Some of my personal philosophies:
1. There should be no divorce. Divorce is ugly business full of hate and violent thoughts and actions, and custody battles that really only hurt the kid. Instead I think that whoever was the bigger asshole, the philanderer, or most responsible for the break-up of the marriage should just have to die. Now wouldn't that be easier?
2. If you're single and you find a man who likes cats, you should marry him. Immediately. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, just go straight to the altar and stake your claim. This is a man with a large heart and a gentle soul. Has anyone ever heard of a wife-beater who in his spare time plays with Mr. Whiskers?
3. Mini-skirts should not be made in plus sizes. I say this with no disrespect to plus-size girls, being as how I am one, but I once saw a mini-skirt on a clearance rack that was 4 times as wide as it was long (I will pause to let you fully develop this mental image). There was only one left.
4. Just because your child never bit another child does not make you a better parent than me, it just makes you a luckier parent. You aren't some super-mom who's better equipped to raise children, you simply didn't have a biter. I have five kids; one was a biter. Yes, he bit every child within a 50 mile radius of our home, but do you think actually think I taught him to do that? "Now, the next time I want you to really grind in there with your bottom teeth. Good job, son!"
5. Whoever started the Fudruckers restaurant chain just wanted to make people sound like they were saying a curse word without actually saying it.
6. Women who make the biggest show over not being able to figure out how to turn vibrators off and on most likely have more toys at home than Imelda Marcos has shoes. Who do they think they're kidding? There's two buttons, one says 'up' the other says 'down.' Even if you've never seen one before, it's pretty self explanatory, so you'd have to actually be illiterate or it's pretty clear you're deliberately pretending to be confused.
7. There should be a special program built in to every computer for spam-forwarders. If you truly believe that Bill Gates has nothing else to spend his money on other than people who forward an email to 2,548,963 friends, your hard-drive should immediately explode into 2,548,963 pieces. Game over.
8. Helping a little old lady across the street is only nice if she actually wants to cross the street. If she doesn't, it's kind of cruel.
9. People are rarely as wonderful as their dogs seem to think they are. Dogs also roll in feces and rotting carcasses, so the fact that he thinks your pretty cool doesn't mean much.
10. If you think you have Alzheimers today, and tomorrow you remember that you thought you had Alzheimers, you probably don't have Alzheimers.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Ding-Dong, Dinner is Served!
Last was date night for Joe and I. Sort of. It was actually kind of an upside down date, with some necessary shopping mixed in.
It was upside down because we decided to start with the sex, which was a good thing because Joe was too tired by the time we got home. Also, we worked up a really good appetite so we made dinner our second event.
Joe took me to Carrabba's which was my first time there, and I must say, I can't wait to go back. If you've never been there, or if you have been there but never had the Fillet Brion, I highly recommend it. It was quite possibly the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. Like party in my mouth good.
Fillet Brion is a nice tender Fillet Mignon topped with goat cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, basil and a fabulous sauce that ties it all together. I know, it sounds a little weird, but trust me, it's magnifico!
In typical Dagenhard fashion, we were so hungry when we got there that we got a little carried away eating the Italian bread, appetizers, soup and salad (hey, it was good sex!) By the time the entrees arrived I was only able to eat four bites of my steak, and a very small amount of my garlic mashed potatoes. Actually I'm a little glad because it was so heavenly that I was almost saddened by the thought of it being gone and now I have a lunch to look forward to today.
And, because I'm so clever, I left a business card in the little folder they put your bill in for Kristi, our waitress, who had patiently described every entree to us and filled my water glass before it was completely empty without ever being asked. Not only may I book a party from that meal, but now I can write it off on my taxes as a business dinner :)
Next was Lowes where we were helped by Dion who explained the various features on each Whirlpool washing machine and dryer and somehow managed to make it sound exciting. He pointed out the water-saving features on the model we subsequently purchased.
"It cuts your water usage almost in half during the rinse cycle because it sprays the clothes instead of filling the drum," he told us.
Of course, I HAD to ask him if it could then double as a shower so my kids could cut down on their water usage during bathing. He informed me that it could, as he showered in his washer every morning and always came out downy-fresh and wrinkle-free. Good old Dion--he never missed a beat during our back-and-forth banter. I highly recommend him too!
Then we perused the coffee makers since mine went the way of the washer and dryer a month ago and chose a Black and Decker with a thermal carafe that cleverly keeps coffee fresh and warm for four hours without scorching. Now I can stop using my French press which makes good coffee but I always have the urge to kiss everyone once on each cheek after using it.
On the way to the check-out we passed the doorbell section which never fails to draw me in. I always have to push all the buttons and listen to the chimes. I can't help it. Buttons are just meant to be pushed and I'm easily entertained so it keeps me busy for about five minutes every time because if I particularly like the chime, I'll push it five or six times. Joe said he'd have a penis-chime installed if I'd play with Peppy that much.
It's kind of like that doinger at the checkout at Walmart that de-alarms the expensive stuff so you don't set off the security system on the way out. It's the funnest doing-ing noise and if I worked at Walmart I'd play with that thing all day just to hear it. And when I do hear it, I have to replicate it verbally.
Machine: Doing!
Me: Doing!
Then I'd have to explain to everyone that I got fired from Walmart for doinging my doinger excessively at the check-out counter and everyone would think I was some sort of freak or sex-aholic or PeeWee Herman, except in a discount store instead of a porno-theater.
But I digress...
Just for fun, when we went up to the help desk I handed the clerk our coffee maker and told her I'd like to put it on the 12 month same-as-cash program. Sometimes I crack myself up, which is good because not everyone is quite so amused by me.
Then, on the way out to the car, I burped and would you believe, that burp was every bit as delicious as the Fillet Brion was? I'm telling you, that steak just keeps on giving! It's amazing!
Then off to Jen and Ed's to pick up a copy of my party demo that Jen generously took the time to tape for me and download it onto disc for a training tool for my fabulous down-line. I was a little worried about seeing it, because I hate looking at pictures of myself; I'm terribly un-photogenic, which is the reason I never change my profile pic, because it's the only good picture of me currently in existence.
However, even though I was rather mortified to see how fat I've gotten recently, it was actually fun to watch my own demo. I laughed at all my own jokes even though I knew ahead of time what I was about to say. And I thought, 'damn, I look like an idiot.' All this time I thought women were laughing with me and I come to find out they're laughing at me, which is ok, because I laugh at myself all the time. Sometimes I get mad at myself for it, and sometimes it makes me defensive, but I always get over it, which is good because alter ego me would keep doing it just to piss me off if I didn't.
We visited for a while because Jen and Ed are always fun to hang with and Ed makes me piddle a little because he's so darn funny (sorry about the couch, guys!)
You may be wondering what the point of this Blog was. In truth, I have no idea. I really just wanted to share about the steak, but once I get started, sometimes it's hard to stop.
But seriously--go try that steak. Now. Just do it! You'll thank me later.
It was upside down because we decided to start with the sex, which was a good thing because Joe was too tired by the time we got home. Also, we worked up a really good appetite so we made dinner our second event.
Joe took me to Carrabba's which was my first time there, and I must say, I can't wait to go back. If you've never been there, or if you have been there but never had the Fillet Brion, I highly recommend it. It was quite possibly the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. Like party in my mouth good.
Fillet Brion is a nice tender Fillet Mignon topped with goat cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, basil and a fabulous sauce that ties it all together. I know, it sounds a little weird, but trust me, it's magnifico!
In typical Dagenhard fashion, we were so hungry when we got there that we got a little carried away eating the Italian bread, appetizers, soup and salad (hey, it was good sex!) By the time the entrees arrived I was only able to eat four bites of my steak, and a very small amount of my garlic mashed potatoes. Actually I'm a little glad because it was so heavenly that I was almost saddened by the thought of it being gone and now I have a lunch to look forward to today.
And, because I'm so clever, I left a business card in the little folder they put your bill in for Kristi, our waitress, who had patiently described every entree to us and filled my water glass before it was completely empty without ever being asked. Not only may I book a party from that meal, but now I can write it off on my taxes as a business dinner :)
Next was Lowes where we were helped by Dion who explained the various features on each Whirlpool washing machine and dryer and somehow managed to make it sound exciting. He pointed out the water-saving features on the model we subsequently purchased.
"It cuts your water usage almost in half during the rinse cycle because it sprays the clothes instead of filling the drum," he told us.
Of course, I HAD to ask him if it could then double as a shower so my kids could cut down on their water usage during bathing. He informed me that it could, as he showered in his washer every morning and always came out downy-fresh and wrinkle-free. Good old Dion--he never missed a beat during our back-and-forth banter. I highly recommend him too!
Then we perused the coffee makers since mine went the way of the washer and dryer a month ago and chose a Black and Decker with a thermal carafe that cleverly keeps coffee fresh and warm for four hours without scorching. Now I can stop using my French press which makes good coffee but I always have the urge to kiss everyone once on each cheek after using it.
On the way to the check-out we passed the doorbell section which never fails to draw me in. I always have to push all the buttons and listen to the chimes. I can't help it. Buttons are just meant to be pushed and I'm easily entertained so it keeps me busy for about five minutes every time because if I particularly like the chime, I'll push it five or six times. Joe said he'd have a penis-chime installed if I'd play with Peppy that much.
It's kind of like that doinger at the checkout at Walmart that de-alarms the expensive stuff so you don't set off the security system on the way out. It's the funnest doing-ing noise and if I worked at Walmart I'd play with that thing all day just to hear it. And when I do hear it, I have to replicate it verbally.
Machine: Doing!
Me: Doing!
Then I'd have to explain to everyone that I got fired from Walmart for doinging my doinger excessively at the check-out counter and everyone would think I was some sort of freak or sex-aholic or PeeWee Herman, except in a discount store instead of a porno-theater.
But I digress...
Just for fun, when we went up to the help desk I handed the clerk our coffee maker and told her I'd like to put it on the 12 month same-as-cash program. Sometimes I crack myself up, which is good because not everyone is quite so amused by me.
Then, on the way out to the car, I burped and would you believe, that burp was every bit as delicious as the Fillet Brion was? I'm telling you, that steak just keeps on giving! It's amazing!
Then off to Jen and Ed's to pick up a copy of my party demo that Jen generously took the time to tape for me and download it onto disc for a training tool for my fabulous down-line. I was a little worried about seeing it, because I hate looking at pictures of myself; I'm terribly un-photogenic, which is the reason I never change my profile pic, because it's the only good picture of me currently in existence.
However, even though I was rather mortified to see how fat I've gotten recently, it was actually fun to watch my own demo. I laughed at all my own jokes even though I knew ahead of time what I was about to say. And I thought, 'damn, I look like an idiot.' All this time I thought women were laughing with me and I come to find out they're laughing at me, which is ok, because I laugh at myself all the time. Sometimes I get mad at myself for it, and sometimes it makes me defensive, but I always get over it, which is good because alter ego me would keep doing it just to piss me off if I didn't.
We visited for a while because Jen and Ed are always fun to hang with and Ed makes me piddle a little because he's so darn funny (sorry about the couch, guys!)
You may be wondering what the point of this Blog was. In truth, I have no idea. I really just wanted to share about the steak, but once I get started, sometimes it's hard to stop.
But seriously--go try that steak. Now. Just do it! You'll thank me later.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Sweeping with the enemy
I was evilly and viciously attacked this morning while cleaning my bathroom. The intruder was particularly ugly and didn't even bother to mask his identity.
Lavatory Tarantulosa made his appearance as I was sweeping the floor. He immediately did that crouch-down thing they do when they prepare to attack, and as he glared at me with his eight eyes (eight eyes, for God's sake--wtf's up with eight eyes??) I swear he was hopped up on meth or heroin or something. He's all like "Hey, motha fuckahhhhhh" and I'm not sure what happened next because I kind of blacked out for a while.
When I came to he was gone and I felt very violated. And panicked because now I can't use my bathroom ever again which is a problem because I occasionally have to pee in the middle of the night and the only 24-hour gas stations around here lock their doors at night. I don't think I can pee through the little slidy-shelf they use for after-hour sales. Well, I could, but I don't think it would go over very well.
People say that spiders are more afraid of you than you are of them, but who actually believes that crap anyway?
I once read a story about a man holding up a gas station with a daddy long leg. Everyone had a field day with that one because the cashier actually opened up the register and gave him all the money. I don't blame her. I would have done the same thing.
If someone held a spider up to me and made demands I'd hand over my collection of old Simon and Garfunkel music that I love more than Willy loves his weed or Pee-Wee Herman loves his porn.
So, as my son mopped the bathroom floor (you didn't actually think I'd finish it knowing there was a killer on the loose did you?) he swears the spider came out from under the radiator and he killed it, but I don't believe him.
I believe he killed A spider, I just don't think it was THE spider. I think the first one was the Don and the one Dalton killed was one of his associates. Now we've killed one of the 'family' and pissed off the spider-mafia and there's going to be a horse-fly head in my bed because I'm the one who ordered the hit.
I'd call the exterminator, but the last time I called him and said I had just gone head-to-head with a rabid, nun chuck wielding, Tommy-hawk throwing arachnid, he said he doesn't deal in that particular variety of Hannibal Lecterosa so I guess I'm on my own.
("Hello, Clarice!"....)
Let's just hope he thinks the world is more interesting with me in it.
Lavatory Tarantulosa made his appearance as I was sweeping the floor. He immediately did that crouch-down thing they do when they prepare to attack, and as he glared at me with his eight eyes (eight eyes, for God's sake--wtf's up with eight eyes??) I swear he was hopped up on meth or heroin or something. He's all like "Hey, motha fuckahhhhhh" and I'm not sure what happened next because I kind of blacked out for a while.
When I came to he was gone and I felt very violated. And panicked because now I can't use my bathroom ever again which is a problem because I occasionally have to pee in the middle of the night and the only 24-hour gas stations around here lock their doors at night. I don't think I can pee through the little slidy-shelf they use for after-hour sales. Well, I could, but I don't think it would go over very well.
People say that spiders are more afraid of you than you are of them, but who actually believes that crap anyway?
I once read a story about a man holding up a gas station with a daddy long leg. Everyone had a field day with that one because the cashier actually opened up the register and gave him all the money. I don't blame her. I would have done the same thing.
If someone held a spider up to me and made demands I'd hand over my collection of old Simon and Garfunkel music that I love more than Willy loves his weed or Pee-Wee Herman loves his porn.
So, as my son mopped the bathroom floor (you didn't actually think I'd finish it knowing there was a killer on the loose did you?) he swears the spider came out from under the radiator and he killed it, but I don't believe him.
I believe he killed A spider, I just don't think it was THE spider. I think the first one was the Don and the one Dalton killed was one of his associates. Now we've killed one of the 'family' and pissed off the spider-mafia and there's going to be a horse-fly head in my bed because I'm the one who ordered the hit.
I'd call the exterminator, but the last time I called him and said I had just gone head-to-head with a rabid, nun chuck wielding, Tommy-hawk throwing arachnid, he said he doesn't deal in that particular variety of Hannibal Lecterosa so I guess I'm on my own.
("Hello, Clarice!"....)
Let's just hope he thinks the world is more interesting with me in it.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
PMS Wednesday
I have had PMS for two days now and I'm starting to get on my own nerves. Seriously, I'm so horribly mean and ugly I want to punch myself in the face until I straighten up. I don't always get it this bad. Sometimes I'm just a little bitchy, but this month I'm full-blown crazy.
This is why I should never own a gun. Ever. If I did you would have to lock me up once a month like a wherewolf (is that spelled correctly? I don't think I've ever written that word! I'd look it up, but I just really don't feel like it. Wherewolf? Therewolf!! Sounds like a conversations between two-year-olds. Great, now I not only have PMS but ADD as well. Sigh.)
I was going to get a full day of office-moving in today, but I think I'll just sit around and play Snood Slide all day, because it's my favorite time waster and since today is most likely going to be a waste, might as well do it up right.
If you've never played Snood, or Snood Slide, you really have to check it out. Snood is a skill game, but Snood Slide is total strategy and it alternately pisses me off when I lose and makes me all "in your face!" when I win the higher levels, which can be particularly nasty.
I hate it when I've spent five moves setting up the perfect slide to reach a difficult area and the key snood-piece I need turns to a numskull. Bastard! That's what I always say when it happens, too. Nothing like teaching your kids good sportsmanship, eh?
Check out Snood at www.snood.com, and play the trial version of Snood Slide. Maybe you'll get hooked on those little bastards too! If you do, don't say I didn't warn you...
This is why I should never own a gun. Ever. If I did you would have to lock me up once a month like a wherewolf (is that spelled correctly? I don't think I've ever written that word! I'd look it up, but I just really don't feel like it. Wherewolf? Therewolf!! Sounds like a conversations between two-year-olds. Great, now I not only have PMS but ADD as well. Sigh.)
I was going to get a full day of office-moving in today, but I think I'll just sit around and play Snood Slide all day, because it's my favorite time waster and since today is most likely going to be a waste, might as well do it up right.
If you've never played Snood, or Snood Slide, you really have to check it out. Snood is a skill game, but Snood Slide is total strategy and it alternately pisses me off when I lose and makes me all "in your face!" when I win the higher levels, which can be particularly nasty.
I hate it when I've spent five moves setting up the perfect slide to reach a difficult area and the key snood-piece I need turns to a numskull. Bastard! That's what I always say when it happens, too. Nothing like teaching your kids good sportsmanship, eh?
Check out Snood at www.snood.com, and play the trial version of Snood Slide. Maybe you'll get hooked on those little bastards too! If you do, don't say I didn't warn you...
Monday, July 6, 2009
A 13-year-old's Survival Kit
Yesterday was our second annual tubing event. No nudists, no clown posses, and thankfully no angry locals descending upon us ("You got a purdy mouth").
What we did have was our children to provide us with endless hours of entertainment. Our two girls, Bri and Brittney who are 19 and 'almost 16' (this is an actual age, according to Brittney) respectively were along for the adventure. My friend Shawn also had her girl Tristan who is 13, and Tristan brought her 13-year-old friend, because what's better than one 13-year-old, but two?
Ah, sweet 13. I'd forgotten in the 'almost 3' years since Brittney was 13 how fraught with angst that age is. The drama alone is worth avoiding that entire year of a girl's life.
Tristan's tale of woe is particularly sad. Her mother is horrible. Joan Crawford horrible. She admits her mother has never actually beat her with wire hangers, or anything even closely resembling them, but she sleeps with extra blankets for padding just in case.
Her mother also has the gall to occasionally purchase something for herself after denying Tristan her most basic needs. Yes, she tearfully told us, her mother doesn't buy them any food.
"Really?" I asked. "You don't look anything like those starving Ethiopian children from the TV commercials."
As it turns out, Tristan's definition of 'no food' is food that must be prepared, as in heated up before serving, or even, God forbid, cooked!! And, yes, Shawn does cook dinners, but sometimes she's at work and Tristan and her 17-year-old brother must fend for themselves!
Had I known my friend was such a monster I'd have turned her in to Child Services a long time ago! Friends or not, I just can't tolerate abusive and neglectful behavior toward innocent children.
The entire day was a trip down memory lane for Joe and I as we pondered those years when our own girls were 13. This is what we've decided all 13-year-old girls should come with:
1. Tissues. Lots and lots of tissues, for when they burst into tears for no apparent reason.
2. Caseloads of Midol to combat the raging hormones responsible not only for their tears but the bouts of explosive anger and self-pity.
3. A fainting couch for more dramatic effect.
4. Kid gloves and egg shells (self-explanatory).
5. Clearasil. Nothing ruins their day faster than a zit.
6. The exact same size breasts (or lack thereof) as every other girl their age.
7. Their own bathroom. Other people need to use it too.
8. A Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle concoction that will knock them out for an entire year.
What parents of 13-year-olds should have:
1. Prophylactic headache medicine. Take two every morning whether your head hurts or not, because you know you're going to need it at some point anyway.
2. Artificial tears to show them we genuinely do care that Susie's mom bought her Super Mega Rockstar 3 and all the equipment that is required to play it while we need that $200 to pay the electric bill that was run up by the continuous use of hair dryers, curling irons and straighteners.
3. Some sort of alcoholic beverage-- take two shots as needed.
4. Ear plugs.
5. An escape route.
Whether you have a 13-year-old girl, or a soon to be one, take heart from the fact that most parents do survive. The tic will eventually dissipate and the shell-shocked look is seldom permanent.
God be with you!
What we did have was our children to provide us with endless hours of entertainment. Our two girls, Bri and Brittney who are 19 and 'almost 16' (this is an actual age, according to Brittney) respectively were along for the adventure. My friend Shawn also had her girl Tristan who is 13, and Tristan brought her 13-year-old friend, because what's better than one 13-year-old, but two?
Ah, sweet 13. I'd forgotten in the 'almost 3' years since Brittney was 13 how fraught with angst that age is. The drama alone is worth avoiding that entire year of a girl's life.
Tristan's tale of woe is particularly sad. Her mother is horrible. Joan Crawford horrible. She admits her mother has never actually beat her with wire hangers, or anything even closely resembling them, but she sleeps with extra blankets for padding just in case.
Her mother also has the gall to occasionally purchase something for herself after denying Tristan her most basic needs. Yes, she tearfully told us, her mother doesn't buy them any food.
"Really?" I asked. "You don't look anything like those starving Ethiopian children from the TV commercials."
As it turns out, Tristan's definition of 'no food' is food that must be prepared, as in heated up before serving, or even, God forbid, cooked!! And, yes, Shawn does cook dinners, but sometimes she's at work and Tristan and her 17-year-old brother must fend for themselves!
Had I known my friend was such a monster I'd have turned her in to Child Services a long time ago! Friends or not, I just can't tolerate abusive and neglectful behavior toward innocent children.
The entire day was a trip down memory lane for Joe and I as we pondered those years when our own girls were 13. This is what we've decided all 13-year-old girls should come with:
1. Tissues. Lots and lots of tissues, for when they burst into tears for no apparent reason.
2. Caseloads of Midol to combat the raging hormones responsible not only for their tears but the bouts of explosive anger and self-pity.
3. A fainting couch for more dramatic effect.
4. Kid gloves and egg shells (self-explanatory).
5. Clearasil. Nothing ruins their day faster than a zit.
6. The exact same size breasts (or lack thereof) as every other girl their age.
7. Their own bathroom. Other people need to use it too.
8. A Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle concoction that will knock them out for an entire year.
What parents of 13-year-olds should have:
1. Prophylactic headache medicine. Take two every morning whether your head hurts or not, because you know you're going to need it at some point anyway.
2. Artificial tears to show them we genuinely do care that Susie's mom bought her Super Mega Rockstar 3 and all the equipment that is required to play it while we need that $200 to pay the electric bill that was run up by the continuous use of hair dryers, curling irons and straighteners.
3. Some sort of alcoholic beverage-- take two shots as needed.
4. Ear plugs.
5. An escape route.
Whether you have a 13-year-old girl, or a soon to be one, take heart from the fact that most parents do survive. The tic will eventually dissipate and the shell-shocked look is seldom permanent.
God be with you!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Beering Aids!
Joe and I are getting ready to head out to what promises to be a fabulous party put on by one of our favorite peeps, DC Dan. We were invited to about seven different parties, but this was the winner. Why, you ask? Because DC Dan owns DC Music Productions and there will be Karaoke there!
I am admittedly a bit of a karaoke whore. I love music, and I love to sing. It’s silly when people ask me if I’m coming to karaoke night-- of course I am! Whether you like my singing or not, I will be there and with the help of some liquid courage I will sing until someone drags me away with an over-sized shepherds crook.
Of course, how well I sing is directly proportional to the amount of vodka I consume throughout the night. No surprise there; drink too much and there’s not much you can do well. What is surprising is that the more other people drink the better they think I sound.
I call this particular phenomenon beering aids. Much like beer goggles, it’s not really a matter of how I sang so much as how a person’s slightly fermented brain perceived my performance. Fortunately for me, by the time their put-upon liver has cleared the last vestige of alcohol from their system, they never quite realize that I did not in actuality sound like Celine Dion, but rather more like Cameren Diaz in My Best Friend’s Wedding. For this I am eternally grateful!
So come to the next karaoke night where you are sure to be entertained. Drink up and I promise by the end of the night I will not only sound like Shania Twain, I will look like her as well!
Gotta go-- my public awaits...
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Tuberating with nudists!
Ah, sweet summer! It's the lazy, hazy days that make you want to lie around and just take it easy. One of my favorite summer activities is tubing. Not the kind of tubing where you attach yourself to the back of a speed-boat and hold on for dear life while hurling down the river at 100 mph as your face ripples and warps like silly putty.
That's entirely too much work for me, and way too close to death or permanent disfigurement for my comfort.
No, I prefer the kind where you park your derriere in a giant air-filled doughnut and float s-l-o-w-l-y down the river while imbibing in whatever beverage you happened to bring along-- in my case, Vodka (I swear I must have Russian in my blood somewhere along the line.)
Because we conveniently live a short 100 miles from nowhere in all directions, there is exactly one place to tube, not counting the water-treatment plant, although in a murky river, who can tell the difference? I prefer to think of whatever brown things I see floating as a stick, not a turd and I just don't investigate.
We always go as a large group so reservations are necessary. This year, for our first annual trip, I reserved 18 tubes as usual. Upon arrival, we proceeded to sign in, where the woman behind the counter of the office (which is two buses welded together) asked us if we reservated.
I'm not kidding.
I assured her that we did indeed reservate. I explained that we even reservated two extra tubes for our coolers. That being settled, they taxied us up the river in our short bus, which is particularly appropriate for our group, but the driver took us to the wrong drop-off.
"Excuse me," I said. "We reservated for the six-mile, not the 2.5."
We all snickered.
He used his high-tech communication devise (walkie-talkie) to call the office. My husband looked at me and said, "He's confirmating."
Now we were really laughing.
By the time we finally got to the correct drop-off point any word with "ating" at the end was hysterical. Once in the water, we were manueverating to avoid driftwood and fallen trees. People in canoes were canueverating. We may not be the brightest bunch, but we do amuse ourselves.
Then, the best part of the entire day happened. As we lazily drifted, relaxed from the alcohol we were sipping, someone piped up.
"There's a canoe heading toward us with naked people in it!"
We shimmied up in our tubes to get a better view, and sure enough, there they were, paddling down the river completely au naturel!
"Good afternoon!" we greeted them.
"Hello!" They said, "Nice day isn't it?"
"Absolutely beautiful," we agreed.
Then, as they passed by, we turned our attention back downstream to see an entire fleet of canoes holding-- you guessed it-- more naked people! Apparidently we had reservated on the same day as a group of nudists.
They were a friendly bunch, but my guess is that people who enjoy canuderating are most likely not shy by nature so we weren't too surprised at their open and easy-going attitudes. We considered joining in, but there's just not enough Vodka in the world that would make me remove my clothing, especially with my bottom dangling in a creature-infested river and my top exposed to the threat of venomous spiders dropping out of trees, which is scary enough fully-dressed. I'm sure the men were also thinking about shrinkage.
We decided to enjoy our trip completely UN naturel.
I must say, though, that this was by far my favorite trip. Strange things frequently happen to us, and this weekend was certainly no exception.
I wonder what new and exciting experiences our next trip will yield. Clown posses? Just thinking about that makes me imagine 24 clowns jammed into one tiny little canoe. They will periodically paddle in circles while honking. One will look like Ronald McDonald and the new fun-word of the day will be anything with 'Mc' in front of it.
McTubing down the McRiver will McFun!
That's entirely too much work for me, and way too close to death or permanent disfigurement for my comfort.
No, I prefer the kind where you park your derriere in a giant air-filled doughnut and float s-l-o-w-l-y down the river while imbibing in whatever beverage you happened to bring along-- in my case, Vodka (I swear I must have Russian in my blood somewhere along the line.)
Because we conveniently live a short 100 miles from nowhere in all directions, there is exactly one place to tube, not counting the water-treatment plant, although in a murky river, who can tell the difference? I prefer to think of whatever brown things I see floating as a stick, not a turd and I just don't investigate.
We always go as a large group so reservations are necessary. This year, for our first annual trip, I reserved 18 tubes as usual. Upon arrival, we proceeded to sign in, where the woman behind the counter of the office (which is two buses welded together) asked us if we reservated.
I'm not kidding.
I assured her that we did indeed reservate. I explained that we even reservated two extra tubes for our coolers. That being settled, they taxied us up the river in our short bus, which is particularly appropriate for our group, but the driver took us to the wrong drop-off.
"Excuse me," I said. "We reservated for the six-mile, not the 2.5."
We all snickered.
He used his high-tech communication devise (walkie-talkie) to call the office. My husband looked at me and said, "He's confirmating."
Now we were really laughing.
By the time we finally got to the correct drop-off point any word with "ating" at the end was hysterical. Once in the water, we were manueverating to avoid driftwood and fallen trees. People in canoes were canueverating. We may not be the brightest bunch, but we do amuse ourselves.
Then, the best part of the entire day happened. As we lazily drifted, relaxed from the alcohol we were sipping, someone piped up.
"There's a canoe heading toward us with naked people in it!"
We shimmied up in our tubes to get a better view, and sure enough, there they were, paddling down the river completely au naturel!
"Good afternoon!" we greeted them.
"Hello!" They said, "Nice day isn't it?"
"Absolutely beautiful," we agreed.
Then, as they passed by, we turned our attention back downstream to see an entire fleet of canoes holding-- you guessed it-- more naked people! Apparidently we had reservated on the same day as a group of nudists.
They were a friendly bunch, but my guess is that people who enjoy canuderating are most likely not shy by nature so we weren't too surprised at their open and easy-going attitudes. We considered joining in, but there's just not enough Vodka in the world that would make me remove my clothing, especially with my bottom dangling in a creature-infested river and my top exposed to the threat of venomous spiders dropping out of trees, which is scary enough fully-dressed. I'm sure the men were also thinking about shrinkage.
We decided to enjoy our trip completely UN naturel.
I must say, though, that this was by far my favorite trip. Strange things frequently happen to us, and this weekend was certainly no exception.
I wonder what new and exciting experiences our next trip will yield. Clown posses? Just thinking about that makes me imagine 24 clowns jammed into one tiny little canoe. They will periodically paddle in circles while honking. One will look like Ronald McDonald and the new fun-word of the day will be anything with 'Mc' in front of it.
McTubing down the McRiver will McFun!
Time Savers Heloise Never Taught You
It has recently been brought to my attention that my busy life has unfairly infringed upon the lives of certain friends (friend) who may want some of my time for their own personal needs (need). It was even suggested that perhaps I’m not budgeting my time wisely enough in order to free myself up for others (other).
I’m all for self-improvement, so in the spirit of change, I’ve used some of my poorly budgeted time to come up with a few ways to save a couple of minutes here and there... Sure, I could have used this time to buy a few groceries to feed my children, or pay some bills before my utilities get shut off, but apparently certain friends feel as though finding some free time would be more beneficial to me (them) in the long run, so here goes:
1. Conversations with my husband and children will now be limited to between the hours of 3:30 to 4:00 pm. The allotted time will be used for only the most pressing matters and idle chit-chat will not be tolerated. Each person has 3 minutes to say what they have to say, 2 minutes to hear my feedback and 30 seconds for rebuttal. I’ll then render my final decision in whatever matter is at hand.
2. Grocery shopping will be done at gas stations after pumping gas and before paying thereby saving on useless trips to the grocery store. What’s for supper? Slim-Jims on Wonder Bread with a Payday for dessert. Shut up and eat up.
3. In the event of dinner company, when a more formal sit-down dinner is required, meal preparation, serving and eating will take place simultaneously by the clever implementation of a Salad Shooter. This will also eliminate the need to set out pesky dinnerware or wash it afterward.
4. Laundry is taking up way too much valuable time, therefore all clothes must be worn a minimum of 3 times before being washed, with the exception of underwear, which can be worn a second time after turning inside out so the clean part is against the body (this goes for socks as well). In order to save folding time, every three days, everyone will remove their previous 3 day old clothes and don their fresh outfit right from the dryer. Nobody will need more than 2 outfits, to be changed only on laundry days. No pajamas either-- sleep nude, use an extra blanket.
5. To cut down on morning preparedness time, coffee shall be consumed while using the toilet upon awakening. All shaving of legs, armpits and the like shall be done once, every other week, but never on the same day. Deodorant will be applied to only one armpit, alternating sides each day. Brushing teeth will take place in the shower. Hair will be dried canine style on the way to work, by hanging my head out the window. No make-up... it’s simply a luxury I can’t afford.
6. Love-making will be combined with household chores. No reason to waste the time while I’m down on my hands and knees simply scrubbing the floor. Multi-tasking just makes sense.
7. Friends wishing to visit may do so while I’m using the bathroom or taking my shower. This is usually just wasted time anyway. There will be no initial greeting or time spent on pleasantries. We’ll just assume that I’m fine and so are you. Get to the point.
8. All special events will be combined and celebrated at once every three months. On the last day of March and September there will be a Happy Birthday Baby Shower Going Away Welcome Home Congratulations House Warming Funeral. On the last day of June it will be a Happy Birthday Baby Shower Going Away Welcome Home Congratulations House Warming Funeral Graduation party. Similarly, on the last day of December it will be a Happy Birthday Baby Shower Going Away Welcome Home Congratulations House Warming Funeral Merry Christmas Happy New Year event. Woohoo. Party hardy.
These are just a few of the changes I will be making in the upcoming weeks. At the end of Summer I hope to have saved enough time to sit down and make some additional changes or tweak the system as needed.
Oops, time to talk to my kids and husband..
See you in the bathroom!
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