I really haven't done my fair share of grocery shopping (read:none at all) so no one but me is to blame for the following story.
When I came home from class today I was starving. Left-overs from last night? Nope. Milk? Eggs? Nada. Anything in the fridge worth eating? At all? Hell no!
Hummm. Hum. Hummmm. Laaaaaa. Laa. La... Nothing in the cabinets either. Damn! I peek around the kitchen door toward the pantry a mere eight feet away. There's a problem lying between me and the yummy yummy food inside that door. I smelled the poly when I got home but my fears were now confirmed as I hatefully stare at the blue painters tape marking exactly where I can and can't walk. Josh finished the new floors today. And guess where I can't walk!! Gahhh!
Fine. I return to the kitchen to rifle through the cabinets yet again. There really is quite a bit of food in there but most of it's in box form and requires milk to make plastic-tasting cheese. Well, what do we have here? Spam? Really? I double-check the expiration date because I definitely don't remember buying Spam. Seems safe enough.
I don't know how to cook Spam. I don't even remember ever eating Spam. So I sliced it up and fried it in a pan. EVOO, a little spice and some pepper-co-jack cheese. Toast the bread in another pan. Mayo on one slice, Sweet Baby Ray's on the other.. Ummmmm it was absolutely awful! Culinary fail number one for the day.
After I slept off my death sandwich I decided I really was going to eat something. An entire jar of pickles sounds good. I'll have that. Oh man, there weren't as many pickles as I thought. Better go get the other jar!
Dear god! I'm ill. I need food and I need it now. Popcorn! I'll have popcorn and go to bed. It's my favorite pre-snooze snack. Whenever I'm feeling sad Josh always offers to bring me a minibag to cheer me up. And this has been a sad day, indeed!
Yay! Popcorn! Something I actually want. Can I have two minutes on the clock please, Mr. Amana? I stick my head in our giant pots and pans cabinet to get my popcorn eating bowl just as I hear popping (not popping as in corn going "pop pop pop" but rather as in "I think the fucking microwave is on fucking fire" sort of "pop pop pop"). I bash my head on the counter on my way up from the pots and pans abyss. There are lights flashing in my eyes and in the still rumbling microwave.
I pull the plug out of the wall and punch Mr. Amana in the face. Well now what? I peek back around the corner at the pantry. It's almost as if I'm planning to sneak over there or something, like doing this might help in some way.
Lightbulb! I'll just wet down my feet a little and even if the floor is not all the way dry I can still get over there and grab some food. Ha! So smart! I run to bathroom on the other side of house as if I weren't just standing three feet from the kitchen sink when I had this revelation. Wet feet. Run (not sure why I'm running again, perhaps it ties in with the "sneaking up on the pantry" plan) through living room. Fall down. Get up. Check feet for wetness. Still wet. Ok.
I make it back to the dinning room, managing to not fall down and take that first tiny step across the blue tape. Hmmmm. Doesn't feel sticky. Good. Step, step, step, pantry. Whoo-hoo! I throw the door open and grab the first thing I see and run (sigh) the eight steps back to the kitchen and notice I've grabbed something that pretty much has to cook in the microwave. Fail number, I dunno six or something.
Back to pantry. Grab. Back to kitchen. This time I've managed score a can of Campbells Chunky Clam Chowder. Yummy! Can opener, lift drop squeeze.... No click/hiss sound. Try again, lift drop squeeze.... What the deuce? No click? No hiss? It's a ring-top can but without the ring. My husband must have broke the ring off then put the can back. Zomg! Clearance too huge for can opener. Jesus H. Macy, I'm doomed! Again. Fuck!
Nonono. I'm not about to give up on Chunky, no way. I even get a pot and turn on the stove to kinda wish myself luck. Grab hammer. Grab butcher knife. Several cuts and abrasions later soup is simmering. Yes! Stir stir taste. Hmmmm. Something is wrong and I wonder if perhaps I've permanently damaged my taste buds eating garbage. Try again. Stir stir taste. Shit. Retrieve can from trash. Double shit. The label says stuff like "Salt-free!!!!!111" and "heart healthy". Whaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
Panic panic panic. So hungry! Ok. Add sour cream (after I pour the ucky water/oil mixture that always accumulates in the sour cream tub into the trash) salt, lots of salt, pepper, garlic and the last of my taco cheese. Still taste like paper mache. That's it. I'm going to Taco Bell like I should have six hours ago when this culinary debacle started even though I really should be going to the grocery store to get proper food.
Rambling thoughts and musings of a cat-loving ghost hunter
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
O'Doyle Rules!
I can't believe it. Don't want to admit it. I'm in my thirties so it hadn't crossed my mind as a possibility. But it's true. And now I have to deal with it.
I. Have. A bully! Or a reasonable facsimile.
For those of you who don't know I am once again a full time student currently in my second term at Harrison college. New classes started last week so I'm acquainting myself with brand new material, three new instructors and some classmates I've yet to meet. Classes at Harrison are centered around participation and group learning which I love. People with my personality type tend to thrive in that type of environment. What can I say? It combines my two favorite things: learning about interesting subjects and running my mouth.
I first noticed a person had taken interest in me Tuesday of last week. I would make a comment or answer a question and would immediately here a mumble from the opposite side of the room. I didn't think too much about it; people mumble all the time. None of my business. Right? Right. Besides, I wasn't sure who was speaking let alone what was being said.
Thursday I really began to see a pattern. I identified my attacker and deciphered some of the comments. While this person voiced her overall disdain for the class, the instructor and the material at random, specific negative remarks were landing after my comments in iambic pentameter. Today the activity escalated yet another notch.
Me: atomic number = number of protons in the nucleus. atomic mass = total number of protons and neutrons.
Facsimile: pishhhahh.
Me: I remember it this way, protons = pro = positive, neutron = neu = neutral.
Facsimile: yeahwhateverthatmakesnosensewhatsoever. Sheshhhhhhh.
Me: at one point I had to memorize the table of elements. All except for the lanthanides and actinides (after being specifically asked a question by the instructor).
Facsimile: didanyoneelseunderstandanyofthat, no? Ididn'tthinkso. Pishhhhaahh!
I should probably throw in that another person in our class is so into chemistry that every time he opens his mouth even the instructor gets confused. He might as well be speaking Sanskrit. He vomited a particularly obtuse string of words that had the whole class reeling so I offered to translate for him which was well received by the entire class save one.
Facsimile: ohjesuschristyouhavetobefuckingkiddingme.
I wouldn't go so far as to say I get along with every person that knows me; I won't say that everyone I meet likes me right away. But I do know that once in awhile, every two or three years I meet someone that absolutely hates every bone in my body and wants me to know it. I know I rub some folks the wrong way so-to-speak. I'm an adult and I handle it.
A particularly difficult concept came up and I was once again specifically asked by the instructor if I had a different way to approach the subject and I said "nope". Three faces turned to me as if to ask "why not?". "I don't want to make this harder for anyone. I just don't think I can explain it so everybody will understand." Two more faces. "I don't think I have anything instructive to offer.". Five pleading faces. "Sorry", I mouthed in a whisper. "I'm done for today."
I spent the remainder of the class paying attention, answering questions in unison with the rest of my classmates, feeling dejected, smug, angry, sad and awesome at the same time. When class dismissed I gathered my things and a few fellow pupils I didn't even really know gave me a nod or smile. One girl I'd never even talked to said something along the lines of "when exactly did you take a shit in her cereal?"
As I was leaving the instructor pulled me aside, asked me to stay after for a minute. Uh-oh! I knew for a fact that I wasn't in trouble but just like it's been about a hundred years since I've had a bully it's been even longer since I've officially been asked to stay after class.
It seemed to me that everyone was taking their damn time leaving the room and I started to feel rather sick to my stomach. I had to present the first speech of the term in front of many many people I didn't know in less than two hours.
A hot mess, I was!
Hours later it seemed everyone was gone save my instructor and me. Now I really like this particular teacher; she taught two of my classes the previous quarter and we have a great rapport. She thinks and relates material a certain way because that's the way she understands it. I am her polar opposite. I process information like a young child or someone with a learning disability. I take what I find easy and build up to greater concepts utilizing mnemonic devices, movie quotes and visual diagrams. My learning techniques are often silly and funny and she likes that about me.
Ms. Awesome Instructor pleads with me not to shut down. Asks me if I know why
Facsimile is attacking me. Wants to know what I think about the whole situation and if we knew each other. I assure her I have no idea who the hell she is and wonder about it myself.
She then asked me a question that really shook me. She asked if I wanted her to take Facsimile aside and speak to her...... And I'm thinking: I'm 30 (something) years old and the teacher is keeping me after class to ask me about why I'm being bullied and do I want her to intervene.... Fuck!
No no no. I tell her I will handle it myself if the behavior continues or escalates. Besides, with an attitude like that, Facsimile will most likely quit
before the end of the term anyway.
I. Have. A bully! Or a reasonable facsimile.
For those of you who don't know I am once again a full time student currently in my second term at Harrison college. New classes started last week so I'm acquainting myself with brand new material, three new instructors and some classmates I've yet to meet. Classes at Harrison are centered around participation and group learning which I love. People with my personality type tend to thrive in that type of environment. What can I say? It combines my two favorite things: learning about interesting subjects and running my mouth.
I first noticed a person had taken interest in me Tuesday of last week. I would make a comment or answer a question and would immediately here a mumble from the opposite side of the room. I didn't think too much about it; people mumble all the time. None of my business. Right? Right. Besides, I wasn't sure who was speaking let alone what was being said.
Thursday I really began to see a pattern. I identified my attacker and deciphered some of the comments. While this person voiced her overall disdain for the class, the instructor and the material at random, specific negative remarks were landing after my comments in iambic pentameter. Today the activity escalated yet another notch.
Me: atomic number = number of protons in the nucleus. atomic mass = total number of protons and neutrons.
Facsimile: pishhhahh.
Me: I remember it this way, protons = pro = positive, neutron = neu = neutral.
Facsimile: yeahwhateverthatmakesnosensewhatsoever. Sheshhhhhhh.
Me: at one point I had to memorize the table of elements. All except for the lanthanides and actinides (after being specifically asked a question by the instructor).
Facsimile: didanyoneelseunderstandanyofthat, no? Ididn'tthinkso. Pishhhhaahh!
I should probably throw in that another person in our class is so into chemistry that every time he opens his mouth even the instructor gets confused. He might as well be speaking Sanskrit. He vomited a particularly obtuse string of words that had the whole class reeling so I offered to translate for him which was well received by the entire class save one.
Facsimile: ohjesuschristyouhavetobefuckingkiddingme.
I wouldn't go so far as to say I get along with every person that knows me; I won't say that everyone I meet likes me right away. But I do know that once in awhile, every two or three years I meet someone that absolutely hates every bone in my body and wants me to know it. I know I rub some folks the wrong way so-to-speak. I'm an adult and I handle it.
A particularly difficult concept came up and I was once again specifically asked by the instructor if I had a different way to approach the subject and I said "nope". Three faces turned to me as if to ask "why not?". "I don't want to make this harder for anyone. I just don't think I can explain it so everybody will understand." Two more faces. "I don't think I have anything instructive to offer.". Five pleading faces. "Sorry", I mouthed in a whisper. "I'm done for today."
I spent the remainder of the class paying attention, answering questions in unison with the rest of my classmates, feeling dejected, smug, angry, sad and awesome at the same time. When class dismissed I gathered my things and a few fellow pupils I didn't even really know gave me a nod or smile. One girl I'd never even talked to said something along the lines of "when exactly did you take a shit in her cereal?"
As I was leaving the instructor pulled me aside, asked me to stay after for a minute. Uh-oh! I knew for a fact that I wasn't in trouble but just like it's been about a hundred years since I've had a bully it's been even longer since I've officially been asked to stay after class.
It seemed to me that everyone was taking their damn time leaving the room and I started to feel rather sick to my stomach. I had to present the first speech of the term in front of many many people I didn't know in less than two hours.
A hot mess, I was!
Hours later it seemed everyone was gone save my instructor and me. Now I really like this particular teacher; she taught two of my classes the previous quarter and we have a great rapport. She thinks and relates material a certain way because that's the way she understands it. I am her polar opposite. I process information like a young child or someone with a learning disability. I take what I find easy and build up to greater concepts utilizing mnemonic devices, movie quotes and visual diagrams. My learning techniques are often silly and funny and she likes that about me.
Ms. Awesome Instructor pleads with me not to shut down. Asks me if I know why
Facsimile is attacking me. Wants to know what I think about the whole situation and if we knew each other. I assure her I have no idea who the hell she is and wonder about it myself.
She then asked me a question that really shook me. She asked if I wanted her to take Facsimile aside and speak to her...... And I'm thinking: I'm 30 (something) years old and the teacher is keeping me after class to ask me about why I'm being bullied and do I want her to intervene.... Fuck!
No no no. I tell her I will handle it myself if the behavior continues or escalates. Besides, with an attitude like that, Facsimile will most likely quit
before the end of the term anyway.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Pranky-pranky!
It has come to my attention that I rock trashcans! That's right, I use my superpowers for good instead of evil these days and I decoupaged (glued stuff to other stuff) the hell out of that garbage bin. I'm thinking of making an art portfolio featuring this and only this as "my work". I'll then offer my services as an "Artist" for sale on etsy.com. Photos yet to come.
But that's neither here nor there. I've called you all together because I'm ready to confess a few crimes I might have committed as a teen (high school and college). Kim, you inspired me! Names and specific locations have been omitted to protect the guilty (and the powned).
Window prank
Crew: 3-4 (you could do it with 2 if you had to but I wouldn't recommend it unless the occupants are on vacation and there's little to no police presence in the immediate area)
Tools: lock pick, credit card or spare key
Materials: 1. occupant's towels, linens and scarves 2. Anything not nailed down
Location: 3rd floor or higher apartment or dorm (also works with a second floor bedroom but again, would not recommend)
Objective: use sheets and towels to hang the occupant's possessions out the window. They either walk into what looks like a burglary where the bandits escaped via window by way of sheet or they come home from class to find their thrift shop dining set dangling on the side of the building. (Go ahead and disassemble the bed frame if there's time.) Either way it's win win!
Forkin'
Crew: depends on how much time you have
Tools: none
Materials: forks. Lots and lots of plastic forks
Location: someplace with a big ass yard (no dog)
Objective: It's pretty simple. Impale entire yard with forks (tines up or down, doesn't matter) until the yard is full or you run out of forks
Changing Rooms
Crew: 1-4
Tools: most likely none unless you need to remove table legs or headboards (I always carry a multitool and an alan wrench)
Materials: a 3-prong adapter if you choose to move the fridge
Location: house or apt interior
Objective: Take everything (not nailed down) from the living room, dining room and kitchen and put it in the bedrooms. Take everything from the bedrooms and put it in the kitchen, dining room and living room.
Note: if you decide to move the fridge stick around for awhile and make sure the breaker doesn't trip!
Other little pranks that can be fun;
Put a fake wedding announcement in the local newspaper
Put someone's house up for sale
Make fliers for free puggle puppies complete with phone instructions to only call between 11pm and 5am only
Steal a doorknob (or two)
Take the wheels off someone's car
Sign someone up for Amway, STD dating networks etc.
Disclaimer; Married with Kittehs takes no responsibility for any pranks past or present and if any of the above pranks befell you at some point, it wasn't me!
But that's neither here nor there. I've called you all together because I'm ready to confess a few crimes I might have committed as a teen (high school and college). Kim, you inspired me! Names and specific locations have been omitted to protect the guilty (and the powned).
Window prank
Crew: 3-4 (you could do it with 2 if you had to but I wouldn't recommend it unless the occupants are on vacation and there's little to no police presence in the immediate area)
Tools: lock pick, credit card or spare key
Materials: 1. occupant's towels, linens and scarves 2. Anything not nailed down
Location: 3rd floor or higher apartment or dorm (also works with a second floor bedroom but again, would not recommend)
Objective: use sheets and towels to hang the occupant's possessions out the window. They either walk into what looks like a burglary where the bandits escaped via window by way of sheet or they come home from class to find their thrift shop dining set dangling on the side of the building. (Go ahead and disassemble the bed frame if there's time.) Either way it's win win!
Forkin'
Crew: depends on how much time you have
Tools: none
Materials: forks. Lots and lots of plastic forks
Location: someplace with a big ass yard (no dog)
Objective: It's pretty simple. Impale entire yard with forks (tines up or down, doesn't matter) until the yard is full or you run out of forks
Changing Rooms
Crew: 1-4
Tools: most likely none unless you need to remove table legs or headboards (I always carry a multitool and an alan wrench)
Materials: a 3-prong adapter if you choose to move the fridge
Location: house or apt interior
Objective: Take everything (not nailed down) from the living room, dining room and kitchen and put it in the bedrooms. Take everything from the bedrooms and put it in the kitchen, dining room and living room.
Note: if you decide to move the fridge stick around for awhile and make sure the breaker doesn't trip!
Other little pranks that can be fun;
Put a fake wedding announcement in the local newspaper
Put someone's house up for sale
Make fliers for free puggle puppies complete with phone instructions to only call between 11pm and 5am only
Steal a doorknob (or two)
Take the wheels off someone's car
Sign someone up for Amway, STD dating networks etc.
Disclaimer; Married with Kittehs takes no responsibility for any pranks past or present and if any of the above pranks befell you at some point, it wasn't me!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Rants and stuff
While I was cleaning the oven, I noticed I was able to identify the exact meal that produced each little splatter. Shows you how often I actually cook. Sad.
Went to the mega-bookstore today with Hubby. Spent the first eight minutes looking at books and the next 25 looking for Josh. I hate the mega-bookstore.
I hate it when the douche with the new car parks across three spaces like an idiot. I used to know someone who did naughty things to cars parked like that. Later in life said person used to just leave notes under the windshield wiper saying, "you would not believe what my friends and I used to cars parked like this. Stop being a prick!".
It sucks that moms buy padded bikini tops, trashy clothes and whore-y make-up for their very young daughters, toddler to tween. Dunno about you but I get creaped-the-hell out when I see an 8-year-old wearing a tee-shirt that says: "Mommy's Little Whore" and "Donkey Punch." (I shit you not, there was a cartoon donkey on the damn shirt!). And the vey thought of a kindergartener with cleavage makes me all throw-up-y.
I don't like it when Chuck Diesel idles outside my bedroom window, playing horrible music really friggin loud on his crappy speakers that make his whole car vibrate and buzz at midnight when the light is red at the corner of Main and Kossuth. I feel old.
The fact that I picked up my new TV three weeks ago and have yet to call the cable company to get HD makes me wonder what the hell was so important in the last 21 days that I've been unable to get this done. I feel lazy.
I've been back to work for one day )One day!) since I started school and I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs. My hair even hurts. I'm feeling old again. On the other hand, I did get decoupage a trash receptacle today. Never did that before!
The Indiana State House of Douchebags voted today that homosexuals are no longer human and are not entitled to human rights. Whoopee for dogmatic bigotry! (It's okay though, sooner or later these pricks will get busted banging their 19-year-old intern, Lance, or sending a string of naughty texts to their boytoy in Belize. Radical homophobia usually indicates.... well we all know what that indicates ;))
Went to the mega-bookstore today with Hubby. Spent the first eight minutes looking at books and the next 25 looking for Josh. I hate the mega-bookstore.
I hate it when the douche with the new car parks across three spaces like an idiot. I used to know someone who did naughty things to cars parked like that. Later in life said person used to just leave notes under the windshield wiper saying, "you would not believe what my friends and I used to cars parked like this. Stop being a prick!".
It sucks that moms buy padded bikini tops, trashy clothes and whore-y make-up for their very young daughters, toddler to tween. Dunno about you but I get creaped-the-hell out when I see an 8-year-old wearing a tee-shirt that says: "Mommy's Little Whore" and "Donkey Punch." (I shit you not, there was a cartoon donkey on the damn shirt!). And the vey thought of a kindergartener with cleavage makes me all throw-up-y.
I don't like it when Chuck Diesel idles outside my bedroom window, playing horrible music really friggin loud on his crappy speakers that make his whole car vibrate and buzz at midnight when the light is red at the corner of Main and Kossuth. I feel old.
The fact that I picked up my new TV three weeks ago and have yet to call the cable company to get HD makes me wonder what the hell was so important in the last 21 days that I've been unable to get this done. I feel lazy.
I've been back to work for one day )One day!) since I started school and I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs. My hair even hurts. I'm feeling old again. On the other hand, I did get decoupage a trash receptacle today. Never did that before!
The Indiana State House of Douchebags voted today that homosexuals are no longer human and are not entitled to human rights. Whoopee for dogmatic bigotry! (It's okay though, sooner or later these pricks will get busted banging their 19-year-old intern, Lance, or sending a string of naughty texts to their boytoy in Belize. Radical homophobia usually indicates.... well we all know what that indicates ;))
Monday, March 21, 2011
Scenes
Sh*t I see from my front porch...
Thanks to the break from crappy weather I was finally able to enjoy my font porch for the first time this Spring thus closing out my St. Patrick's Day in typical partygirl fashion. Sitting with my four cats as company and having a nightcap I watch the evening unfold.
The week so far had been rather rough with two final projects due and hours of studying for next week's exams coupled with the fact I haven't been sleeping well. And when I say "well" I mean very very little. And when I say "very very little" I mean not at all (just ask the bags under my eyes and lines on my face that I had no idea existed until recently).
I was fortunate enough to attend a social gathering in the evening for great food, thought provoking conversation and beer that might or might not have contained green olives (the beer itself wasn't green, something about the dye doesn't agree withe me. Perhaps it reminds me of how filthy the Chicago river looks when she's dyed green. Yuck!).
After returning home I made my little camp on thee porch (where I'm again sitting now) so I could enjoy my nightcap, my kitties and the sights, sounds and smells of the neighborhood. I'm again and again amazing by what transpires right in from of my house.
I saw what looked like a drug deal take place on the playground across the street (either that or the shifty gentleman under the monkey bars was selling boot-leg copies of Windows 7 whilst his companion in the late 90's Caprice Classic complete with $2,000.00 spinner rims looked on with interest). Two dudes sauntered up to each other slowly, nodding their heads this way and that. They spoke briefly, exchanged what each of them had in their pockets, nodded some more and parted ways. One gentleman walked off into the darkness while the other returned to the car.
I saw several vehicles full of St. Paddy's Day party-goers with arms waving out windows plus the occasional driver who had one hand over his left eye so he could see the road a wee better. I saw four. Four. Police Cruisers coast up to the red light at Kossuth and Main before flipping their lights on to idle through the intersection, continuing to coast at 10-15 MPH for a couple of blocks before rolling slowly out of view. I thought a saw a little bunny rabbit strike one of the cruisers from behind.
I saw a black Lincoln limo pull over so a girl could puke in my neighbor's yard. The other occupants tossed a sack of garbage out the door before dragging Pukey McPuke-face back into the car. I hope that poor girl gets the vomit stains out of her hidious bride's maid dress. On a side note, a couple I had the pleasure of sharing fellowship with tonight was celebrating their 11th wedding anniversary. I hope I'll be able to spend as many years with my falcon.
I heard a kitty-cat mewling at the door and it looked like my Audrey was locked outside. I went out to coax her though the door and she just wouldn't come to me even though I called and brought her a treat. I finally lunged and caught her. As I was carrying her back to the house I noticed something strange. "Strange" being that the cat in my arms was definably not my cat. I had my suspicions when the cat I was currently toting seemed a bit heavy and that her fur wasn't quite as soft as it should be. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw my Audrey-girl in the window. She and the other three cats were pitching a huge fit! It's almost like I could hear them screaming "don't bring that thing in here! Admiral Akbar thinks it's a trap". So I set the little guy down and pet him for a few (yeah, guy, un-nuetered male :( ) and gave him a can of my best chow then sent him on his way. Home hopefully.
I saw people jogging, people biking,a dude on skates wearing a patch work quilt as a cape. I'm not sure if he was wearing pants. I saw a cop pull a taxi over. I think I caught a glimpse of the fox that chills in our neighbor's yard from time to time.
I saw a girl sporting a backpack and a big 'ol duffel bag, an over-pronounced limp and no purse. I worried that she might be in trouble but something about the scenario didn't seem right to me. Akbar's clever words echo in my ears.
My options flip though my brain like toilet paper on the roll when you accidentally spin it wrong way. I wonder if she's running away (because that's exactly what it looks like) from an abusive person. I wonder if she's scared or hurt but I also wonder if she was setting someone up. So I kinda crept across the parking lot and hid on the playground where it would be nice and echo-y when I started to yell.
"Yo! You with the big bag, are you okay over there?"
She immediately looks around, "Where are you?"
Crouching I yell, "you need help?"
She's still looking around for the source of my voice, "Where you at? You live around here? Which house is your's"
I am so outta there. Something just did not seem right about this girl. I scamper as low as my current level of physique will allow, back to my house where I slip in the door unnoticed. I watch her from the porch. The girl throws down her bags and makes a phone call but the only word I hear is "hurry" (she's still looking around for me). A sedan full of men pulls out of a nearby ally and picks her up a moment later. She tosses those "heavy" bags into the back seat and hops in after. I've noticed her limp has completely disappeared. They quickly drive away. Off to grift someone else, I guess.
My neighborhood is an endless source of entertainment.
Edit; as Hubby and I enjoyed dinner at cousin Mike's Maple Corner in Covington last week we overheard the bartender and a server debating on the recipe of Irish Coffee. Coffee, cream, Jamison? Coffee, Baileys, whiskey?.... Coffee, a Lucky Strike and a bowl of dirt?
My Joshua piped up and asked "Anyone know what's in a Northern Irish Coffee?"
Everyone shrugged and looked at him like he was crazy.
"C-4, potatoes and peat moss."
And then he walked out of the building not even waiting for a response (or for me).
......Still snickering over that.
Thanks to the break from crappy weather I was finally able to enjoy my font porch for the first time this Spring thus closing out my St. Patrick's Day in typical partygirl fashion. Sitting with my four cats as company and having a nightcap I watch the evening unfold.
The week so far had been rather rough with two final projects due and hours of studying for next week's exams coupled with the fact I haven't been sleeping well. And when I say "well" I mean very very little. And when I say "very very little" I mean not at all (just ask the bags under my eyes and lines on my face that I had no idea existed until recently).
I was fortunate enough to attend a social gathering in the evening for great food, thought provoking conversation and beer that might or might not have contained green olives (the beer itself wasn't green, something about the dye doesn't agree withe me. Perhaps it reminds me of how filthy the Chicago river looks when she's dyed green. Yuck!).
After returning home I made my little camp on thee porch (where I'm again sitting now) so I could enjoy my nightcap, my kitties and the sights, sounds and smells of the neighborhood. I'm again and again amazing by what transpires right in from of my house.
I saw what looked like a drug deal take place on the playground across the street (either that or the shifty gentleman under the monkey bars was selling boot-leg copies of Windows 7 whilst his companion in the late 90's Caprice Classic complete with $2,000.00 spinner rims looked on with interest). Two dudes sauntered up to each other slowly, nodding their heads this way and that. They spoke briefly, exchanged what each of them had in their pockets, nodded some more and parted ways. One gentleman walked off into the darkness while the other returned to the car.
I saw several vehicles full of St. Paddy's Day party-goers with arms waving out windows plus the occasional driver who had one hand over his left eye so he could see the road a wee better. I saw four. Four. Police Cruisers coast up to the red light at Kossuth and Main before flipping their lights on to idle through the intersection, continuing to coast at 10-15 MPH for a couple of blocks before rolling slowly out of view. I thought a saw a little bunny rabbit strike one of the cruisers from behind.
I saw a black Lincoln limo pull over so a girl could puke in my neighbor's yard. The other occupants tossed a sack of garbage out the door before dragging Pukey McPuke-face back into the car. I hope that poor girl gets the vomit stains out of her hidious bride's maid dress. On a side note, a couple I had the pleasure of sharing fellowship with tonight was celebrating their 11th wedding anniversary. I hope I'll be able to spend as many years with my falcon.
I heard a kitty-cat mewling at the door and it looked like my Audrey was locked outside. I went out to coax her though the door and she just wouldn't come to me even though I called and brought her a treat. I finally lunged and caught her. As I was carrying her back to the house I noticed something strange. "Strange" being that the cat in my arms was definably not my cat. I had my suspicions when the cat I was currently toting seemed a bit heavy and that her fur wasn't quite as soft as it should be. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw my Audrey-girl in the window. She and the other three cats were pitching a huge fit! It's almost like I could hear them screaming "don't bring that thing in here! Admiral Akbar thinks it's a trap". So I set the little guy down and pet him for a few (yeah, guy, un-nuetered male :( ) and gave him a can of my best chow then sent him on his way. Home hopefully.
I saw people jogging, people biking,a dude on skates wearing a patch work quilt as a cape. I'm not sure if he was wearing pants. I saw a cop pull a taxi over. I think I caught a glimpse of the fox that chills in our neighbor's yard from time to time.
I saw a girl sporting a backpack and a big 'ol duffel bag, an over-pronounced limp and no purse. I worried that she might be in trouble but something about the scenario didn't seem right to me. Akbar's clever words echo in my ears.
My options flip though my brain like toilet paper on the roll when you accidentally spin it wrong way. I wonder if she's running away (because that's exactly what it looks like) from an abusive person. I wonder if she's scared or hurt but I also wonder if she was setting someone up. So I kinda crept across the parking lot and hid on the playground where it would be nice and echo-y when I started to yell.
"Yo! You with the big bag, are you okay over there?"
She immediately looks around, "Where are you?"
Crouching I yell, "you need help?"
She's still looking around for the source of my voice, "Where you at? You live around here? Which house is your's"
I am so outta there. Something just did not seem right about this girl. I scamper as low as my current level of physique will allow, back to my house where I slip in the door unnoticed. I watch her from the porch. The girl throws down her bags and makes a phone call but the only word I hear is "hurry" (she's still looking around for me). A sedan full of men pulls out of a nearby ally and picks her up a moment later. She tosses those "heavy" bags into the back seat and hops in after. I've noticed her limp has completely disappeared. They quickly drive away. Off to grift someone else, I guess.
My neighborhood is an endless source of entertainment.
Edit; as Hubby and I enjoyed dinner at cousin Mike's Maple Corner in Covington last week we overheard the bartender and a server debating on the recipe of Irish Coffee. Coffee, cream, Jamison? Coffee, Baileys, whiskey?.... Coffee, a Lucky Strike and a bowl of dirt?
My Joshua piped up and asked "Anyone know what's in a Northern Irish Coffee?"
Everyone shrugged and looked at him like he was crazy.
"C-4, potatoes and peat moss."
And then he walked out of the building not even waiting for a response (or for me).
......Still snickering over that.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Hot? Or not?
"So, is your husband really hot?" This question is posed to me almost every time I meet someone new or bump into old pals. "Is he good-looking?" I recently wondered why Attica/Fo.Co./college/swim camp/fellow world-travelers that knew me when (applying the appropriate "when" depends on the proverbial "who" of course) and people I meet in my new life as a full-time student seem to squeeze this question into conversation almost immediately. When I started to think about these questions (that to me seemed a little inappropriate and shallow) I began to think back on how I've answered said questions. How I answered them three years ago and how I field these queries now varies. And bothers me quite a bit.
Before I divulge whether he is hot or he is not, riddle me this: is physical attraction so important to us as mortals that we are willing to throw away the possibility for true love for the chance to have a gorgeous God-like human at our side? Do we, as the human race really want to out-mate our nearest or most hated same-sex rival? It is common knowledge that people secretly, if not openly want to attract a mate with good genes and blood-lines? So I suppose I understand why people ask me but why is such a high priority? To find out how handsome my husband might be?
So I ask myself: "why does this question keep coming up (in my opinion) very in appropriate times?". I took a hard look at my life thus-far. I looked back at every person I dated, every man I've dated and even every person I've ever been close with as just a friend. And I discovered something that shocked the hell out of me: I have always surround myself with beautiful people (and I'm not talking about beautiful on the inside here, I'm talking really good-looking people). It's almost like somehow I thought just because a bag of shit was wrapped up in a pretty little package it was no longer a bag of shit. I really took a look back and am ashamed of who I welcomed into my heart and soul based on how they looked and made me feel when I was around them. Ashamed. Ashamed for myself and ashamed for the people I possibly enabled into thinking their good looks could out-weigh their short-comings and shallowness. (And let's face it, sometimes people are just plain mean.)
I'm not admitting to being a bad person just that I was once shallow too. But I'm not anymore, I know who I am and surround myself with people that love me for that. Sue me.
Back to how I would answer the big question, a question I heard almost as much as "when ya gonna have some kids?". I would and have said the following...
-He's a bit different
-He's unconventionally cute
-It doesn't matter, he is the love of my life
-I'd rather not talk about it
-He looks good to me
-He's my soul-mate
-What does YOUR husband look like?
I now know after racking my brain for the appropriate and truthful answer is that and only that he is the only person I've ever known to take me fully for who and what I want to be without trying to mold Eileen into their idea of the perfect mate, friend, daughter, sister. He gives me my space when I need it. He holds me when I cry over stupid shit. He yells with me to do better when I know I've failed and need to hear those words to move on. In almost every way he lets me be who I know I need to be and is along with me for the ride that is my life. And I am lucky!
Is my husband hot? I have better questions. Is he a wonderful, uber-intelligent person worthy of your conversation? Are you worthy of his affection? I hope you are because if you fail his test, if your are shallow and unworthy of his attentions and mine, if he knows from the time he meets you that your only intentions are to take and never give then you will not have the pleasure, the honor of knowing him. Of knowing us as a nation of two. And we rock!
Before I divulge whether he is hot or he is not, riddle me this: is physical attraction so important to us as mortals that we are willing to throw away the possibility for true love for the chance to have a gorgeous God-like human at our side? Do we, as the human race really want to out-mate our nearest or most hated same-sex rival? It is common knowledge that people secretly, if not openly want to attract a mate with good genes and blood-lines? So I suppose I understand why people ask me but why is such a high priority? To find out how handsome my husband might be?
So I ask myself: "why does this question keep coming up (in my opinion) very in appropriate times?". I took a hard look at my life thus-far. I looked back at every person I dated, every man I've dated and even every person I've ever been close with as just a friend. And I discovered something that shocked the hell out of me: I have always surround myself with beautiful people (and I'm not talking about beautiful on the inside here, I'm talking really good-looking people). It's almost like somehow I thought just because a bag of shit was wrapped up in a pretty little package it was no longer a bag of shit. I really took a look back and am ashamed of who I welcomed into my heart and soul based on how they looked and made me feel when I was around them. Ashamed. Ashamed for myself and ashamed for the people I possibly enabled into thinking their good looks could out-weigh their short-comings and shallowness. (And let's face it, sometimes people are just plain mean.)
I'm not admitting to being a bad person just that I was once shallow too. But I'm not anymore, I know who I am and surround myself with people that love me for that. Sue me.
Back to how I would answer the big question, a question I heard almost as much as "when ya gonna have some kids?". I would and have said the following...
-He's a bit different
-He's unconventionally cute
-It doesn't matter, he is the love of my life
-I'd rather not talk about it
-He looks good to me
-He's my soul-mate
-What does YOUR husband look like?
I now know after racking my brain for the appropriate and truthful answer is that and only that he is the only person I've ever known to take me fully for who and what I want to be without trying to mold Eileen into their idea of the perfect mate, friend, daughter, sister. He gives me my space when I need it. He holds me when I cry over stupid shit. He yells with me to do better when I know I've failed and need to hear those words to move on. In almost every way he lets me be who I know I need to be and is along with me for the ride that is my life. And I am lucky!
Is my husband hot? I have better questions. Is he a wonderful, uber-intelligent person worthy of your conversation? Are you worthy of his affection? I hope you are because if you fail his test, if your are shallow and unworthy of his attentions and mine, if he knows from the time he meets you that your only intentions are to take and never give then you will not have the pleasure, the honor of knowing him. Of knowing us as a nation of two. And we rock!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Random acts of stupidity (or not) performed, witnessed, aided and abetteted or possibly made up entirely by me.
I once glued $8.00 worth of pennies to a blanket because I felt like it, hid it (poorly) because I was afraid of getting in trouble and lied about it (also poorly) when busted by my mom. I think I was trying to make a flag of some-sort. I don't really know; I was five.
I once flattened an entire family of bunny-rabbits (mommie and ten-thousand teeny-tiny babies) with my car on Granville Rd. I was driving home from Purdue to eat dinner with my family, Freshman year. On Easter Sunday.
I once set my water heater ablaze when the idea struck me to cleverly fix that annoying drip, drip, drip with an extremely flammable plumbing adhesive called Stop Leak. It made a movie-quality "whooosh" sound, but I digress. I then, cleverly mind you, dumped five gallons of water on the flames to put out the fire. And the pilot light. Alcohol may or may not been involved. I do remember for sure that the bill from the plumber I hired (and lied to about what actually happened) gave me a bill for $73.50.
While traveling through Europe I once descended the wrong side of a mountain and landed myself in a completely different country, without any money (would have been for the wrong country anyway, I had Francs not lire), or my passport. Funny how: when you think you are in France, Italian sounds a hell-of-a-lot like Spanish. Hol-friggin-la!
I once went into the boys locker room at Fountain Central because I was invited (stop thinking dirty thoughts, I was in 6th grade, PedoBear!). Besides, I wanted to see what it looked like in there. But then I got caught, or rather the douche that invited me told everyone and our cheerleading sponsor found out. Thanks for going easy on me, Bonnie Wolf.
I once (with a few accomplices) went to Chicago on a school day and drove on Lake Shore Drive before I had my license. It was the first and only time I've cried whilst driving 80 MPH.
I once hid a ferret in my parents' house for three months without them knowing. I was strictly forbade from owning a ferret. Some pals and I rescued her from a very dangerous environment. After I brought her home, I just couldn't give her up. I miss Mo.
I once peed in a park and slept on a bench when I couldn't find my way back to my hostel. In London. (At least the people that called me a homeless wanker spoke English and gave me a gyro).
I once was forcibly removed from a live production of Rockey Horror Picture Show. That, in itself, deserves a trophy of some sort.
I once went to Paddington Station in London (different trip all together) and bought a ticket for the first train leaving. I found myself in Dover, England (as in The White Cliffs of...) and had the time of my life. I stayed four days and even took a day-trip to France while I was there. I toured Dover Castle and the amazing network of WWII caves underneath. I made a friend I'm still in contact with as of today.
I once adopted a de-scented skunk as a pet and had her stolen from me by a bunch of dicks that burgled my house. I named her after a Phish song (Reba) and taught her how to sit up and beg. I miss her too.
I once sang the National Anthem for a crowd of a couple thousand basketball fans (Sectional Semi-finals at Attica High School) and almost had a stroke. At least I didn't forget the friggin words. The Trueloves might still have that disaster on video (makes mental not to ask).
I once followed Phish for two months just because I could (and was young and stupid). I ran out of money in a few weeks and had to get creative to feed myself (paid for my tix ahead of time, thank God). I sold cigarettes, beer and water and lived in a Geo Metro with a lesbian that called herself Moonbeam. I went 11 days without a shower and learned this valuable lesson; patchouli is not a substitute for soap.
I once got addicted to E-bay (can you say Coach? D&B?) and had to have my loving husband cut me off by changing my password for me. Still clean to this day although.......
I once met a man (Falco Rex) on an internet message board. He became my mortal enemy. We fought and argued but eventually joined forces (proverbially) to punish others who dared to challenge us and our beliefs. We drew a rather large group of followers from eight different countries (minions, we called them) and eventually built our own website for trolling and flaming the noooooobs. As we grew closer, he confided in me that he was unhappy where he was living in New Hampshire and wished he could just start over somewhere else. I was living by myself with Audrey the kitty, my crazy cat lady days still in my distant future, so I offered one of my two spare rooms to him if he'd like to make the move to cow country and be my roommate. The first time we met in person was when I picked him up at the downtown Indianapolis bus station. Six years later and we're still in contact, I usually just call him "Hubby".
Authors note; this is not how we usually dress. The photographer happened to catch us on our way to church.
Uploaded with ImageShack.us
I once flattened an entire family of bunny-rabbits (mommie and ten-thousand teeny-tiny babies) with my car on Granville Rd. I was driving home from Purdue to eat dinner with my family, Freshman year. On Easter Sunday.
I once set my water heater ablaze when the idea struck me to cleverly fix that annoying drip, drip, drip with an extremely flammable plumbing adhesive called Stop Leak. It made a movie-quality "whooosh" sound, but I digress. I then, cleverly mind you, dumped five gallons of water on the flames to put out the fire. And the pilot light. Alcohol may or may not been involved. I do remember for sure that the bill from the plumber I hired (and lied to about what actually happened) gave me a bill for $73.50.
While traveling through Europe I once descended the wrong side of a mountain and landed myself in a completely different country, without any money (would have been for the wrong country anyway, I had Francs not lire), or my passport. Funny how: when you think you are in France, Italian sounds a hell-of-a-lot like Spanish. Hol-friggin-la!
I once went into the boys locker room at Fountain Central because I was invited (stop thinking dirty thoughts, I was in 6th grade, PedoBear!). Besides, I wanted to see what it looked like in there. But then I got caught, or rather the douche that invited me told everyone and our cheerleading sponsor found out. Thanks for going easy on me, Bonnie Wolf.
I once (with a few accomplices) went to Chicago on a school day and drove on Lake Shore Drive before I had my license. It was the first and only time I've cried whilst driving 80 MPH.
I once hid a ferret in my parents' house for three months without them knowing. I was strictly forbade from owning a ferret. Some pals and I rescued her from a very dangerous environment. After I brought her home, I just couldn't give her up. I miss Mo.
I once peed in a park and slept on a bench when I couldn't find my way back to my hostel. In London. (At least the people that called me a homeless wanker spoke English and gave me a gyro).
I once was forcibly removed from a live production of Rockey Horror Picture Show. That, in itself, deserves a trophy of some sort.
I once went to Paddington Station in London (different trip all together) and bought a ticket for the first train leaving. I found myself in Dover, England (as in The White Cliffs of...) and had the time of my life. I stayed four days and even took a day-trip to France while I was there. I toured Dover Castle and the amazing network of WWII caves underneath. I made a friend I'm still in contact with as of today.
I once adopted a de-scented skunk as a pet and had her stolen from me by a bunch of dicks that burgled my house. I named her after a Phish song (Reba) and taught her how to sit up and beg. I miss her too.
I once sang the National Anthem for a crowd of a couple thousand basketball fans (Sectional Semi-finals at Attica High School) and almost had a stroke. At least I didn't forget the friggin words. The Trueloves might still have that disaster on video (makes mental not to ask).
I once followed Phish for two months just because I could (and was young and stupid). I ran out of money in a few weeks and had to get creative to feed myself (paid for my tix ahead of time, thank God). I sold cigarettes, beer and water and lived in a Geo Metro with a lesbian that called herself Moonbeam. I went 11 days without a shower and learned this valuable lesson; patchouli is not a substitute for soap.
I once got addicted to E-bay (can you say Coach? D&B?) and had to have my loving husband cut me off by changing my password for me. Still clean to this day although.......
I once met a man (Falco Rex) on an internet message board. He became my mortal enemy. We fought and argued but eventually joined forces (proverbially) to punish others who dared to challenge us and our beliefs. We drew a rather large group of followers from eight different countries (minions, we called them) and eventually built our own website for trolling and flaming the noooooobs. As we grew closer, he confided in me that he was unhappy where he was living in New Hampshire and wished he could just start over somewhere else. I was living by myself with Audrey the kitty, my crazy cat lady days still in my distant future, so I offered one of my two spare rooms to him if he'd like to make the move to cow country and be my roommate. The first time we met in person was when I picked him up at the downtown Indianapolis bus station. Six years later and we're still in contact, I usually just call him "Hubby".
Authors note; this is not how we usually dress. The photographer happened to catch us on our way to church.
Uploaded with ImageShack.us
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