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 ;))
Rambling thoughts and musings of a cat-loving ghost hunter
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
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!
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