A Place for my Stuff

It's been another busy weekend around here.

First off, FurGirl has gained a brother:

Willow, barely pictured here in his secure hiding spot under the bed in the guest room, has officially moved in. Willow technically belongs to Satan's son, David. The feline's future was somewhat uncertain following David's departure last weekend to college. Thus, he is now officially the newest member of our little household.

While the photo really leaves something to be desired, I had to share it because I took it by simply placing the camera on the floor, pointing the lens toward where I thought the cat was and depressing the button without ever looking through the view finder. I didn't expect to capture any image at all, much less the whole entire annoyed cat.

The first Mrs. Satan has also been visiting, bringing her along her black lab, Lokie, to keep FurGirl company. The two are nearly impossible to catch in the same frame. Here is the closest I managed to get to that this morning:

And that is pretty much the extent of the enjoyable part of the weekend.

Otherwise, Satan and I turned our attention to a task we've been putting off for years: our storage shed.

Basically, we've been paying large american dollars for years to rent a 10x12 storage shed in which to house approximately $1.79 worth of CRAP that we otherwise have no room for in our actual house.

We now dealt with this problem yesterday by paying more large american dollars to rent a U-Haul truck into which we loaded the $1.79 worth of crap (in ninety degree heat), and then proceeded to drive the crap to our house where we had prepared for the in-coming crap by having the entire back of a semi-truck placed in our back yard.

We then spent the rest of the afternoon, in the still ninety degree heat, unloading our $1.79 worth of crap into the semi-truck trailer. I wish I could tell you that our new crap-holding device (the semi truck) is free, but sadly, it isn't.

Part B of this neverending brilliant plan is for us to move the approximately $3.75 worth of crap that is currently in the barn on our property into the crap-holding semi, thus combining two fairly large piles of crap into one gigantic pile of doom worth (are you with me here?) that's right, $5.54.

But the fun doesn't stop there! Oh no. The plan is to then sort the large pile of doom into smaller piles of crusty stuff which we will tag and display in our yard, thus becoming the scurge of the neighborhood, and eventually hosting a--GUESS WHAT--yard sale!!

This means that large groups of the regional undead will lurch into our yard in droves in the pre-dawn hours on the day of the sale offering us pennies on the dollar for the crusty crap we've been (inexplicably) storing for years at a cost of a zillion dollars. In this fashion, we will divest ourselves of approximately 25 percent of the crap.

And....here's where I just have to draw the curtain, because I'm starting to get hysterical just writing about it. I think you get the picture.

The good news? The good news is that I located the other half of the tiny Christmas Village! Which, I totally need for the upcoming holiday season! Also, Chaseroo, who was brave enough to help us for a portion of the day, found a treasure trove of his old original Nintendo games. Also, I found some old pictures that I've been missing for a while.

I'm really glad to have a day of rest.

Off the Map

Pictured here is my breakfast that I decided was too lovely and righteous not to share.

It is with some sadness that I share any pictures, however, as my picture-taking self missed out on a major photo op this weekend. Satan and I traveled to the big city of Lexington to move his youngest son into the dorm at the University of Kentucky. I took my camera and FORGOT a photo stick.

Yah, I was not happy.

Still, I can report that said freshman is now settled in his (tiny) dorm room with as many comforts of home as possible. In fact, the entire endeavor would have been a raging success but for one small incident during which, in a traffic jam, consisting of approximately one million sweaty, annoyed college students and their parents, at high noon, with not a car moving in any direction, in the ninety-five plus degree heat, in the center of the UK Campus, Satan became agitated, leapt from our vehicle, stood on the CENTER LINE of the street and, gesturing wildly, and screeching at the top of his lungs, had some, let’s just say, less than complimentary comments to share with the entire assemblage about my, in his opinion, less than adequate map reading skills.

You might be thinking that this incident has the makings of a legendary marital smack-down, and normally you’d be right, except that I was laughing so hysterically at his outrageous behavior by this time, that I simply was unable to engage in battle. Also, I was wearing my new sparklies which, as you’re probably aware, often have the effect of magically draining the fight right out of a girl.

Ironically, as it turned out, the spot where Satan had his meltdown was actually within spitting distance of the dorm we were headed for and we were completely and absolutely on the right track to get there. A fact that Satan still has yet to acknowledge.

As you might imagine, I later shared this story with every single person we met during the remainder of the weekend (and a few strangers on the street) and with each telling of the story, Satan managed to interject more and more fictitious details about the (essentially nonexistent) role he played in navigating us to our destination.

The truth is that later, I went on to navigate us directly to our hotel as well as orchestrate a complicated directional rendezvous with Satan’s other son who met us mid-journey en-route from Louisville.

All this while essentially writing this entire blog entry in my head.

I’m tired.

Sparkles

I'm up WAY past my bedtime (it's AFTER 10 p.m. for God's sake) because I wanted you to be the first to know: I am now in posession of some very nice sparklies to mark a VERY SPECIAL ten year anniversary.

What can I say? The man is crazy about me.

Squeaky Clean

I had an appointment at my dentist this morning for a cleaning. Both Satan and I go a dental center which is owned by a husband and wife team of dentists and staffed by a small army of hygienists.

After Diana the hygienist cleaned my teeth today, Dr. K my dentist, stopped in to give my teeth the once over.

DR. K
So, how are your teeth today?

ME
Great! Only two bleeding points and my numbers are good.

DR. K
(Peering into my mouth)
Your teeth really are in great shape.

ME
I’m very proactive. I do floss and brush every day, you know.

DR K
It shows.

ME
Too bad you can’t say the same for my husband.

DR K
Oh?

ME
There’s really no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it: the man hardly ever flosses.

DR K
Is that so?

ME
Certainly not every day for sure.

DR K
You don’t say!

ME
Absolutely. And last night?

DR K
Yes?

ME
Well, last night I’m not sure he brushed.

DIANA THE HYGIENTIST
(gasps)

DR K
(nodding his head sadly)
We have suspected as much for some time but couldn’t be sure.

ME
I think it’s time somebody made a note in his file.

DR K
(solemnly)
We’ll take care of it.

***

A wife in posession of a tenth anniversary present might not have felt so chatty.

Is all I'm saying.

Cracking: An Update

Due, no doubt, to the enormous pressure placed on Satan as a result of my recent entries, I am happy to report that negotiations have tentatively begun that could very likely result in an anniversary present for my incredibly deserving self.

On the other hand, it hasn’t happened YET, and we’re into double digits.

When no news is bad news.

Greetings, gentle readers!

It is my sad duty to report, reluctantly, there is still no progress on a proper tenth wedding anniversary gift for yours truly.

A wise person once told Satan and me that a husband has two choices in marriage. He can either be “right” or be happy.

Ya’ll. Poor Satan. He is still right.

To tell you the truth? I probably would not have escalated this whole situation to public blogging status had I thought he was TRULY SERIOUS about neglecting to mark this important marital milestone with some sort of sparkly. Frankly, I thought I’d write a funny entry, he’d buy me something, and that would be the end of it.

As it is, I’ve tried to help him extricate himself from this mess. I’ve gone so far as to specifically point out the exact sparkly that would make this whole situation go away in a hurry (and, trust me, it’s not EVEN extravagant considering the occasion).

Despite my help, he continues to make alarming pronouncements such as, “I won’t be buying you an anniversary gift.” Also, just plain, “No.” Or, puzzlingly, “I’ll buy you a birthday gift, but NOT an anniversary gift.” Or, annoyingly, “I bought you an XX dollar dinner, isn’t that enough?”

And, frankly NO, that isn’t enough, and if I’d known I was, in effect, EATING MY OWN SPARKLY, I would have high-tailed it out of the restaurant double-time.

Now, I’ll just be honest, a girl can get mighty depressed in a situation like this. Despondent. Weepy. She could even, God forbid, begin to slowly die inside (sniff!). Refuse to make pancakes. Even hum “The Way We Were” quietly to her sad, sad little self while concocting delightful, but sadly underappreciated, dinner salads. And generally continue in a downward spiral.

As it happens, I recently had dinner with the first Mrs. Satan (also a reader of this here blog). She was appropriately horrified at my lack of blingage to mark this important occasion. And, after some consideration, she recollected only receiving two anniversary gifts from Satan herself. They were: 1) A tool belt. 2) A tarp.

And we all know how that ended up.

So, if you see Satan out there looking dazed and disoriented (and, face it, doesn’t he always?), give him a ride to the nearest jewelry store, would ya? He needs your help.

***

In other news, I've just made the happy discovery that Nora Ephron, writer of "When Harry met Sally" and "Heartburn" two of my ALL TIME favorite movies has her own blog. HOW I was not made aware of this sooner is simply beyond me. Nora has a new book out called I Feel Bad about my Neck which is now officially at the top of my "must read" list.

I discussed Nora's new book and just her overall grooviness with my Mom recently and we are in agreement that she must be added to the guest list of our "fantasy girlfriend lunch". The (constantly changing) list currently reads:

Carrie Fisher
Mia Farrow
Shirley MacLaine
Nora Ephron

Before her untimely death, Jackie O was, of course, a must-have and Janeane Garofalo USED to be on the list, however, since her stint on West Wing during which her eyebrows looked exactly like furry black paralyzed catapillars glued to her forehead, I'm not so sure. Cybil Shepherd is a definite maybe. Shirley is only still hanging on by a thread since the publication of her book, "Out on a Leash" in which she details actual conversations she has with her rat terrier, "Terry".

Ahem.

One Day at Time

Mom strikes again, this time at Amarillo Bay!

Comparing

Not long ago, we just happened to have access to a Sony Cybershot F8 28 and thought we'd compare its "macro" function to that of my Panasonic Lumix FZ30 out on my balcony by taking shots of my (tiny) shamrock blooms.

It would have been easier to compare had Satan got the EXACT same two shots, but that, too, is a little difficult. Here's what we came up with:

This is the image from my Panasonic Lumix.

And this is the image from the CyberShot.

I'm happy to say I think they are very comparable. In the larger version, the CyberShot my be a TINY BIT clearer.

And counting...

Dear Comcast Cable Company,

Please answer your m*therf*cking phone. We have not been able to enjoy overpriced, sh*tty cable programming for sixteen hours. We have been on hold with your "service" department for approximately SIX of the last SIXTEEN hours. Pick up, b*tches!

Dear Global Warming,

Can we please get a break here? I’m sure my co-workers are tired of being traumatized by the site of my fish-belly white legs. But, it’s too hot for stockings and self-tanner makes me orange. I’d wear slacks but it’s, GUESS WHAT: too darn hot.

Dear Satan,

It was swell of you to buy me a nice dinner upon being reminded that it was your TENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, but unfortunately, it’s just not that easy. An appropriately contrite, quick-thinking husband would have gone for the wildly overpriced, breathtaking flower arrangement delivered to his wife’s office on the day immediately following the anniversary. Unfortunately, you have completely missed your opportunity to get off that cheap. You are now officially on the hook for something sparkly. I am, therefore, instituting a new feature on this blog. If you’ll check the upper left-hand corner, I think you’ll see what I mean.

Hopelessly Devoted

Last night, as Satan and I were getting ready to leave the house to make an appearance at a neighborhood gathering, we had this conversation:

SATAN
(Tosses his wallet on to the counter.)
I don’t guess I'll need my wallet for anything.

ME
Oh, I think you’ll probably need it.

SATAN
Nah. I’m not going anywhere but back here after the thing.

ME
You probably ought to bring the wallet.

SATAN
Hey, we’re just going over for a little while, remember?

ME
I don’t think so.

SATAN
Well, I don’t know about YOU...

ME
Care to place a wager?

SATAN
A wager?

ME
A wager.

SATAN
(Pauses.)

ME
(Eyebrows raised.)

SATAN
(Begins to look a little sickly.)

ME
(Eyebrows still raised.)

SATAN
It’s not, uh…it can’t be…

ME
I’m afraid so.

SATAN
(Risks a panicky glance at the calendar on the opposite wall.)
So…the date today would be…

ME
The second. AUGUST SECOND.

SATAN
(Brightens suddenly.)
Hey! This means our TENTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY is TOMORROW! Of course! TOMORROW! Yes, I’m well aware…

ME
Nice try. But, no.

SATAN
(Back to looking sickly.)
No, huh?

ME
No.

SATAN
(Picks up his wallet)

ME
I hope you’ve got a credit card in there.

SATAN
Say, you're not going to...

ME
blog this? OF COURSE NOT!

Meals on the Dash

Another literary success for Mom! Check it out at SouthLit.

(Scroll down and click on "Meals on the Dash")