think I may have even been engaged. So all in all, I guess things aren't so bad, I just need to get a few more fire extinguishers.
Last night as I sat doing what I usually do on Monday nights, watching Hoarders and proudly feeling like the Queen of Clean, a faint smell of smoke wafted through the air. I immediately jumped from my seat yelling "FIRE", but I have to be honest, deep down I knew that someday this moment would come, and I felt quite smug as I anticipated standing in my driveway surrounded by fire trucks wearing underpants. Back to the story... The smell of smoke was strong as we searched the house only to find that the smell was isolated to Wyatt's room. It wasn't outside, it wasn't in the bathroom, it wasn't in the kitchen and it wasn't upstairs. Was it a wonky electrical outlet? Curtains on the baseboard? Was Jose' Chip some sort of demonic fire pig sent here by the forces of darkness to destroy us? I was starting to freak out a tiny bit but I knew I had to be strong for my family and maintain a level head so I could lead us safely from the raging inferno. As it turns out, as I was going over exit strategies, counting dogs and trying to decide how much food to pack to sustain us in a time of crisis, 6 was going over every inch of Wyatt's room and that's when he found it. The smoking gun (fire pun intended). A recently extinguished candle and a beat up Bic. I started to shake like a woman gone mad as my finger uncontrollably rose to the front of Wyatt's fearful face and my voice rose to levels that even the neighbors could hear and it was without control or restraint that I yelled WHATHEFWEREYOUTHINKING!!!!! But I didn't say "f", I said the whole word just like my Mother used to say to me. The smell of smoke was beginning to fade as tears rose to my young son's eyes and I realized that maybe, just maybe I was having some sort of psychotic break and needed to step off a minute. I took a deep breath and decided the best way to fight this fire was with love and I then went on to explain to him that it was because I loved him that he was grounded from the t.v and internet for the forseeable future and that if he would have just friGGin told us he had lit a mother f'n candle this whole freak show could have been avoided. I also told him that there was never ever any reason to be afraid of me and that he could tell me anything, but I don't think he was on board with that last night and I think I see a little bridge building in my future.
As Wyatt quietly and albeit fearfully settled down in his chair with a book and I settled back down in front of my program, I began mentally assessing my parenting skills and that's when it hit me... When I was eleven years old I was a chain smoker and if memory serves me correctly I think I may have even been engaged. So all in all, I guess things aren't so bad, I just need to get a few more fire extinguishers.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Morning Report
What a weekend...
For those of you just joining in, my family moved to Oregon in 2006 to care for my aging Grandparents and stayed after they passed to take care of the "farm" (my menagerie) and the property. The house was originally a barn that my Grampy painstakingly turned into a beautiful home that my Grammy painstakingly filled to the brim with every piece of sparkling glass and tchotchke she could get her hands on from every Goodwill, thrift store and estate sale in at least three counties. Now, mind you, when she was here to keep the place up everything was always white glove ready and very Taj Mahally and museum like and that was great, but put my family, three dogs and countless other pig sty inducing elements into the mix and you have one giant chaotic clutter filled nightmare. Add to that, my grandparents were both hoarders before hoarders were cool, but my Grammy was a closet hoarder. Literally. Every closet and cupboard in this house is stuffed full of old magazines, newspaper clippings, maps, calendars and the elastic from every pair of underpants my Grampy ever wore. I'm not kidding, and don't ask, I don't know. There are half empty bottles of Flex shampoo from 1973 in the bathroom and the service manual from a washing machine purchased before the Maytag Man was even born in the utility room. So the point I'm trying to make here is that we are still in the process of sorting through and organizing things in the house and if I were a betting man which I'm not because I'm not a man and I don't have enough money to bet with even if it's a sure thing, I would say this is a job we will never complete, and really... I'm ok with that. So that's how we spent our weekend and Wendy is coming out today to help me finish up, but I have to go to town and pick her up because her DBB is looking for a job today and has to use her car. I guess the job he had let him go because "there weren't enough hours" to keep him on. Ummm hmmm. Sure. I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he's a giant loser or anything and he's probably just going to use her car to go to douche school today to learn how to be an even bigger douche wad than he already is. Like that's even possible.
Ok, so the other thing we did this weekend was start working on the upstairs because we're turning it into a craft room for ME! 6 built me a ginormous (really huge) table and we put all my shelves up there and all my crochet stuff and soap stuff and candle stuff and craft stuff and I'll have comfy chairs and a t.v and a phone and a computer and a mini fridge and so if you need me for anything look upstairs.
Thats all.
For those of you just joining in, my family moved to Oregon in 2006 to care for my aging Grandparents and stayed after they passed to take care of the "farm" (my menagerie) and the property. The house was originally a barn that my Grampy painstakingly turned into a beautiful home that my Grammy painstakingly filled to the brim with every piece of sparkling glass and tchotchke she could get her hands on from every Goodwill, thrift store and estate sale in at least three counties. Now, mind you, when she was here to keep the place up everything was always white glove ready and very Taj Mahally and museum like and that was great, but put my family, three dogs and countless other pig sty inducing elements into the mix and you have one giant chaotic clutter filled nightmare. Add to that, my grandparents were both hoarders before hoarders were cool, but my Grammy was a closet hoarder. Literally. Every closet and cupboard in this house is stuffed full of old magazines, newspaper clippings, maps, calendars and the elastic from every pair of underpants my Grampy ever wore. I'm not kidding, and don't ask, I don't know. There are half empty bottles of Flex shampoo from 1973 in the bathroom and the service manual from a washing machine purchased before the Maytag Man was even born in the utility room. So the point I'm trying to make here is that we are still in the process of sorting through and organizing things in the house and if I were a betting man which I'm not because I'm not a man and I don't have enough money to bet with even if it's a sure thing, I would say this is a job we will never complete, and really... I'm ok with that. So that's how we spent our weekend and Wendy is coming out today to help me finish up, but I have to go to town and pick her up because her DBB is looking for a job today and has to use her car. I guess the job he had let him go because "there weren't enough hours" to keep him on. Ummm hmmm. Sure. I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that he's a giant loser or anything and he's probably just going to use her car to go to douche school today to learn how to be an even bigger douche wad than he already is. Like that's even possible.
Ok, so the other thing we did this weekend was start working on the upstairs because we're turning it into a craft room for ME! 6 built me a ginormous (really huge) table and we put all my shelves up there and all my crochet stuff and soap stuff and candle stuff and craft stuff and I'll have comfy chairs and a t.v and a phone and a computer and a mini fridge and so if you need me for anything look upstairs.
He also built me a new soap mold.
And I love it.
Thats all.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Guinea Pigs and Gynecologists
Do you hate the dentist?
I hate the dentist. Not as much as I hate the lady parts doctor but I hate the dentist and that is the ONLY reason I'm absolutely thrilled not to have insurance right now. Let me clarify something before I continue. I don't hate my dentist as in the man who is my dentist, I just despise his chosen profession. I'm sure that there are many very nice people who are dentists and lady parts doctors but the thought of either one of them telling me to "open wide" sends chills down my spine.
I had to go to the dentist last year because I had a rotten tooth that was giving me fits so I went to my Mothers dentist here in Oregon City. I loved everyone in the office, and I'm not just saying that because I'm Facebook friends with some of them, I really really like them and I totally understand that in these difficult economic times you have to take whatever job you can get and that's why they're working in a house of horrors. I get that. But how do they sleep at night... Do the sounds of my little children's screams echo in their mind? Do they toss and turn in the night as they dream of drills come to life burrowing out pockets of un-numbed decay? And I have to wonder, do bad dentists go to a place with no nitrous and undergo never ending root canals by a dentist who suffers from Parkinson's Disease when they die, because if that's the case I have the name of at least two heartless M'er F'ers who need to go on that list. These are the kind of things I think about when I think about going to the dentist, and I don't EVEN want to tell you what I think about when I think about going the lady parts doctor...
And whatever you do, do not EVEREVEREVER Google images for "pap smear"
Oh my gawd, I have to go pour acid in my eyes and think about the dentist again.
Change the subject.
Wyatt got a pig :)
He was such and emotional wreck yesterday, so I decided to take him to town with me and I had every intention of just buying him an ice cream (health food ice cream) but he kept bursting into tears and it was totally breaking my heart so I had NO other choice but to wheel in to the pet store and try to stifle his suffering with a new critter. At first it didn't work, he wasn't into the whole "replacement pet" idea, but I persisted and kept really talking up the pigs and parakeets, but he remained pretty blahze' about the whole idea. I managed to convince him that a little pig would wash away his sorrows and finally, after about thirty minutes we (I) picked out the cutest pig in the pen, that we (I) decided to call Jose' (Wyatt calls him Chip. Whatever). Sadly, there was no instant bond with Jose' Chip or quick relief from the pain of losing Carlos which for me is hard to understand because I'm into that whole immediate gratification thing, but as the afternoon went on and we got Jose's Chip's cage set up and he held him and played with him a little more, he started to feel a little bit better, and by dinner time he was acting more like his usual obnoxious eleven year old self again.
The pain of losing Carlos will linger on (kind of like the smell where his hutch sat) but little boys are pretty resilient and you know what I always say, a new pig makes everything better ❤
I hate the dentist. Not as much as I hate the lady parts doctor but I hate the dentist and that is the ONLY reason I'm absolutely thrilled not to have insurance right now. Let me clarify something before I continue. I don't hate my dentist as in the man who is my dentist, I just despise his chosen profession. I'm sure that there are many very nice people who are dentists and lady parts doctors but the thought of either one of them telling me to "open wide" sends chills down my spine.
I had to go to the dentist last year because I had a rotten tooth that was giving me fits so I went to my Mothers dentist here in Oregon City. I loved everyone in the office, and I'm not just saying that because I'm Facebook friends with some of them, I really really like them and I totally understand that in these difficult economic times you have to take whatever job you can get and that's why they're working in a house of horrors. I get that. But how do they sleep at night... Do the sounds of my little children's screams echo in their mind? Do they toss and turn in the night as they dream of drills come to life burrowing out pockets of un-numbed decay? And I have to wonder, do bad dentists go to a place with no nitrous and undergo never ending root canals by a dentist who suffers from Parkinson's Disease when they die, because if that's the case I have the name of at least two heartless M'er F'ers who need to go on that list. These are the kind of things I think about when I think about going to the dentist, and I don't EVEN want to tell you what I think about when I think about going the lady parts doctor...
And whatever you do, do not EVEREVEREVER Google images for "pap smear"Oh my gawd, I have to go pour acid in my eyes and think about the dentist again.
Change the subject.
Wyatt got a pig :)
He was such and emotional wreck yesterday, so I decided to take him to town with me and I had every intention of just buying him an ice cream (health food ice cream) but he kept bursting into tears and it was totally breaking my heart so I had NO other choice but to wheel in to the pet store and try to stifle his suffering with a new critter. At first it didn't work, he wasn't into the whole "replacement pet" idea, but I persisted and kept really talking up the pigs and parakeets, but he remained pretty blahze' about the whole idea. I managed to convince him that a little pig would wash away his sorrows and finally, after about thirty minutes we (I) picked out the cutest pig in the pen, that we (I) decided to call Jose' (Wyatt calls him Chip. Whatever). Sadly, there was no instant bond with Jose' Chip or quick relief from the pain of losing Carlos which for me is hard to understand because I'm into that whole immediate gratification thing, but as the afternoon went on and we got Jose's Chip's cage set up and he held him and played with him a little more, he started to feel a little bit better, and by dinner time he was acting more like his usual obnoxious eleven year old self again.
The pain of losing Carlos will linger on (kind of like the smell where his hutch sat) but little boys are pretty resilient and you know what I always say, a new pig makes everything better ❤
Thursday, October 21, 2010
This Post Was Approved By Me
For a child raised on t.v, campaign season is a killer for me. I get so frickin sick of hearing how rotten the other guy is and not ever even hearing why the jerk off that "brought me this message" is any better. All they do is tell you whats wrong with the other a-hole and in my opinion they're all a bunch of a-holes. Not one of them ever does what they say they're going to do because they CAN'T. But for some reason we all keep holding out this ridiculous hope that one day one of them will.
Here's what iThink.
Steve Jobs should run for president and we should clear out the entire House and Senate and start over. Reboot so to speak. And if you prefer a PC you could vote for Bill Gates. Now that would be a campaign season, iMagine the adds... And then if whoever we elected wanted to run for a second term we could just call it campaign 2.0 and download the upgrades. I think I'm really on to something here.
Ok, I have sad news.
Carlos died yesterday. Wyatt went out to feed his rabbits and then crawled in Carlos' hutch to play with him and Carlos was dead and Wyatt nearly lost his mind. He hadn't been dead very long though because he wasn't a board bunny yet thank gawd because Wyatt would have really lost it if he was flat and stiff. I'm hoping that Wyatt pulls out of his emotional spiral soon because we're between insurance coverage right now and I can't afford to pay for therapy out-of-pocket, but I'm telling you, this really has him shaken. He's home from school today because he'll be doing fine and then all of a sudden he starts crying and if subconsciously there's something deeper to this I totally blame his Jackass Dad and Wendy partly too, because if his Dad paid child support Wyatt could wear name brand shoes and if Wendy wasn't with her douchebag boyfriend, well, I'm sure her db boyfriend has something to do with Wyatt's emotional instability and given time I'll think of a reason. So today I'm faced with the dilemma of rather or not I should get Wyatt another rabbit. With all of the other livestock we have around here I don't know if he really needs a replacement rabbit and I'm wondering if the emptiness he's feeling inside could maybe be filled with fro-yo instead (remember we have that new place in town.) Soft serve always makes me feel better. I don't know, what do you think? A new rabbit? Maybe a ferret! No hamsters. I had hamsters when I was a kid and one ate the other ones head off and if anything in my life has left a permanent scar it's that. Maybe a guinea pig. I love pigs. I know, I know this isn't about me, whatever.
Ok, he's crying again, I have to go.
Here's what iThink.
Steve Jobs should run for president and we should clear out the entire House and Senate and start over. Reboot so to speak. And if you prefer a PC you could vote for Bill Gates. Now that would be a campaign season, iMagine the adds... And then if whoever we elected wanted to run for a second term we could just call it campaign 2.0 and download the upgrades. I think I'm really on to something here.
Ok, I have sad news.
Carlos died yesterday. Wyatt went out to feed his rabbits and then crawled in Carlos' hutch to play with him and Carlos was dead and Wyatt nearly lost his mind. He hadn't been dead very long though because he wasn't a board bunny yet thank gawd because Wyatt would have really lost it if he was flat and stiff. I'm hoping that Wyatt pulls out of his emotional spiral soon because we're between insurance coverage right now and I can't afford to pay for therapy out-of-pocket, but I'm telling you, this really has him shaken. He's home from school today because he'll be doing fine and then all of a sudden he starts crying and if subconsciously there's something deeper to this I totally blame his Jackass Dad and Wendy partly too, because if his Dad paid child support Wyatt could wear name brand shoes and if Wendy wasn't with her douchebag boyfriend, well, I'm sure her db boyfriend has something to do with Wyatt's emotional instability and given time I'll think of a reason. So today I'm faced with the dilemma of rather or not I should get Wyatt another rabbit. With all of the other livestock we have around here I don't know if he really needs a replacement rabbit and I'm wondering if the emptiness he's feeling inside could maybe be filled with fro-yo instead (remember we have that new place in town.) Soft serve always makes me feel better. I don't know, what do you think? A new rabbit? Maybe a ferret! No hamsters. I had hamsters when I was a kid and one ate the other ones head off and if anything in my life has left a permanent scar it's that. Maybe a guinea pig. I love pigs. I know, I know this isn't about me, whatever.
Ok, he's crying again, I have to go.
RIP Carlos
Hoppy Trails.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Branded
Do you call it a grocery store or a supermarket?
A basket or a buggy?
I don't really care what you call it, but in case you're wondering I call it the grocery store and I put my stuff in a cart. The reason I'm asking is because this morning from the moment I got out of bed I was blinded by the branding of our grocery store and it kind of grossed me out. My coffee, coffee filters, coffee creamer, bread, lunch snacks, cheese, sandwich bags, etc... So then I started looking around and that stupid trashy Winco "Hytop" label was everywhere and it made me wonder if that stupid logo was kind of like that stupid stores "tramp stamp."
Because if it is, which it obviously is, we are paying them to do their advertising! They have branded me and my entire house and I (6) paid them to do it and that pisses me off because all it does is tell everyone who comes into our home that I'm to cheap and trashy to shop at a better store.
Right off the bat people are going to know that If I invite them over for a pasta dinner they're going to get this...
And not this...
If I offer them a baked good they'll get this...
And not this
So I've decided the only option I have is to remove all the packaging from everything as soon as I get home from the store. Strip the paper labels from the cans take the "creme rolls" out of their little plastic bags, get one of those fancy paper sacks from the high dollar coffee aisle and fill it with my Hytop coffee and start stacking all the toilet paper on top of the tank.
But I need to figure out how to get all my produce out of the bags so it will look like this...
Instead of this
But of course the even bigger question is how to go from this...
To this
Well maybe not that, I don't want to be the star of a Tampax commercial, but you get my drift.
A basket or a buggy?
I don't really care what you call it, but in case you're wondering I call it the grocery store and I put my stuff in a cart. The reason I'm asking is because this morning from the moment I got out of bed I was blinded by the branding of our grocery store and it kind of grossed me out. My coffee, coffee filters, coffee creamer, bread, lunch snacks, cheese, sandwich bags, etc... So then I started looking around and that stupid trashy Winco "Hytop" label was everywhere and it made me wonder if that stupid logo was kind of like that stupid stores "tramp stamp."
Because if it is, which it obviously is, we are paying them to do their advertising! They have branded me and my entire house and I (6) paid them to do it and that pisses me off because all it does is tell everyone who comes into our home that I'm to cheap and trashy to shop at a better store.Right off the bat people are going to know that If I invite them over for a pasta dinner they're going to get this...And not this...If I offer them a baked good they'll get this...
And not this
So I've decided the only option I have is to remove all the packaging from everything as soon as I get home from the store. Strip the paper labels from the cans take the "creme rolls" out of their little plastic bags, get one of those fancy paper sacks from the high dollar coffee aisle and fill it with my Hytop coffee and start stacking all the toilet paper on top of the tank.
But I need to figure out how to get all my produce out of the bags so it will look like this...
Instead of this
But of course the even bigger question is how to go from this...
To thisWell maybe not that, I don't want to be the star of a Tampax commercial, but you get my drift.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
The Tire Kicker
You are NOT going to believe this!
Yesterday I checked my email and there was money there from soap sales!!! I know, can you even believe it! I thought a few of you cheapskates must have forked over the dough for some suds or dish rags but then I discovered it was an Etsy "Sneak Attack" and it wasn't even any of my friends that bought stuff to make me feel good, but REAL PEOPLE! No kidding! People that didn't feel obligated actually bought stuff I made : D
Wendy came out yesterday and that was fun. Since she doesn't read the blog I can tell you how excited I am that she weighs 175 pounds. I am going to do everything in my power to push her over 200 and then maybe her douchebag boyfriend won't like her anymore and dump her and then I'll sign her up with Jenny Craig for Christmas and she'll live happily ever after. I know that sounds mean, but get over it. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I was just relieved that I had a fresh bag of double dipped chocolate peanuts, a brand new bag of bagels and some spreadable cream cheese on hand.
Speaking of douchebags, we had one out here kicking tires on the goat wagon (my Grampy's suburban) last night. It's been sitting in the barn for almost two years and since I have a bad feeling the barn is going to fall down around it, I figured I better get it listed and sold. This one guy responded to the listing right away and after multiple email and phone communications 6 told him he could come out after work last night since he was being so persistent about seeing it asap. So this DB rolls in just as the sun is going down which is usually the time of day you'll find me sitting at a table somewhere eating, but since this jerk just haaaaad to see the goat wagon laaaaaast night, I selflessly put my needs aside (not like I had to be there, but I'm nosey like that and want to be in the loop.) Keep in mind this jackass had been warned repeatedly that the vehicle was used as a farm truck, hauling the occasional sheep, goat and what have you, but he obviously had a very different vision stuck in his giant inflated head, because even after we swept out the sheep poop, Big Mac wrappers and mice nests he was still visibly disappointed in what he saw. Now remember, it's past my eating time so my tolerance is dropping as this jerk in his L.L Bean sandals and khaki shorts keeps stumbling around the barn in the dark making snarky comments and my need to either eat something or hit something was beginning to rise. Let me also point out to you that we have not missvalued this automobile. We do not believe it has travelled streets of gold, nor do we think the worn carpet is spun from silk. We priced it modestly at 1500.00. The body is straight, it starts, and you can drive it home, so in my mind, fairs fair and this M'er F'er could just step off. After about thirty minutes he throws up the big heavy sigh and roll of the eyes and asks how much we'll take. Before 6 even had a chance to compose a thought I blurted out fiftennhundreddollars. Mr. Thinkshessocool looked at me, rose his eyebrow, curled his upper lip and then looked back at 6 assuming 6 was some sort of idiot willing to disregard the words of a wife and started to ask again and before he could get his words out again I said fifteenhundreddollars. Jackass. Don't mess with me at mealtime, especially when it comes to my Grampy's goat wagon. I don't think he'll be back.
Afterwards 6 took Wyatt and I to the new help yourself soft serve yogurt place for dinner so the evening ended up not being a total loss because you know what I always say, "ice cream for dinner makes everything better." And don't judge, there was fruit and other healthy stuff to put on top and it wasn't even really ice cream, it was yogurt and everybody knows yogurt is health food.
Yesterday I checked my email and there was money there from soap sales!!! I know, can you even believe it! I thought a few of you cheapskates must have forked over the dough for some suds or dish rags but then I discovered it was an Etsy "Sneak Attack" and it wasn't even any of my friends that bought stuff to make me feel good, but REAL PEOPLE! No kidding! People that didn't feel obligated actually bought stuff I made : D
Wendy came out yesterday and that was fun. Since she doesn't read the blog I can tell you how excited I am that she weighs 175 pounds. I am going to do everything in my power to push her over 200 and then maybe her douchebag boyfriend won't like her anymore and dump her and then I'll sign her up with Jenny Craig for Christmas and she'll live happily ever after. I know that sounds mean, but get over it. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I was just relieved that I had a fresh bag of double dipped chocolate peanuts, a brand new bag of bagels and some spreadable cream cheese on hand.
Speaking of douchebags, we had one out here kicking tires on the goat wagon (my Grampy's suburban) last night. It's been sitting in the barn for almost two years and since I have a bad feeling the barn is going to fall down around it, I figured I better get it listed and sold. This one guy responded to the listing right away and after multiple email and phone communications 6 told him he could come out after work last night since he was being so persistent about seeing it asap. So this DB rolls in just as the sun is going down which is usually the time of day you'll find me sitting at a table somewhere eating, but since this jerk just haaaaad to see the goat wagon laaaaaast night, I selflessly put my needs aside (not like I had to be there, but I'm nosey like that and want to be in the loop.) Keep in mind this jackass had been warned repeatedly that the vehicle was used as a farm truck, hauling the occasional sheep, goat and what have you, but he obviously had a very different vision stuck in his giant inflated head, because even after we swept out the sheep poop, Big Mac wrappers and mice nests he was still visibly disappointed in what he saw. Now remember, it's past my eating time so my tolerance is dropping as this jerk in his L.L Bean sandals and khaki shorts keeps stumbling around the barn in the dark making snarky comments and my need to either eat something or hit something was beginning to rise. Let me also point out to you that we have not missvalued this automobile. We do not believe it has travelled streets of gold, nor do we think the worn carpet is spun from silk. We priced it modestly at 1500.00. The body is straight, it starts, and you can drive it home, so in my mind, fairs fair and this M'er F'er could just step off. After about thirty minutes he throws up the big heavy sigh and roll of the eyes and asks how much we'll take. Before 6 even had a chance to compose a thought I blurted out fiftennhundreddollars. Mr. Thinkshessocool looked at me, rose his eyebrow, curled his upper lip and then looked back at 6 assuming 6 was some sort of idiot willing to disregard the words of a wife and started to ask again and before he could get his words out again I said fifteenhundreddollars. Jackass. Don't mess with me at mealtime, especially when it comes to my Grampy's goat wagon. I don't think he'll be back.
Afterwards 6 took Wyatt and I to the new help yourself soft serve yogurt place for dinner so the evening ended up not being a total loss because you know what I always say, "ice cream for dinner makes everything better." And don't judge, there was fruit and other healthy stuff to put on top and it wasn't even really ice cream, it was yogurt and everybody knows yogurt is health food.
Monday, October 18, 2010
School Conference
When we left off I was heading out to Wyatt's first 6th grade conference. I had been prepped all the previous week, so there were no great expectations swirling about my brain. No visions of math angels beaming their glory down upon us or singing their grammatical praises in beautiful harmony whilst I sat in short chairs with my knees stuck to the underside of booger encrusted tables. No, that was not to be the case at this conference, and as a matter of fact, I've come to believe that those conferences are reserved for the families of children who eat at least five servings of fruits and vegetables a day and change their underpants, because God knows I've never been to one.
So when I walked in the classroom I was prepared for how things were going to go. I knew what he was going to say and I knew what I was going to say. I would promise we would do things like read and study blah, blah, blah, we'd shake hands and out the door I'd go. Been there, done this. I've had husbands longer than he's had his teaching certificate so I knew the drill better than he did. I thought.
Before I start the story lets all join hands and pray that Mr Ferguson never discovers my blog.
Shall we?
Ok.
I walked into the class and there he sat. Peter Griffin. I'm not even kidding.
I frickin died. I remembered from the getting to know you night that he was kind of goofy looking, but that day the resemblance to Peter was uncanny. I wanted to laugh SO bad that my eye started twitching. Like really twitching alot and I started laughing really loud at things he said that weren't even that funny because at least it was an outlet for my hysteria. I kept thinking to myself that this guy HAD to know he was a dead ringer for Peter. When he gets up and looks in the mirror every morning he must see Peter looking back at him. Did he do Peter impressions at parties? Oh my gawd, what if he had a girlfriend named Lois. Or a dog named Brian! It was all too much. The guy must have thought that I was a goose short of a gaggle because I sat there twitching and laughing like someone in need of a window to lick. It was torture.
But once I started biting my tongue really hard and stepping on my own toe I was able to concentrate a little more and this is what he said... Wyatt was, "the most distracting, disruptive, off topic, charismatic, charming, entertaining kid he'd ever met." He said Wyatt had a way of leading the entire class including himself (Mr Griffin) off topic that was truly epic. Never before had he taught a student that worked so effortlessly at not working. I told him (Mr Griffin) that during Wendy's 4th grade conference her teacher asked me if I understood how some children were very easily distracted and when I said yes she informed me that Wendy was the one who distracted those children so whatever it is Wyatt has his sister has it too and I didn't know where either one of them got it. He just sat there and stared at me. Then he went on to tell me that Wyatt was doing very poorly in his academic classes but was getting an A+ in band and citizenship. I suggested that maybe Wyatt just drop out now and strike up a one man band and tour the countryside and it was that moment when I realized that although Mr. Griffin was funny looking, he wasn't necessarily a funny man, because he didn't even laugh when I said that. So I told him I was just joking about the one man band thing and we would be making sure Wyatt buckles down and starts taking things more seriously. Again he just stared at me.
Anyways, Wyatt has time to bring up his grades, so I don't need to buy him a drum set that fits on his back just yet, and if I learned anything at all from this conference it's this... Next time 6 goes instead of me!
So when I walked in the classroom I was prepared for how things were going to go. I knew what he was going to say and I knew what I was going to say. I would promise we would do things like read and study blah, blah, blah, we'd shake hands and out the door I'd go. Been there, done this. I've had husbands longer than he's had his teaching certificate so I knew the drill better than he did. I thought.
Before I start the story lets all join hands and pray that Mr Ferguson never discovers my blog.
Shall we?
Ok.
I walked into the class and there he sat. Peter Griffin. I'm not even kidding.
I frickin died. I remembered from the getting to know you night that he was kind of goofy looking, but that day the resemblance to Peter was uncanny. I wanted to laugh SO bad that my eye started twitching. Like really twitching alot and I started laughing really loud at things he said that weren't even that funny because at least it was an outlet for my hysteria. I kept thinking to myself that this guy HAD to know he was a dead ringer for Peter. When he gets up and looks in the mirror every morning he must see Peter looking back at him. Did he do Peter impressions at parties? Oh my gawd, what if he had a girlfriend named Lois. Or a dog named Brian! It was all too much. The guy must have thought that I was a goose short of a gaggle because I sat there twitching and laughing like someone in need of a window to lick. It was torture.But once I started biting my tongue really hard and stepping on my own toe I was able to concentrate a little more and this is what he said... Wyatt was, "the most distracting, disruptive, off topic, charismatic, charming, entertaining kid he'd ever met." He said Wyatt had a way of leading the entire class including himself (Mr Griffin) off topic that was truly epic. Never before had he taught a student that worked so effortlessly at not working. I told him (Mr Griffin) that during Wendy's 4th grade conference her teacher asked me if I understood how some children were very easily distracted and when I said yes she informed me that Wendy was the one who distracted those children so whatever it is Wyatt has his sister has it too and I didn't know where either one of them got it. He just sat there and stared at me. Then he went on to tell me that Wyatt was doing very poorly in his academic classes but was getting an A+ in band and citizenship. I suggested that maybe Wyatt just drop out now and strike up a one man band and tour the countryside and it was that moment when I realized that although Mr. Griffin was funny looking, he wasn't necessarily a funny man, because he didn't even laugh when I said that. So I told him I was just joking about the one man band thing and we would be making sure Wyatt buckles down and starts taking things more seriously. Again he just stared at me.
Anyways, Wyatt has time to bring up his grades, so I don't need to buy him a drum set that fits on his back just yet, and if I learned anything at all from this conference it's this... Next time 6 goes instead of me!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
On The Road Again
Tuesday I walked into the utility room at least four times to start a load of laundry, heard the washer going and turned around and walked out. After dinner I realized Wyatt has his rock tumbler running and it wasn't the washer after all. I figure at this rate I won't get any wash done for the next four to six weeks.
I have a bunch of stuff listed on Etsy and haven't sold anything. I've decided Etsy is more like bring & brag in grade school. You never get rid of anything, you just show it off. I'm going to list some junk on Ebay today, but I don't figure I'll find my fortune there either. Remember when Ebay was like one big garbage sale? Now it's just a bunch of new stuff. I could have a big garage sale, but I can't check my facebook and tend to a garage sale at the same time like I can with Etsy or Ebay.
Buddy somehow ripped his toenail off this morning and then decided to herd Molly Mule and nipped her leg. I'm not a doctor, but I ended up having to play one in the pasture before I even had my coffee this morning. Buddy's ripped off nail made me throw up in my mouth a little but it doesn't seem to bother him and I really felt sorry for Molly. She was just minding her own business when the self proclaimed wonder dog came out of nowhere and decided she needed to move. They're both ok, but Molly's keeping a pretty close eye on her new nemesis.
6 has taken a new job. He's tired of driving log truck and it no longer affords us the lifestyle we've grown accustomed too. You know, like eating AND paying bills. We also decided that after recently attending trailer park school and being informed that the mobile spaces need to be "run like a business," Wyatt and his condition, the menagerie and my intermittent ailments it would be difficult for me to get a real job, and actually, that works out well for me because the thought of having to make myself socially presentable every day is rather daunting. Anyway, 6 has put lots of thought and effort into finding what he feels is the best company to work for and applied to and was hired by an over the road long haul company that provides great benefits, retirement and bonuses. For him the biggest bonus will probably be not being nagged on a regular basis or having to change the sheets on my side of the bed ;)
I have a bunch of stuff listed on Etsy and haven't sold anything. I've decided Etsy is more like bring & brag in grade school. You never get rid of anything, you just show it off. I'm going to list some junk on Ebay today, but I don't figure I'll find my fortune there either. Remember when Ebay was like one big garbage sale? Now it's just a bunch of new stuff. I could have a big garage sale, but I can't check my facebook and tend to a garage sale at the same time like I can with Etsy or Ebay.
Buddy somehow ripped his toenail off this morning and then decided to herd Molly Mule and nipped her leg. I'm not a doctor, but I ended up having to play one in the pasture before I even had my coffee this morning. Buddy's ripped off nail made me throw up in my mouth a little but it doesn't seem to bother him and I really felt sorry for Molly. She was just minding her own business when the self proclaimed wonder dog came out of nowhere and decided she needed to move. They're both ok, but Molly's keeping a pretty close eye on her new nemesis.
6 has taken a new job. He's tired of driving log truck and it no longer affords us the lifestyle we've grown accustomed too. You know, like eating AND paying bills. We also decided that after recently attending trailer park school and being informed that the mobile spaces need to be "run like a business," Wyatt and his condition, the menagerie and my intermittent ailments it would be difficult for me to get a real job, and actually, that works out well for me because the thought of having to make myself socially presentable every day is rather daunting. Anyway, 6 has put lots of thought and effort into finding what he feels is the best company to work for and applied to and was hired by an over the road long haul company that provides great benefits, retirement and bonuses. For him the biggest bonus will probably be not being nagged on a regular basis or having to change the sheets on my side of the bed ;)
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Farm Fotos
Today's post was going to be audio visual, but I learned that I'm not very good at the audio video part of the audio. For one, I speak while I'm "filming" and that is SUCH a drag because I ramble on and say stupid things. I know, shocking. And for two, I can't seem to hold still and focus. I needed a Dramamine by the time I finished pre-viewing. So, no need to thank me, I consider my withholding this morning's video a public service of sorts.
Lets get started...
Here's a close up of Tina. She looks pretty good for just getting up.
Here's Snow's butt, Josie, Jack, Dan the Ram two turkeys, one chicken and a flash of Belle.
Sheep eating some grain that Timber spilled.
A smidge of Timber, Dan the Ram, broadside of Molly, Ewe I, Tina and a creeper shot of the baby.
This is a close-up of Belle after she got sprayed by her bottle.
Dan the Ram, Ewe I, Baby Belle, Molly's butt and Tina
There's Timber to the left, Molly facing away from the camera (she must be either camera shy or wanted for a crime) Ewe Two, Dan the Ram, Ewe One, Tina's neck and Belle.
Pooter and Penny (not to be mistaken with Pepper her blind boyfriend)
*Notice Poo is up and getting around a little ❤
And last but not least, our big beautiful boy Joe...
He's come alooooong way since he came to the farm in July half starved and stinky.
I guess I can't forget Jack the dirty donkey :)
Well, that's it for today, I'll try another video soon now that I know what NOT to do. {Speak and shake}
Oh! Isn't that great about the miners!
Lets get started...
Here's a close up of Tina. She looks pretty good for just getting up.
Here's Snow's butt, Josie, Jack, Dan the Ram two turkeys, one chicken and a flash of Belle.
Sheep eating some grain that Timber spilled.A smidge of Timber, Dan the Ram, broadside of Molly, Ewe I, Tina and a creeper shot of the baby.
This is a close-up of Belle after she got sprayed by her bottle. Dan the Ram, Ewe I, Baby Belle, Molly's butt and Tina There's Timber to the left, Molly facing away from the camera (she must be either camera shy or wanted for a crime) Ewe Two, Dan the Ram, Ewe One, Tina's neck and Belle.Pooter and Penny (not to be mistaken with Pepper her blind boyfriend)
*Notice Poo is up and getting around a little ❤
And last but not least, our big beautiful boy Joe...
He's come alooooong way since he came to the farm in July half starved and stinky.
I guess I can't forget Jack the dirty donkey :)Well, that's it for today, I'll try another video soon now that I know what NOT to do. {Speak and shake}
Oh! Isn't that great about the miners!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
As Seen On T.V
I was up at 3:30 this morning and there was an infomercial on for Kymaro Body Shapers and Curve Control Jeans.
I was totally sucked in because my niece is getting married in May and I really want to look like I weigh 185 pounds. It would also be nice if I could look like I was about 5'9 but since that's not going to happen I figured at least with the Kymora Body Shaper and Curve Control Jeans I could possibly pull off the great weight illusion. They kept showing sad fat old lumpy ladies but then after they put on the Kymora Body Shaper and Curve Control Jeans they all stood straighter, had thicker hair and dazzling white teeth, so really it wasn't even just about how they looked in stretch denim, it was about a complete do over and trust me, I could really go for one of those. But then I started thinking... I remembered when I was single and how on Friday nights I would always be sure to wear my going out undergarments, you know, suck em' in floor to ceiling underpants, bras with enough steel in them that they could have doubled as foundation support in an industrial complex, hair done with so much Aqua-Net that I'm pretty sure there's a hole in the ozone layer with my name on it and so much liquid eye liner and red lipstick that if I'd bought stock in Maybelline I could have retired before I was forty. The traumatic part was always the next morning when I would wake up a wine soaked cellulite explosion with black rimmed racoon eyes and lipstick stained teeth wondering how I got home and where I left my shoes.
I digress.
At 3:30 AM the temptation of youth and slender were very appealing, but by the time I rolled out of bed and pulled the Hostess wrapper off my thigh I realized that it would take more than $59.90 + shipping and handling to regain my girlish figure and maybe I was better off relenting to the idea that I will be sporting a lovely pair of polyester blend buffet pants with a long tunic to my nieces nuptials. And anyway, I would hate to outshine the bride on her big day because after all, some people only get married once.
I was totally sucked in because my niece is getting married in May and I really want to look like I weigh 185 pounds. It would also be nice if I could look like I was about 5'9 but since that's not going to happen I figured at least with the Kymora Body Shaper and Curve Control Jeans I could possibly pull off the great weight illusion. They kept showing sad fat old lumpy ladies but then after they put on the Kymora Body Shaper and Curve Control Jeans they all stood straighter, had thicker hair and dazzling white teeth, so really it wasn't even just about how they looked in stretch denim, it was about a complete do over and trust me, I could really go for one of those. But then I started thinking... I remembered when I was single and how on Friday nights I would always be sure to wear my going out undergarments, you know, suck em' in floor to ceiling underpants, bras with enough steel in them that they could have doubled as foundation support in an industrial complex, hair done with so much Aqua-Net that I'm pretty sure there's a hole in the ozone layer with my name on it and so much liquid eye liner and red lipstick that if I'd bought stock in Maybelline I could have retired before I was forty. The traumatic part was always the next morning when I would wake up a wine soaked cellulite explosion with black rimmed racoon eyes and lipstick stained teeth wondering how I got home and where I left my shoes.I digress.
At 3:30 AM the temptation of youth and slender were very appealing, but by the time I rolled out of bed and pulled the Hostess wrapper off my thigh I realized that it would take more than $59.90 + shipping and handling to regain my girlish figure and maybe I was better off relenting to the idea that I will be sporting a lovely pair of polyester blend buffet pants with a long tunic to my nieces nuptials. And anyway, I would hate to outshine the bride on her big day because after all, some people only get married once.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Knowledge is Power
Saturday there was an article on Yahoo's front page about how often you should change your sheets.
You know this must have had a huge impact on me as I'm still thinking about it today. I hate to change the sheets on my bed. I always have and I always will so the things I am about to say may be shocking and offensive to the faint of heart.
Consider yourself warned.
6 and I have a king sized Craftmatic which means our beds are independent of one another. He tends to his side and I tend to mine... Until my side gets to sketchy and he can't stand it anymore because he's a neurotic germaphobe and he can no longer help himself and has to clean up my side because my filth starts infringing on his side. 6 has 300 count matching sheets. I have a stretched out jersey sheet. His sheets are properly matched and the top sheet is neatly tucked in all around. My sheets match the ham sandwich I had on Tuesday and I don't use a top sheet because my feet get tangled in a top sheet and when I'm sleeping I think I'm caught in a trap and a bear is going to eat me (the ham sandwich probably attracted the bear). He has a comforter that matches his sheets and he keeps another sheet over the comforter so it doesn't get dog hair on it. I use the dogs as blankets. Just kidding. Not really. I use blankets. Made of dog hair. He sleeps laid out flat like he's in viewing position at the morgue. I have the head of my bed up and the foot of my bed up just a bit so I can sleep in the ditch part of the bed with my head facing away towards the window because I can't breathe used air. He has a neat and tidy bedside table with an alarm clock, a reading lamp and a doily so his water glass won't leave a ring. I have a half eaten bag of Cheetos on the floor and an alarm clock on whatever is high enough for me to see and reach. He makes his bed when he gets out of it at three in the morning. I throw my blanket on the floor or the dog when I get up. He sleeps in his undershorts with a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt folded next to the bed so they're ready for him when he wakes up. I sleep in cotton muu-muus, a soft cotton non-under wire bra because I don't want to sag when I'm old and giant pair of cotton underpants because if there's ever a fire I don't want to be standing in the driveway without underpants on.
Ok, so now that you have our sleeping back story I'll tell you what I think about this sheet story I read. It said you should change your sheets at least once a week. I'm pretty sure 6 changes his that often, but I probably only change mine about once a month so obviously I need to step things up a notch. Before I married 6 I would change my sheets by putting a clean sheet over the old sheet and then when I ran out of sheets I would strip and wash them all at once and then start over again. Now that I have read this article I understand that is NOT how it should be done. I get that. So today I will change the sheets on my side of the bed, but this time I will put all my sheets on in the beginning and strip one off the top each week so that I am always sleeping on clean ones.
Strive to stay informed is what I always say.
You know this must have had a huge impact on me as I'm still thinking about it today. I hate to change the sheets on my bed. I always have and I always will so the things I am about to say may be shocking and offensive to the faint of heart.Consider yourself warned.
6 and I have a king sized Craftmatic which means our beds are independent of one another. He tends to his side and I tend to mine... Until my side gets to sketchy and he can't stand it anymore because he's a neurotic germaphobe and he can no longer help himself and has to clean up my side because my filth starts infringing on his side. 6 has 300 count matching sheets. I have a stretched out jersey sheet. His sheets are properly matched and the top sheet is neatly tucked in all around. My sheets match the ham sandwich I had on Tuesday and I don't use a top sheet because my feet get tangled in a top sheet and when I'm sleeping I think I'm caught in a trap and a bear is going to eat me (the ham sandwich probably attracted the bear). He has a comforter that matches his sheets and he keeps another sheet over the comforter so it doesn't get dog hair on it. I use the dogs as blankets. Just kidding. Not really. I use blankets. Made of dog hair. He sleeps laid out flat like he's in viewing position at the morgue. I have the head of my bed up and the foot of my bed up just a bit so I can sleep in the ditch part of the bed with my head facing away towards the window because I can't breathe used air. He has a neat and tidy bedside table with an alarm clock, a reading lamp and a doily so his water glass won't leave a ring. I have a half eaten bag of Cheetos on the floor and an alarm clock on whatever is high enough for me to see and reach. He makes his bed when he gets out of it at three in the morning. I throw my blanket on the floor or the dog when I get up. He sleeps in his undershorts with a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt folded next to the bed so they're ready for him when he wakes up. I sleep in cotton muu-muus, a soft cotton non-under wire bra because I don't want to sag when I'm old and giant pair of cotton underpants because if there's ever a fire I don't want to be standing in the driveway without underpants on.
Ok, so now that you have our sleeping back story I'll tell you what I think about this sheet story I read. It said you should change your sheets at least once a week. I'm pretty sure 6 changes his that often, but I probably only change mine about once a month so obviously I need to step things up a notch. Before I married 6 I would change my sheets by putting a clean sheet over the old sheet and then when I ran out of sheets I would strip and wash them all at once and then start over again. Now that I have read this article I understand that is NOT how it should be done. I get that. So today I will change the sheets on my side of the bed, but this time I will put all my sheets on in the beginning and strip one off the top each week so that I am always sleeping on clean ones.
Strive to stay informed is what I always say.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Try to Stay Awake...
I have nothing interesting to say today so if there's paint drying somewhere you may want to move along.
I made soap yesterday. I haven't made any for a few weeks and yesterday I got a bad case of the suds. I used pepperberry (not pearberry) fragrance and the entire house smelled like warm fall autumnaly spicy goodness all day. I tried to color it a really deep rich fall color and this is what I got. LOVE it!
I've been reading up on different kinds of soap and decided I wanted to try some old time recipes, this one uses lard. Ugh, I know, lard. Gross. But, it makes great soap. Sooooper creamy and sudsy. I think I love lard.
I'm not going to eat it though. Well maybe just a little. In a biscuit. With jam.
Lets play a game. The game is called See What I See. Wait, first look at what I saw yesterday. It's Timber on a dirt pile in front of the barn.
Cute huh.
Ok, back to the game.
This is a photo of my iPhoto. Look how many pictures I've uploaded since january.
That's alot of pictures.
This is looking out the window to my right.
That's a big tree.
This is looking out the window in front of me and to my left.
A dirty window, a dusty printer and a cold cup of coffee.
My desk is at the end of the house, so if you look the other way this is what you see.
All the way down there is the kitchen. That's my Dad in the festively wrapped box. I keep him on the desk or next to the t.v so things stay interesting. Wyatt's head light, his book, a swim schedule (not like we don't know it by heart) and a fly swatter.
We'll that was fun. Not really, but at least you got to see what I see. Except for the dishes that I haven't done, the laundry I haven't folded or the stinky dogs under the desk, but I need to save something for next week.
Have a good weekend!
I made soap yesterday. I haven't made any for a few weeks and yesterday I got a bad case of the suds. I used pepperberry (not pearberry) fragrance and the entire house smelled like warm fall autumnaly spicy goodness all day. I tried to color it a really deep rich fall color and this is what I got. LOVE it!
I've been reading up on different kinds of soap and decided I wanted to try some old time recipes, this one uses lard. Ugh, I know, lard. Gross. But, it makes great soap. Sooooper creamy and sudsy. I think I love lard.
I'm not going to eat it though. Well maybe just a little. In a biscuit. With jam.Lets play a game. The game is called See What I See. Wait, first look at what I saw yesterday. It's Timber on a dirt pile in front of the barn.
Cute huh.Ok, back to the game.
This is a photo of my iPhoto. Look how many pictures I've uploaded since january.
That's alot of pictures.This is looking out the window to my right.
That's a big tree.This is looking out the window in front of me and to my left.
A dirty window, a dusty printer and a cold cup of coffee.My desk is at the end of the house, so if you look the other way this is what you see.
All the way down there is the kitchen. That's my Dad in the festively wrapped box. I keep him on the desk or next to the t.v so things stay interesting. Wyatt's head light, his book, a swim schedule (not like we don't know it by heart) and a fly swatter.We'll that was fun. Not really, but at least you got to see what I see. Except for the dishes that I haven't done, the laundry I haven't folded or the stinky dogs under the desk, but I need to save something for next week.
Have a good weekend!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Broken Dreams
When I was a kid I believed with every fiber of my being that when I grew up I wouldn't ever have to clean anything ever again. Boy did that dream die hard. I really thought that I would grow up and get to be the boss and tell everyone else what to do and the days of cleaning my room and taking out the garbage would be behind me, but now I realize that not only do I STILL have to do those things, I also have to clean toilets, do laundry, scrub floors and clean out refrigerators. This sucks.
So the way I compensate for this monumental disappointment is doing all of the above as little as possible. I seriously wish I had been born one of those neurotic germaphobes who cleans everything all the time, but I wasn't. It turns out I get most of my cleaning done after watching an episode of Hoarders. You know, that show where people have sh!t piled to the rafters and they're sleeping on dirty laundry three feet from the ceiling and using the bathroom at the gas station because their plumbing hasn't worked for the last year. I think I could very easily be one of those people if I didn't keep myself in check, but I wouldn't be the kind of hoarder that doesn't throw anything away because they have some wonky attachment to old bread bags and used up toothpaste tubes, I would be the kind that's just to lazy to get up and put my dishes in the sink.
The following is a true story.
A year or so ago I went on a serious Reese's bender. I ate them night and day, believe me, I still have the cellulite to prove it. Anyway... When I go in the ditch like that I feel the need to hoard my stash and hide the evidence. As luck would have it, 6 and I have a king size Craftmatic fully adjustable bed, so after I would inhale my umpteenth rich and creamy peanut butter cup I would simply raise the head of my bed up and toss the wrapper behind me and then put the bed back down to cover the ever-growing mound of chocolate carnage. This system worked great until 6 (a neurotic germaphobe) decided to change the sheets and make my side of the bed.
That's when it happened...
The cat was out of the bag, the ship had sailed, the fat lady had sung.
An intervention was almost called that night and it took some pretty quick thinking on my part to convince my family that I didn't have a problem. I begged them not to send me away and lucky for me they agreed to give me another chance. I still fight my demons and it's a daily struggle to keep the bed remote out of my hand and the trash off of the floor, but trust me my friends I do not want to go back to that dark place ever again. Unless of course there's candy there.
So the way I compensate for this monumental disappointment is doing all of the above as little as possible. I seriously wish I had been born one of those neurotic germaphobes who cleans everything all the time, but I wasn't. It turns out I get most of my cleaning done after watching an episode of Hoarders. You know, that show where people have sh!t piled to the rafters and they're sleeping on dirty laundry three feet from the ceiling and using the bathroom at the gas station because their plumbing hasn't worked for the last year. I think I could very easily be one of those people if I didn't keep myself in check, but I wouldn't be the kind of hoarder that doesn't throw anything away because they have some wonky attachment to old bread bags and used up toothpaste tubes, I would be the kind that's just to lazy to get up and put my dishes in the sink.
The following is a true story.
A year or so ago I went on a serious Reese's bender. I ate them night and day, believe me, I still have the cellulite to prove it. Anyway... When I go in the ditch like that I feel the need to hoard my stash and hide the evidence. As luck would have it, 6 and I have a king size Craftmatic fully adjustable bed, so after I would inhale my umpteenth rich and creamy peanut butter cup I would simply raise the head of my bed up and toss the wrapper behind me and then put the bed back down to cover the ever-growing mound of chocolate carnage. This system worked great until 6 (a neurotic germaphobe) decided to change the sheets and make my side of the bed.
That's when it happened...
The cat was out of the bag, the ship had sailed, the fat lady had sung.
An intervention was almost called that night and it took some pretty quick thinking on my part to convince my family that I didn't have a problem. I begged them not to send me away and lucky for me they agreed to give me another chance. I still fight my demons and it's a daily struggle to keep the bed remote out of my hand and the trash off of the floor, but trust me my friends I do not want to go back to that dark place ever again. Unless of course there's candy there.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Aches & Pains
Maaaa baaaaaaack huuuuurttts!
I think it must be from big fat Pooter not being able to walk and me having to schlep him around everywhere for the last week. That fatty weighs 32 pounds and I think when he's crippled he weighs even more than that. His doctor said he needs to go on a diet and eat green beans, but I told her the only way Fatty McFatsalot would eat green beans is if they were swimming in butter and came with a side of meatloaf and gravy.
So now I'm doing the pathetic hunched over hand on hip hump around the house and even then only falling out of my chair or rolling out bed for necessities like coffee and cookies. Hmmm, maybe I need to go on a green bean diet. Anyway, lets talk about something else.
I can't find a job. I know I have only been looking for a few days, but all the jobs I find are dumb. I do NOT want to work retail unless I own the store and the odds of me owning a major retail chain are slim. I do NOT want to work in the food industry because the only thing I like about food is eating it. I do NOT want to work with old people because so far all the jobs I've found with the seniors involves washing them and I really don't want a career that involves washing strangers. Does anyone know if you get paid to be a Nielson? You know, the Nielsons who rate t.v shows. I'll tell you whose job I would LOVE to have and that's Judge Judy. The only thing is there's already a Judge Marilyn. I think she comes on between Judy and Joe (not that I watch those shows.) I would want to judge regular people though. Like say you got in a fight with your neighbor because their dog keeps getting in your garbage. Or your Mother in law is always criticizing your cooking and you just want her to shut her trap. That kind of judge. A "real people" court. OMG... I've got it! I could get a show and call it "Trailer Court!" This is a perfect way to use my newly acquired Park Management degree! Sometimes I wonder how a smarty like me remains unemployed. I need someone to run this by.... Maybe I should call the channel that has all those little people big family shows.
Maaaa baaaaaaack huuuuurttts!
Look what Wyatt made last night.
I think I'm going to open an Etsy store and call it Sh!t My Kid makes. Who knows, maybe he'll make enough money to pay his own way through tech school.
I think it must be from big fat Pooter not being able to walk and me having to schlep him around everywhere for the last week. That fatty weighs 32 pounds and I think when he's crippled he weighs even more than that. His doctor said he needs to go on a diet and eat green beans, but I told her the only way Fatty McFatsalot would eat green beans is if they were swimming in butter and came with a side of meatloaf and gravy.
So now I'm doing the pathetic hunched over hand on hip hump around the house and even then only falling out of my chair or rolling out bed for necessities like coffee and cookies. Hmmm, maybe I need to go on a green bean diet. Anyway, lets talk about something else.
I can't find a job. I know I have only been looking for a few days, but all the jobs I find are dumb. I do NOT want to work retail unless I own the store and the odds of me owning a major retail chain are slim. I do NOT want to work in the food industry because the only thing I like about food is eating it. I do NOT want to work with old people because so far all the jobs I've found with the seniors involves washing them and I really don't want a career that involves washing strangers. Does anyone know if you get paid to be a Nielson? You know, the Nielsons who rate t.v shows. I'll tell you whose job I would LOVE to have and that's Judge Judy. The only thing is there's already a Judge Marilyn. I think she comes on between Judy and Joe (not that I watch those shows.) I would want to judge regular people though. Like say you got in a fight with your neighbor because their dog keeps getting in your garbage. Or your Mother in law is always criticizing your cooking and you just want her to shut her trap. That kind of judge. A "real people" court. OMG... I've got it! I could get a show and call it "Trailer Court!" This is a perfect way to use my newly acquired Park Management degree! Sometimes I wonder how a smarty like me remains unemployed. I need someone to run this by.... Maybe I should call the channel that has all those little people big family shows.
Maaaa baaaaaaack huuuuurttts!
Look what Wyatt made last night.
I think I'm going to open an Etsy store and call it Sh!t My Kid makes. Who knows, maybe he'll make enough money to pay his own way through tech school.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Managers Special
Saturday I went to Trailer Park School (TPS) and quickly realized not everyone is cut out for this game. Believe it or not, there is ALOT to learn. Our teacher was an old sock and sandal, pleated front Docker, loud cotton plaid shirt wearing kind of hippy trained in the ways of space rental and knew the answer to every tough question thrown at him. He was good, reaaaaal good. He knew everything anyone would ever want to know about barking dogs and cars in the yard. Domestic violence? Been there. Meth labs? Done that. Trust me when I tell you, this man had mad skills.
The class started at 10:00 and we broke for lunch somewhere around 11:00. I was already feeling drained and we still had another five hours to go. I knew I was going to have to fuel up on our Costco "catered" lunch and drink as much of the burnt no name coffee as my taste buds would allow. It was going to be a very long day and I had forgotten the attention level required to keep up on such an intense course of study. That, and I haphazardly chose a bad bra that morning that was relentlessly poking into my armpit.
Our trailer park, "Aching Acres" was constructed in the late sixties or early seventies by my Grandfather who understood that the right and only way to do things was his way. This entire farm was built on the understanding that if it works, it's good enough. Come to find out some forty years later, that may not always be the case when it comes to state standards. Needless to say I have been graced by our local government on the ways and costs of bringing things up to code.
Ok, ok, ok so back to TPS. Everything was going smoothly, except for this one old seasoned PM (park manager to those of you out of the TP lingo loop) decided to pull rank on me and let her inner bitch out. I am telling you, this old bag reeked of Pall Malls and gin and wouldn't crack a smile for love nor money. As soon as she found out I wasn't using official Oregon lease agreements or using any other official documents or even doing anything officially she almost lost her mind and quickly decided it was her job to let me have it. All day. Her retinas must have burned to the point of blindness from giving me the stink eye for over four hours, and I don't know if her face hurt or not, but it was killing me. So, I just kept smiling and asking stupid questions to see if she would implode and melt into a puddle of cheap booze and ash. I think the elastic in the waistband of her stretch denims must have been to tight, because there's no other reason to be that big of a bitch.
Anyway, I made it and I'm now "certified" by the state of Oregon and the powers that be to correctly run a mobile home facility.
On a sad note, our one-legged chicken died last night. I guess it's for the best as it would have been difficult to find crutches or a prosthesis that small, but we are all still very saddened by her passing. The utility room just won't be the same without her peeping and flopping.
R.I.P Lucky ❤
The class started at 10:00 and we broke for lunch somewhere around 11:00. I was already feeling drained and we still had another five hours to go. I knew I was going to have to fuel up on our Costco "catered" lunch and drink as much of the burnt no name coffee as my taste buds would allow. It was going to be a very long day and I had forgotten the attention level required to keep up on such an intense course of study. That, and I haphazardly chose a bad bra that morning that was relentlessly poking into my armpit.
Our trailer park, "Aching Acres" was constructed in the late sixties or early seventies by my Grandfather who understood that the right and only way to do things was his way. This entire farm was built on the understanding that if it works, it's good enough. Come to find out some forty years later, that may not always be the case when it comes to state standards. Needless to say I have been graced by our local government on the ways and costs of bringing things up to code.
Ok, ok, ok so back to TPS. Everything was going smoothly, except for this one old seasoned PM (park manager to those of you out of the TP lingo loop) decided to pull rank on me and let her inner bitch out. I am telling you, this old bag reeked of Pall Malls and gin and wouldn't crack a smile for love nor money. As soon as she found out I wasn't using official Oregon lease agreements or using any other official documents or even doing anything officially she almost lost her mind and quickly decided it was her job to let me have it. All day. Her retinas must have burned to the point of blindness from giving me the stink eye for over four hours, and I don't know if her face hurt or not, but it was killing me. So, I just kept smiling and asking stupid questions to see if she would implode and melt into a puddle of cheap booze and ash. I think the elastic in the waistband of her stretch denims must have been to tight, because there's no other reason to be that big of a bitch.
Anyway, I made it and I'm now "certified" by the state of Oregon and the powers that be to correctly run a mobile home facility.
On a sad note, our one-legged chicken died last night. I guess it's for the best as it would have been difficult to find crutches or a prosthesis that small, but we are all still very saddened by her passing. The utility room just won't be the same without her peeping and flopping.
R.I.P Lucky ❤
Monday, October 4, 2010
Get a Haircut & Get A Real Job
I have some stinky news to report.
Today I'm going to start looking for a job and that really blows because I would rather not have a job.
I wish I got royalties from previous husbands.
*Note to self, look into licensing rights before #7.
I really liked my job at Home Depot last year for about a week and then my legs and feet and all my other bones and joints froze up and quit working and that REALLY sucked. So I guess I need a job where I can sit or stand and I would really like it if I could facebook and talk to people and maybe watch t.v and do crafts and I would LOVE it if I could lay down if I got to tired at my new job.
It sounds like my dream job is being a resident in a nursing home.
Do you know what my other dream job would be? Writing kids books about the farm. One would be about Pooter and Pearl and the adventures they go on and the things that they see.
And another might be about Pepper and Pansy and the places they go and the things that they don't see (because Pepper is blind.)
And then of COURSE there would be a story about Belle and Buddy herding sheep and chasing cows because who doesn't love a story about a lamb and border collie who are co-workers.
I would call them "Fat Bottom Farm" books. Fun huh? I know. But I bet I wouldn't get paid in time to pay the electric bill. Oh well.
Pooter is feeling better. He can walk about ten feet at a time now.
Last Wednesday Wyatt found one of the new chicks in the barnyard with a wonky leg. It looked like someone had stepped on her or something, so we looked her over and put her in a box in the utility room overnight. The next day she was much improved so we put her in Buddy's old playpen with some hay in the garage. Friday morning she looked great and I was going to put her back out with the other chickens right after I fed everyone. Apparently Bart decided to help her out first and accidently pulled her leg off. Believe it or not, Bart likes the chickens, so in his mind he really was helping and I'm sure was just as shocked as you or I would have been had one of us mistakenly pulled her leg off. Anyway, the garage looked like a crime scene as the cooling corpse lay before me so I did what ANYONE would do and wrapped her in a sheet and placed her in the refuse recepticle. As the day went on I was having horrifying flashes of the posessed talking doll from an early 1960's Twighlight Zone episode where a SOB stepfather (played by a young Telly Savalas) took away a little girls favorite doll and tried to cut the head of with a ban saw in the garage but the saw wouldn't cut through and the doll continued to taunt him so he put the doll in the garbage can but then she got out and made her way upstairs and Telly found her in the bed and then fell to his death as he tripped and fell down the stairs trying to escape. Anyway, the chicken wasn't evil, but all day I was afraid she wasn't dead either but I was afraid to go look so when 6 got home he checked and she was STILL alive! Barely. So anyway we warmed her up and doctored what used to be her leg and now she lives in the utility room. She's really friendly albeit a bit leary of Barty, and eating and acting like any other one legged chicken.
This morning when I went to make Wyatt's lunch I opened the fridge and it looked like this...
Mmmmm... Cherry cheesecake. It's whats for breakfast.
I opened the lunch drawer and it looked like this...
Then I looked over to the other drawer and discovered that neurotic #6 had made his own lunch drawer and arranged it like this...
So I did this...
Trust me, he'll freak out and break into a sweat when he see's it >)
Tomorrow if I don't have a job yet I'll tell you about trailerpark school.
Today I'm going to start looking for a job and that really blows because I would rather not have a job.
I wish I got royalties from previous husbands.
*Note to self, look into licensing rights before #7.
I really liked my job at Home Depot last year for about a week and then my legs and feet and all my other bones and joints froze up and quit working and that REALLY sucked. So I guess I need a job where I can sit or stand and I would really like it if I could facebook and talk to people and maybe watch t.v and do crafts and I would LOVE it if I could lay down if I got to tired at my new job.
It sounds like my dream job is being a resident in a nursing home.
Do you know what my other dream job would be? Writing kids books about the farm. One would be about Pooter and Pearl and the adventures they go on and the things that they see.
And another might be about Pepper and Pansy and the places they go and the things that they don't see (because Pepper is blind.)
And then of COURSE there would be a story about Belle and Buddy herding sheep and chasing cows because who doesn't love a story about a lamb and border collie who are co-workers.
I would call them "Fat Bottom Farm" books. Fun huh? I know. But I bet I wouldn't get paid in time to pay the electric bill. Oh well.
Pooter is feeling better. He can walk about ten feet at a time now.
Last Wednesday Wyatt found one of the new chicks in the barnyard with a wonky leg. It looked like someone had stepped on her or something, so we looked her over and put her in a box in the utility room overnight. The next day she was much improved so we put her in Buddy's old playpen with some hay in the garage. Friday morning she looked great and I was going to put her back out with the other chickens right after I fed everyone. Apparently Bart decided to help her out first and accidently pulled her leg off. Believe it or not, Bart likes the chickens, so in his mind he really was helping and I'm sure was just as shocked as you or I would have been had one of us mistakenly pulled her leg off. Anyway, the garage looked like a crime scene as the cooling corpse lay before me so I did what ANYONE would do and wrapped her in a sheet and placed her in the refuse recepticle. As the day went on I was having horrifying flashes of the posessed talking doll from an early 1960's Twighlight Zone episode where a SOB stepfather (played by a young Telly Savalas) took away a little girls favorite doll and tried to cut the head of with a ban saw in the garage but the saw wouldn't cut through and the doll continued to taunt him so he put the doll in the garbage can but then she got out and made her way upstairs and Telly found her in the bed and then fell to his death as he tripped and fell down the stairs trying to escape. Anyway, the chicken wasn't evil, but all day I was afraid she wasn't dead either but I was afraid to go look so when 6 got home he checked and she was STILL alive! Barely. So anyway we warmed her up and doctored what used to be her leg and now she lives in the utility room. She's really friendly albeit a bit leary of Barty, and eating and acting like any other one legged chicken.
This morning when I went to make Wyatt's lunch I opened the fridge and it looked like this...
Mmmmm... Cherry cheesecake. It's whats for breakfast.
I opened the lunch drawer and it looked like this...
Then I looked over to the other drawer and discovered that neurotic #6 had made his own lunch drawer and arranged it like this...
So I did this...
Trust me, he'll freak out and break into a sweat when he see's it >)
Tomorrow if I don't have a job yet I'll tell you about trailerpark school.
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