OPEN! Damn It!

Is it me?

Have I turned into a jello armed ninny?

Why is it you have to have the biceps of The Terminator in order to get most things open these days?

Don’t get me wrong. I have some bicep muss-kulls. While, I’m not going to win any arm wrestling competitions, they aren’t all flab and punching bag material either. The Body Pump class at the gym kicks my butt and my arms – so something’s happening there.

Years ago, in grade school, when we would have snow delays or cancellations my neighbor and I would occasionally stay at his Nana’s house. One of the first times we did, I remember him asking his Nana to put her arm up and make a fist. She did. He then proceeded to use it like a punching bag!

The horror!

Age 12. Mental note. Don’t let arms become punching bags.

Tonight, I nearly gave myself a black eye trying to get the damn wine cork out of the bottle. I was using a standard wine opener, nothing fancy. Once upon a time I invested in one of the automatic cork removers. There’s one problem. You have to remember to keep it plugged in to stay charged.

There I am with the bottle on the floor, between my feet….and I am struggling  to get this damn cork out. God bless the wineries that have switched to the screw top. At this point I contemplate using the Samurai sword to hack the cork off.  Then I realize two things:

A.  It only works on champagne.

B.  I don’t have a Samurai sword.

It’s obvious tonight’s wine is ORGANIC and the cork pieces, should there be any in your glass, is on purpose.  It’s the newest thing out of the valley.  Of course, I’m silently referring to the Mendenhall Valley, where we live….not so much the Napa Valley.

Have you ever been desperate for a bag of chips? You find an excuse to stop at the grocery to pick up a few items for dinner. In the meanwhile some how a bag of Sour Cream and Cheddar chips make it into your basket. Or you really, really, really need that chocolate bar…with the creamy caramel and cookie crunch and nuts.

What I find ever so helpful are the manufacture’s polite little instructions, complete with tiny arrow….”tear here.” Really?

Yeah and what happens? It practically takes a lightening strike to get it open in the car. You’re worried you may end up socking yourself in the eyeball if you have to pull any harder. Seriously, what did they use to seal these pieces of plastic together? Super Glue? Kryptonite Epoxy? Devil’s Spit? A common household roach, which is said to survive everything….wouldn’t be able to get into this bag of Cheetos.

Thank god, you’re stopped at a red light and a member of the local motorcycle gang is next to you. No worries, just put down your window and ask if HE can open the fucking bag. If not, perhaps he could shoot a hole through the top 1/3. Honestly, what happened to quality control? Are all these companies employing gargantuan homo sapiens who are able to pull 150 year old Elm trees out of the ground with a flick of the wrist?  Have the actually tried to open their own product?

Don’t even think about “child proof” medicines. Just to get that bottle of aspirin open I have to run the bottle over with my car. Another option that works well is to attach it via string to our dog’s tail then point out a squirrel in the yard. Running as fast as a cheetah through the trees, with a 250 count of aspirin around her neck can only lead to one thing…..aspirins for everyone!

I suffer from migraines. If you are one of the lucky ones in life who has never experienced one…let me tell you what it feel like to me:

An evil sadist taking an ice pick to one eye while tightening a vice grip on the same side temple and with every heart beat and breath those areas pound like they are being hit with a bowling ball. At some point it would be easier to pull my eyeball out of its socket. My eyeball is literally going to end up on the floor if I don’t get some relief.  Occasionally accompanying the pain can be yodeling into the porcelain bowl and on a rare occasion…blindness in that eye.   Awesome.

A few weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with a doozie. I stumble into the bathroom and like a bull in a china shop, find my prescribed medication. Of course, it is in a blister pack….you know, where in theory,  you are able to press the tablet through to the other side. WRONG.

I couldn’t get it to pop through let alone peel the damn plastic cover off the back.

Solution? Digging around for something sharp, I found my cuticle cutter and stabbed that package like it was a vampire and I had a 6 inch wooden spike. You would think they would make packages for medicine….especially medicine you need when you are desperate….easier to access. It was like the pharmaceutical executives sat around and said:

Which is easier….wrestling an alligator or opening our package? The alligator! Perfect!
Which makes you happier….gouging your eye out with a stick or opening our medicine? The stick!

Duh.

I was working on two art projects last week.

One required lots of glitter – an entire giant jar of silver glitter to be exact.

The other required gluing tiny red balls, not much bigger than a grain of rice, to paper.  (Not to self, those tiny balls are a pain in the ass.  I was excited to get going and see the final creations.

There was of course, one hiccup:  I had to get the glue bottle open.

I heated the bottle up under the hot running water.

I beat the lid on the counter.

I tried using one of those grippy things to get a better grip on the top.

I thought about using my teeth to get it open, but I have this fear of loosing my teeth – so that wasn’t an option.

I put the bottle on the counter and cursed it.

I beat the top again – this time on a different counter.

One last try….before I pitch the bottle in the trash…and have a severe case of the two year old’s temper tantrums over this damn lid!  Just when I was worried my third eyeball was going to pop out of my head, the top slowly began to budge.  OMG this shouldn’t be so difficult.

Finally, I can get going on with the crafting.

It took several days to get the projects done.  Glitter and glue.  Glue and tiny, stupid red balls, glitter and tinsel and glue, cutting, gluing and more tiny red balls.  Final layer of glitter and a thread and bead to top things off.

I thought IT was going to do me in.  I thought IT would be the death of me.  IT could have been the glue.  IT could have been the stupid little red balls.  IT could have been the hour long struggle to get that stupid ass lid off the glue jar.  IT could have been all the cursing which would send me straight to hell back in the grade school years.

Nope.

IT was my slight embarrassment when I went to the hair dresser the other day, several days after completing my crafting mayhem.  She was looking at my hair and said, “You know, you’ve got quite a bit of glitter in your hair.”

Yes, well apparently the glue worked so well  I managed to get it into my hair, along with a nice smattering of glitter (hey, at least no red balls were discovered.)

Doesn’t EVERYONE have glitter in their hair this time of year?

Stupid ass glue bottle.

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