Friday, September 30, 2011

My Inner Child Likes Mashed Potatoes

Last week I wrote HELP ME on the inside of a door in the freezer section.  

What?!  Don't look at me like that.  At least my kids were proud of me. 

Life is full of simple pleasures, people.  You have to find happiness wherever you can get it.  I enjoy those little things that make me who I am.  I don't mean my DNA.  Yes, DNA does count as little things and I'll bet if you looked closely at it, you would undoubtedly see that I have some gene in there that makes me weird.  (It's the one that looks like it's giving you the finger.)

I'm talking about your inner child. 

You have to embrace your inner child!  Pay attention to her.  Feed her.  Keep her occupied, lest you find that inner child perched atop a bell tower in your subconscious with a semi-automatic rifle.

I'll be turning 40 this year, and I'm going strive to keep my spirit happy and young; nurturing my soul with things that make me smile...things like writing messages in the windows of the deep freeze and sending my husband random, obscenity-laden text messages.

Today I set all the egg timers at the store to go off after 10 minutes and walked away. 

What did you do today?

Monday, September 26, 2011

Bug Killer, Thy Name Is Erika.

I kill bugs.  I do.  I can't help myself.
To say that I'm sorry for killing them would be a lie.  I don't exactly enjoy taking their little buggy lives, but I also don't enjoy sharing my living space with them, or feeling their creepy little legs on my person.

It's fall.  I haven't got any hedge apples to put around the basement, so I guess it's time for me to announce to the arachnids and insects that seek refuge in my abode that they are not welcome here, or rather that they ARE welcome...provided that they remain unseen.  

Dear creepy crawlies, 
I do not like you.  If I see you in my home, you will be killed.  Those of you who choose to dangle above my bed while I sleep, will find that tempting fate does not prove fruitful, as I squash you faster than you can scramble up that little bit of floss from which you rappel.  

I repeat:  I will kill you.  This is not an idle threat.  
Thank you for your cooperation, 
The Management

File This Under "Poor Sales Tactics".

I got this bit of mail the other day from the University of Iowa Hospitals promoting a meet and greet for their plastic surgery unit.  

Of course there's an airbrushed picture of a model on the front and a list of their services, which could provide millions with a better body image (or add to another million's plastic surgery addictions).
What I find interesting is that they enclosed an emery board with their 800 number on it.  What's the message they're trying to convey with this gift?  It's kind of like saying, "Here, troll. We'll get you started on the path to beauty with this sandpaper on a stick.  When you find that your attempts to file your great schnoz down to a respectable length are futile, call the number and let us help.  Please."  

Oh, and they're serving "mocktails" at this get-together.  What are mocktails, you ask?  They're just like cocktails without the cock.  I have no idea how to make a non-alcoholic Slippery Nipple and I'm pretty sure that a Screwdriver and Long Island Iced Tea would just be orange juice and a soda, sans alcohol.  Shirley Temples and Virgin Daiquiris aren't going to cut it for a surgical mixer.   Seems silly to me to not get folks all kinds of liquored up for something like this.  I'd think they'd promote more business if the people were a little bit lit. 
"Boob job?"  *shrugs* *slurs*  "Why the eff not! Let'sh do it!"  *bares chest*

I'd go to that party.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Justified Slobitude

My computer rests on top of miscellaneous garbage and things to be filed.  I don't think there's a desk underneath it all.

I should clean this up.  But what if there really isn't a desk under here?  What if the phone books and empty CD cases and candy wrappers and washcloths and pens and duct tape and an empty shoe box and my bra (wth?) other things I've forgotten (read: been too lazy) to pick up actually do hold my computer off the ground? 

Since I'm fairly certain that it's all the clutter that keeps my computer at eye level, I'd better just leave it alone, right?   I'd hate to clean the mess here and dislodge a keystone piece of this carefully constructed stage from which I perform only to watch the entire thing crash to the floor.   I mean, I need to have my computer.  You need me to have my computer.  You wouldn't want to be held responsible for anything that could happen to me if I was suddenly forced to rack up data charges on my phone.  I couldn't be held responsible for the trauma that my sudden departure from the internet could cause.  Whatever would you do with yourselves?  

Yeah. I'd better not touch it.  

You know, just in case.  

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Masked Intruder Shaken After Encounter With Border Patrol.

Some mornings take you by surprise.  I was interrupted from a game of Words With Friends on Facebook by these words, screamed from the kitchen by my six year old:


Thankfully, today was one of those days when Wonder Dog actually did what I told him to and he dropped the masked intruder after I yelled out "LEAVE IT!" from the back door.
After I called the dog off and got him inside, where he mourned the loss of his VERY lifelike squeaky toy, I watched the raccoon -just a young thing- limp pitifully to the base of the nearest tree and climb to safety. 

That's how my day started.
Could've been worse.  I could've been the raccoon.

I can just imagine how the poor little guy felt, sneaking through the yard in the early morning, tired from a long night of scavenging and being suddenly attacked and violently shaken by a great hulking beast of a dog.

I'm sure Brinkley's thoughts were "Hey, cool toy!  Shaky, shaky.  Ooh, it squeaks!  Shaky, shaky!"

I'm also fairly sure the raccoon's thoughts were "HOLY FUCK, WHAT IS THIS SHIT?!  OW OW OW OW!!  SWEET JESUS, MAKE IT STOP!  OW OW OW OW OW!!"

He's (She's?) still perched up in the tree, sleeping, recovering (hopefully not bleeding internally).

It's a fine line I walk when it comes to wild animals.  I'm not a fan of rabies and I've heard that raccoons are big carriers of it, so I don't really want them in my yard...but I don't want them brutally murdered in front of my children by the family pet either. 

Exciting morning, eh?  I tell you, every day it's something.  Makes you just want to jump up out of bed and say "Okay, world.  Gimme what you've got!"

...unless what the world has for you is a big, dumb 110 pound Bernese Mountain Dog with a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon.  Yeah.

The raccoon made its escape under cover of darkness.  I hope it's learned its lesson.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Good Morning, Blogosphere.

I went for a lovely walk this the rain.  It really was a nice walk.  It's a cool September day and the smells in the air are earthy and pungent with the smells of autumn.  Someone was smoking meats nearby and I could smell the hickory burning.  *inhales* *sighs*  I do so love that smell.

I was a little worried that I'd be soaked by the time I got back home, but it was just a sprinkling of rain so I was all good.  I didn't even have to take out my hearing aid or put my MP3 player away.  Now I'm wondering what people do on their runs and walks when it's raining.  Do you have to fore-go the musical accompaniment on your circuit or risk shorting out your system in the rain? 

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Sam On Childbirth...

Samantha: "Mom, do you have a scar on your tummy from letting me out?"
Me: "Nope. I never gave birth that way."
Samantha: "Oh, so I came out through your..."
Me: "Vagina, yes. You all did."
Samantha: "At the SAME TIME??"

Friday, September 2, 2011

I can't Mom today.

I'm playing Words With Friends on Facebook.  It's taken up a lot of my time today, and I'm actually not quite finished satisfying my need to form words from randomly selected letter tiles.

That said, there are a few things I will not be getting done today...because, you know...I'm busy.

I will not be doing any dishes.  If you need a drinking glass, fork, spoon or plate, wash one.  Unless you're made out of sugar, you're not going to dissolve in the dishwater. 

I will not be vacuuming.  If you encounter a dust bunny you can't step over, I suggest you kick it out of the way or, here's a thought: pick it up and throw it away.  If it growls at you, RUN.

I will not be breaking up any fights.  If you resort to pushing and/or shoving and/or hitting your siblings, you are on your own.  I'm sure you'll rethink your decision as they pound you into the ground.

Ooh, it's my turn.  Gotta go.

Some Other Stuff I Wrote