Go ahead on over to River Walk Journal and enjoy Mom's latest, "Revival".
Shoo!
Friday, September 01, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
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.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
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.
On the other hand, it hasn’t happened YET, and we’re into double digits.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Sunday, August 06, 2006
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:
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.
Friday, August 04, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
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!
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!
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Meals on the Dash
Another literary success for Mom! Check it out at SouthLit.
(Scroll down and click on "Meals on the Dash")
Monday, July 31, 2006
He's Baaaaack
Hmmm, wow, it’s been a REALLY long time since I’ve written an entry.
Not sure exactly why that is. Probably any explanation would be an over-share. Even MisterT is wondering why I haven’t logged on. And, I can only tell him that it’s not for lack of evil MisterT material.
It’s because I really have too much to choose from.
Check it out:
MisterT and I fight over who should wash our dirt covered windows. I suggest the perfect solution: matchstick blinds. This makes MisterT really, really mad.
MisterT freaks out and blames me for dog fur he finds stuck to his socks.
(And, speaking of socks…) MisterT accuses me of some kind of subterfuge involving the quantity of clean but unmatched socks he discovers in the designated unmatched socks basket. MisterT is forced to try and mate the socks himself (the humanity!), resulting in a large quantity of matches but also STILL a large quantity of unmatched single socks. This causes yours truly to be subjected to a long, sad speech about the value of unmatched socks and how much they cost in the store (he estimated $25) and how, obviously, I am the cause of the unmated and now unusable socks. [It should be noted that MisterT, at any given time, has enough socks in his sock drawer to outfit a platoon. Apparently, this is no where near enough.]
MisterT spends large amounts of time criticizing my management of our Netflix movie queue. When a movie is not to his liking, I am grilled on the why’s and wherefore’s of how that particular movie ended up in our DVD player and how I could have possibly had the nerve to subject his highness to such a thing. He expects me to defend these less than optimal movie choices as if I were in the witness box and under cross examination in a murder trial. Enjoyable movies elicit no comment.
MisterT bought a new washer and dryer. They are very nice appliances in which I can wash MisterT’s unmatched socks. MisterT expends a great deal of time and energy threatening me with all manner of medieval tortures should I have the nerve to drip laundry detergent on their pristine white surfaces. I do a few loads of laundry and several times catch MisterT prowling about the laundry closet searching for telltale blue drips. When he doesn’t find any, he launches into a long one-person dialog on the state of the washer and dryer I owned and used during the years we dated. He concludes by saying they looked like they were shat out of the ass of a syphilitic yak. [It should be noted that he didn’t begin commenting on the state of my pre-marital appliances until after we were in fact wed.]
It is for these reasons, and a few thousand others, that I can no longer ignore the preferences of my readers who, by a slim majority of 80%, prefer that MisterT be referred to by his rightful and original name of “Satan”. Even my grandmother, I learned this weekend, prefers Satan (she thinks “Lucifer” is much, much scarier).
Lest you think I’m uncaring, I’ve ordered Satan four packages of these from my best good friends at The Container Store.
I’ll leave it to your imagination where they might be placed upon receipt.
Not sure exactly why that is. Probably any explanation would be an over-share. Even MisterT is wondering why I haven’t logged on. And, I can only tell him that it’s not for lack of evil MisterT material.
It’s because I really have too much to choose from.
Check it out:
MisterT and I fight over who should wash our dirt covered windows. I suggest the perfect solution: matchstick blinds. This makes MisterT really, really mad.
MisterT freaks out and blames me for dog fur he finds stuck to his socks.
(And, speaking of socks…) MisterT accuses me of some kind of subterfuge involving the quantity of clean but unmatched socks he discovers in the designated unmatched socks basket. MisterT is forced to try and mate the socks himself (the humanity!), resulting in a large quantity of matches but also STILL a large quantity of unmatched single socks. This causes yours truly to be subjected to a long, sad speech about the value of unmatched socks and how much they cost in the store (he estimated $25) and how, obviously, I am the cause of the unmated and now unusable socks. [It should be noted that MisterT, at any given time, has enough socks in his sock drawer to outfit a platoon. Apparently, this is no where near enough.]
MisterT spends large amounts of time criticizing my management of our Netflix movie queue. When a movie is not to his liking, I am grilled on the why’s and wherefore’s of how that particular movie ended up in our DVD player and how I could have possibly had the nerve to subject his highness to such a thing. He expects me to defend these less than optimal movie choices as if I were in the witness box and under cross examination in a murder trial. Enjoyable movies elicit no comment.
MisterT bought a new washer and dryer. They are very nice appliances in which I can wash MisterT’s unmatched socks. MisterT expends a great deal of time and energy threatening me with all manner of medieval tortures should I have the nerve to drip laundry detergent on their pristine white surfaces. I do a few loads of laundry and several times catch MisterT prowling about the laundry closet searching for telltale blue drips. When he doesn’t find any, he launches into a long one-person dialog on the state of the washer and dryer I owned and used during the years we dated. He concludes by saying they looked like they were shat out of the ass of a syphilitic yak. [It should be noted that he didn’t begin commenting on the state of my pre-marital appliances until after we were in fact wed.]
It is for these reasons, and a few thousand others, that I can no longer ignore the preferences of my readers who, by a slim majority of 80%, prefer that MisterT be referred to by his rightful and original name of “Satan”. Even my grandmother, I learned this weekend, prefers Satan (she thinks “Lucifer” is much, much scarier).
Lest you think I’m uncaring, I’ve ordered Satan four packages of these from my best good friends at The Container Store.
I’ll leave it to your imagination where they might be placed upon receipt.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Pet of the Month
This is Christine and Molly.
That's Molly in the foreground. The photo was taken for a newsletter I'm producing. Believe it or not, I snapped thirty six pictures of Molly, all but maybe three of which came out as a big, furry blur. Molly don't sit still for long. This was the only acceptable photo I was able to snap. Fortuntely, I really love the image.
That's Molly in the foreground. The photo was taken for a newsletter I'm producing. Believe it or not, I snapped thirty six pictures of Molly, all but maybe three of which came out as a big, furry blur. Molly don't sit still for long. This was the only acceptable photo I was able to snap. Fortuntely, I really love the image.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Dinner Conversation
We had dinner with MisterT's son, David, who is going off to college this fall. Since he is pre-med, we spent a good deal of dinner calculating how long it would be until we could actually quit our day jobs, move in with him, and spend all day sitting on our necks watching The Sundance Channel and looking forward to the free medical treatment we will receive for the oozing neck sores we will no doubt develop.
I, personally, also spent some time dropping delicately couched, subtle hints as to the type of medicine David should probably practice i.e., “DUDE, a little brow lift here, a little liposuction there, I can’t hold on much longer…”
David remains, as always, unmoved by my plight.
He has, however, internalized my own personal “drinking rules” that I have lived by, lo, these many years. When the subject of wild nekkid liquor parties came up, he was to his credit, actually able to recite the rules based on a short seminar that I gave him at the beginning of the summer.
You, too, can avoid many an embarrassing situation if you live by these simple drinking rules:
-Do not drink (or “do”) shots. Ever.
-Do not play drinking games of any kind i.e., Quarters, beer bongs, etc.
-Do not “switch up”. This means do not start out drinking beer, then switch to, say, Tequila. You CAN, however “switch down”. Start out drinking Tequila and then switch to beer.
-Do not drink and drive or RIDE WITH anyone drinking and driving.
I give you this wisdom free of charge.
I, personally, also spent some time dropping delicately couched, subtle hints as to the type of medicine David should probably practice i.e., “DUDE, a little brow lift here, a little liposuction there, I can’t hold on much longer…”
David remains, as always, unmoved by my plight.
He has, however, internalized my own personal “drinking rules” that I have lived by, lo, these many years. When the subject of wild nekkid liquor parties came up, he was to his credit, actually able to recite the rules based on a short seminar that I gave him at the beginning of the summer.
You, too, can avoid many an embarrassing situation if you live by these simple drinking rules:
-Do not drink (or “do”) shots. Ever.
-Do not play drinking games of any kind i.e., Quarters, beer bongs, etc.
-Do not “switch up”. This means do not start out drinking beer, then switch to, say, Tequila. You CAN, however “switch down”. Start out drinking Tequila and then switch to beer.
-Do not drink and drive or RIDE WITH anyone drinking and driving.
I give you this wisdom free of charge.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Independence Day
Happy Fourth of July to you! I hope wherever you are you are cool, happy, and enjoying this holiday.
I was pleasantly surprised this morning to find the above flower blooming prettily among my English daisy seedlings. After a little on-line research, I learned the red bloom is most certainly NOT an English daisy. I do think it is a rogue petunia that has seeded itself from points unknown. I am certain neither MisterT or myself bought petunia seeds. A similar vine has sprung up in my sago palm. Must be the wind.
This site was nearly overwhelmed by the four voters who stampeded in to participate in my online poll on renaming MisterT. As expected the result, THUS FAR, is 75%, Satan, 25%, Lucifer. If you are inclined to vote, and my bandwidth holds up, feel free to visit my last post and log your preference. Time is running out!
***
Update: I'm editing this post to add, HOLY COW, I've received an additional TWO votes since writing earlier. Check it:
ReNaming MisterT
So, tell me, what's a BETTER name for Mister T?
Beelzebub (1)
17%
Lucifer (1)
17%
Mr. Peepers (0)
0%
Sorry, it has to be Satan. (4)
67%
Total Votes: 6
Don't let the voting pass you by!
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