Category Archives: Holiday

The Angst of Halloween Excitement

Some people look forward to the Fourth of July: fireworks, picnics and parades.

Others enjoy the thrill of Christmas: tree decorating, traditional song singing and lots of eating.

And others anticipate specific spiritual holidays: ceremonies, reflections and renewal.

Me?  If I could choose one holiday.  It would be Halloween.  I love everything about it.

Scary movies.  Dressing up.  Scaring people.  Decorating.  Vampires.  Scaring people. Candlelight.  Monsters.  Being scared.  Haunted things.  Ghosts. Scaring people. Pumpkins.  Bats.  Rats.  Witches.  Scaring people. Things that go bump in the night.  Cobwebs.  Bones.  Potions.  The mysterious and unexplained.  Oh, and scaring people.

All of it.

Love it.

Best trip ever: Universal Halloween Horror Nights with some of our closest friends in Florida.  Multiple haunted houses.  Aliens.  Mike Meyers.  The Purge.  The Walking Dead.

It. Was. Awesome!

If I could find a job working at a haunted place year round, I would.  You say your place is haunted and you need a tour guide?  I’m your person.  I’ve stayed at the Lizzie Borden house here in Fall River, MA.  You know how that story went….

Lizzie Borden took an axe

and gave her Mother forty whacks.

When she saw what she had done,

She gave her Father forty-one.

And yes, I sat on the very couch where she is rumored to have axed her father!  Yes, I believe in ghosts.  I believe in the supernatural.  Bring it on.

I worked in a building in Juneau, Alaska that was hands-down haunted.  Thank you Mr.Livingston….may your spirit live on and entertain the new owners!  (She says with a laughing cackle…)

I love this kind of stuff.

Needless to say, with Halloween around the corner, I am anxiously awaiting pulling out my trunks of decorations…for my office.  I’m like a little kid waiting for the Easter Bunny to poop out chocolate candies on Easter morning.  The excitement is killing me!  But, unlike the retailers, I refuse to put anything out until October 1st.  Let’s not jump the holiday season.  If you do, then it’s not special.  It’s like the people who leave their Christmas lights and trees up until April, come on….

I will however, wander through Michael’s and Home Goods…oogling and ahhing over the numerous decorations to get my fix like a desperate addict.

Of course I decorate my office.  Duh.  I figure you spend so much of your life in that box,  you might as well make it as enjoyable as possible while there.

The funny thing is…I’m the only person in my building who decorates for Halloween.  I am always mindful as I don’t want to be too gory.  So I leave the severed arms at home.  But I did hang spider nests from the ceiling last year.

Every year I add in something new, so I’m always looking for something else I can create.  It’s almost a mini haunted house, but not so gruesome.  Requirements:

  • Skulls – check
  • Candles – check
  • Potions – check
  • Bats – check
  • Skeletons – check

What’s funny is some people will stop by and come see what I’ve done.  Others won’t come within 20 feet.  “Keep a wide berth Marge.  That one, she’s not right.  She’s got candles and skulls in there.”  Seriously, it’s not like they’re real skulls…I’m a plant eater for pete’s sake.

Now my big question is, “Who/what to be for Halloween?”  Since it falls on a weekday, I always need to be mindful that I could be called into a meeting.  Walking into a meeting of 8 people and you’re the only dinosaur could be kinda fun.  Of course, I’d be a baby dinosaur as I’m only 5’1.

Last year I went as Jane Goodall, the premier chimpanzee researcher.

IMG_3243

One thing, if you know me, the outfit has to have a wig.  So this year, I have selected my costume for the office and yes….it has a wig.  It is also meeting appropriate and there is no height requirement.   I better get started…

I just can’t wait!

 

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Bigger Boobs Please

nature-heart17

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!

The “Kinder Gentler Side” and I went to dinner tonight at a local fish market.  Now before you get the wrong idea, it was one of those restaurants where you can buy your fresh fish at the front counter and then if you so choose….you can opt to dine in the restaurant in the back.  It was quite nice.  The best part….

They don’t rush you out to get the next couple seated so they can make their next $300.

In January, we celebrated our 9 year anniversary and went to Joe’s Stone Crabs – a hugely popular restaurant up on South Beach.  We had heard wonderful things about it so we decided to go for our special night out.  The food was nice.  The down fall?  From the moment you sit down they’re pushing you out the door.

No good.

If I am going to spend nearly $300 on a meal, I want to enjoy the meal.  This isn’t a Happy Meal.  We won’t go back.  It wasn’t enjoyable.  To be rushed from the moment your ass hits the seat to the time your dessert port comes – they should be embarrassed.  They may turn 600 tables a night but you know what?  If I’m paying that price for a meal, I expect it to take longer the 45 minutes.  I expect the wait staff not to push me through like candies on a Lucille Ball conveyor belt episode.   To me, it was a scam.

Tonight, we went to Fish Fish in Aventura.  It was great from the moment we walked in to the moment we left.  2.5 hours.  Our appetizer didn’t run crashing into our salad, which didn’t slide screaming into our entree.  It was fantastic.  It was a leisurely and enjoyable evening.  I was delighted.

Of course, tonight was also Valentine’s so you can imagine….the spectacle.  I saw it all.

Lots of jeans.

Young ladies in short dresses.

Middle aged ladies in short dresses.

Older ladies in short dresses.  Go Nana.

But you know what?  THIS is Miami.  If you’re a woman and you have a pair of legs, chances are, you’re wearing a dress.  Double chances are you’re wearing a dress that is a little ridiculous for you.

Miami is all about butts, boobs and fake…fake….fake….fake.

Fake what?

Lips.

Butts.

Boobs.

Hair.

Nails.

Cheeks.

Eyelashes.

Yes.  You read it….eyelashes.

You name it…..it’s probably fake.  There’s so much silicone on the escalator at that mall that it actually jiggles as moves towards Earth.  The damdest thing I’ve ever seen.  Woman are fighting the jiggle only to replace it with silicone jiggle – cause it’s so much more effective and “healthier.”

Well…. and you don’t have to do anything to maintain it of course.

Damn, I could have had a V8!

Or by this time a 48GG.

I digress, which is so often my problem.

Tonight, I saw all shapes and sizes.  Lady, please.  Don’t wear grey stretch pants.  Not now.  Not ever.  No.  The oversized black, v-neck tee shirt with flashy cowgirl type belt – DOES NOT HELP YOU.

Same goes for you sister, with the oh so small nylon white tank top.  If it’s cutting off the circulation to the upper extremities – and your neck and face is a permanent purple color….that is a danger signal…..not a mating signal.  It’s not attractive to anyone.  Not to mention having to look at your four rolls of fat.  

Michelin pictire of Michelin Mann by carlfbagge

I thought the makers of the Michelin Man advertising campaign only created the one that came with a penis.  Didn’t realize they also created one with a vagina.

Which leads me to say, men….if you don’t look good with a shaved head – don’t do it on purpose.  There are some guys who can pull it off and they look good.  Others figure, why fight the battle of loosing their hair so they decide to shave off whatever hair they have left.

The problem is… if you don’t look good, you appear like penis looking for it’s body.

Just saying.

(See, I digressed again.)

There are a lot of fake things here in Miami.  I’m sure there are lots of fake things in LA, NYC, Fargo…(ok, maybe not)….and other high profile cities world wide.  Juneau, Alaska – not so much.  Sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming.

Take for example, the other day I was at the Bobby Brown make up counter getting new colors and this young girl goes walking by who was gorgeous.  I admire gorgeous woman just as much as any man does.  I admire gorgeous men just as much so don’t get the wrong idea.

She was Amazon tall, helped by her 5 inch heels.  Long blonde hair.  Beautiful.

Then she turned around

Collagen-Lip-Injection-Freaks-1

WTF?  She needed to use one of those old fashioned phones that had an ear piece and a seperate mouth piece cause those things you call lips have their own zip codes.

It looked like she was wearing a pair of those wax lips you got as a kid.  Apparently her lips doubled as a bird perch while she was out in public.  They were enormous!  Who thinks this is attractive?  They were done up in a frosty pink.   It was ridiculous and she was barely 24.

Of course, my self esteem, all 5’2 of it,  just shot through the roof.  Thank you.

Boobs.  If I were to get something fake.  I’d get bigger boobs.

True.

I’d like to upgrade to grapefruits.

The couple that came into the restaurant last night and sat down at the table next to us – she had a boob job.  She walked past us and I gave Eric the “OMG WTF….look at this” look.  I couldn’t help looking.  Even after they sat down, I couldn’t help looking.

Her chest was so out of proportion to the rest of her body that he had to hold her up under the arm pit.  Mind you, I’m not even talking about a petite girl either.  She was a “big boned” girl to start with.

She wasn’t grapefruits.

She wasn’t watermelons.

She wasn’t even human head size.

She was mamoth.

Little green dress, low cut.  Which I get.  Show those behemoths off.

Trust me, I like to flaunt my oranges as often as I can…I get it!Every good artist knows if you’re going to show off your artwork, you need a good frame.

This girl….thought she was all that and she wasn’t even the olive in her martini. Her bra didn’t even fit right.  The band was so tight that it cut her boobs in half.  So it looked like she had FOUR boobs.  To top this off, there was the neck line of her dress….another line on her boobs.

There was so much silicone and boob bondage going on that she appeared to be a pregnant cat with swollen tits.  Stop it!

Just.

Stop.

It.

All I could think about is the man with her:  Tell me…you honestly think THIS is attractive?  Really?  Honestly?  She has to rest them on the table.

Girl.  Did you look at yourself before you left the house?  Did you get dressed in the dark?  OMG what the hell?

Did you seriously think this was HOT?  What magazine said buy yourself boobs that belong on an elephant and then stuff them into a bra made for a mouse….men like that.

Really?  I’m thinking every issue of Cosmo would advise against that.  If they did, it was in an article referring to bondage and they meant using red silk and satin ropes and ribbon.  Not for dressing up on a night out on the town.

I would much rather see the soft curves of a slightly exposed boob and the bounce and jiggle as a woman walks.  Not some mashed up mess inside the dress with sloppy spillage over the neckline.  It’s so unflattering.  Does 25 gallons of silicone even bounce?

I don’t care if you have treated yourself to a 46GG and think you are the most exotic thing since Marilyn Monroe.  You appear to be a cartoon. They’re disproportionate to the rest of you.  Did you consider that before you bought those missiles?

WAIT maybe that is what they are!  She’s actually a secret weapon of destruction.  25 gallons of liquid nitrogen.  Better yet, maybe they’re bullet proof and she’s a body guard.  Like Wonder Woman but different.

Nope, I bet she’s a fisherwoman and they’re her floatation devices.

She’s obviously not a stomach sleeper.

What would one do with those when you turn 75 and decide you don’t want to carry 20 pounds worth of silicone any longer?  By then your skin has sagged. So what?  You put groceries in there when you go to the store?  Secret hiding place for valuables?  What?

Wait!  I got it.  That’s where you will sneak in snacks to the movie theatre!

It was just absurd.

Don’t even get me stared on eyelash extensions….

Seriously.

Hunting for a Christmas Tree in Miami

How’s that song go?….

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas….NOT!

I’m not complaining.  It’s just different.

It’s humid.

I’m sweaty.

I’m writing this sitting outside on our lanai – nice.  But there is a bug flying around big enough to be one of Santa’s elves delivering Christmas gifts.  He has circled me twice now and I’ve noticed he has a sign on his back that says, “Coal Delivery.”

That explains a lot.

We finally managed to get our Christmas lights up two weeks ago.  The thought was: “it’s too damn hot but if we don’t do it now we’re not going to.”  The snowflake lights that looked so pretty on our front porch in Alaska….twinkling against the snow…. still make me smile when I come home at night.  I just snort and roll my eyes at the idiocy of the concept:

Snow in Miami?

Sure, right after the Devil goes down to Georgia and sets up a half way house for wayward souls looking for salvation on a one-way road to heaven.

Of course my four potted palms on the deck add a nice backdrop to the snowflakes.

Obviously, the next step is acquiring the Christmas tree.

In Alaska – getting our last tree involved the following:

1.  On Saturday morning you dress in Carharts, put on your snow boots and grab your work gloves.

2.  Head out to the forest with your saw.

3.  Find your tree and cut it down.

4.  Tie it to the roof of your car.

5.  Once home, wrap it in a tarp to avoid leaving a trail of needles through the house.

6.  Set up the tree!

Here, in Miami, you go to a tree circus.  Complete with red and white canvas tent.  Oh Christmas Trees…..oh no!  Please tell me they give you a shot of vodka before you enter.

Before us, in the first big tent were about 20 trees standing up on display.  It’s like a fashion runway for trees.  This is ridiculous.  Nothing like Glacier Gardens in Juneau.  We would also get our trees from Cindy and Steve.  I loved how Cindy, just a petite little thing….would wrangle them away from the pile and compare the different varieties: smell, needles, height, color…all according to what I was looking for in the tree.

You see, I’m very technical when it comes to getting a Christmas tree.

Last night, at the Miami Tree Circus…when you walk through the gate they simply ask you what size of tree you would like:

Over 8 foot, 7 foot, 6 foot or 5 foot.

My response: short and fat.

Our helper elf, who stuck to us like sand on wet feet (which is more annoying than grass on wet feet I’ve now decided) I noticed had shockingly….shockingly…..let me say it again….

S H O C K I N G L Y

amazing eyes.  They were like liquid gold.  I’ve never seen eyes like that on a human.  Which made me wonder if he might practice voodoo.  Then I thought, anyone who sells Christmas trees can’t be a bad person and I am probably just enjoying way too much of American Horror Story: Coven, this year and should probably just get a grip.

But seriously – wow.

This young man followed us from tree to tree to tree.  They were short, but not fat enough really.  If I can’t get short and fat, I’d prefer a Charlie Brown tree.  Tall and bare.  I’ll even take a few branches and stick them in a pot and call it good.

Tent two…yep.  Tent two. Had about 6 trees in various sized that were…are you ready?  This was a definite first for me.

Flocked white.

Real trees, sprayed with paper mache.

They were lovely from a distance.  Then when you got closer it kinda looked like someone  went wild with a bunch of wet paper.  Well, technically that’s what they did.  It was lumpy and fell off in your hand.  I immediately thought of the cat.  We’d come out one morning and there she’d be covered in white crap…our fat mostly black cat gone wild with the Christmas tree….now encased in a self made paper mache mold….courtesy of Oh Christmas Tree Circus.

Oh hell no, I think we’ll pass on that disaster just waiting to happen.

Next tent.

More trees lined up.  There’s a short and fat tree that I like but he tells us it’s 7 feet tall.

What?

7 feet tall.

I look at the tree and stare….eye ball to eye ball with it.  This isn’t 7 feet tall.

Blink.  Blink. Blink. Blink.

OMG.  Are you telling me because of the tree’s pointy thing on top….that one branch, which is like the tree penis? ….you’re calling this tree 7 feet tall?

“Yes, we had to cut some off the bottom but it used to be 7 feet.”

Okay well it’s only 5 1/2 feet now.

“Still 7 foot price.”

By now I’m thinking those S H O C K I N G L Y amazing eyes have some kind of trance inducing powers but I’m not buying into it.  This is obviously the tree I like, but I flatly refuse to pay for a 7 foot tree when I am getting a short & fat tree.

Back to the first tent.  We need to wrap this up cause I’m starting to sweat….and it’s after work and I want to go home.

I go back to my original tree.  Eric and I look at each other, a little disheartened at the whole experience.  We agree.  We’ll take it.

The tree elf takes the tree to the register, we pay $65 and he puts a fresh cut on the bottom.  Eric goes to get the tarps to wrap it – thinking easier now than later.  Then we find out two things….

First, they sell tree stands, which we didn’t have, so we bought the tree stand…another $30 and our elf puts it on and levels the tree for us.  Fabulous!

Second, our elf slid our tree into a tree size fishnet stocking.  NO TARP REQUIRED!  How cool is that?!

With the short and fat tree tied to the roof of the car we headed home.

In Alaska, we always let the tree have an overnight to “rest and warm up” in the house.  The limbs relax with the heat of the house.  Obviously, we decided to let the Miami tree “rest” overnight as well. As far as I can tell there isn’t any fir trees in Miami – this poor thing is probably sweating to death.  Yes, if I look at the tree, I do think it has relaxed a bit since it’s arrived.  The branches are a little looser – not so pinched up.

The fir is saying the same thing I say every day: “Hallelujah!  Air conditioning!”

 

 

 

 

Beware of the Undead – Halloween Countdown!

This is my favorite time of year.

Fall.

Cooler weather.  Great movie releases.  Baked apples, cinnamon sticks, carving pumpkins, hot buttered rum and freakishly scary shit for 30 days straight!

Halloween is my favorite holiday.

My bucket list includes working at a haunted house.

Dressed up.

Scaring the shit out of people.

I’m not fussy.  I’ll hide in boxes, behind doors, leap out of trash cans,  grab your leg from under the bed or drop from the top of the fridge…just let me scare the pants off you.

I dress up as the same thing every year.  Wanna guess what it is?

Princess?

No.

Wood nymph with wings?

No.

Sexy Bond Girl?

No.

Naughty French Maid?

No.

Bad cop?

No.

Vampire? Flapper? Nurse?  Cave girl?  Marilyn Monroe?

No.  No. No. No.  No.

I always dress up as the same thing:  a dead person.

Dirty, grungy clothing, pale and bloody face.  Matted hair — sometimes long and sometimes short.  Vacant stare.  I love playing the creepy dead girl with bleeding wounds and oozing flesh.  LOVE IT!

When I moved to Florida, honestly, one of the first things I did was search about a job at a haunted house.  Granted people I spoke to were like….the local ones aren’t REALLY good haunted houses….you need to go to Orlando for those.  That’s okay, compared to what we had back in Juneau, Alaska – the local houses here are going to be AWESOME!

Lucky for me, there is a haunted house right up the road from our house.  However, unlike the weekend run in Juneau for the haunted house, this one operates for over a month – multiple nights during the week.  Not to mention it stays open long enough for the Vampires to get in a full 8 hours of frightening work before turning in for the morning.  True.  These hours didn’t work for me and my serious adult job.

Not to worry – I will get to work in a haunted mansion at some point in my career.  I simply must.  How do I know this?  No is not an option.

Eric and I spent the most amazing Halloween in Salem, MA a few years back.

With 60,000 of our closest friends.

It was unreal and oddly enough, even though I hate crowds, we can’t wait to go back.  It starts first thing in the morning and goes until late at night.   The costumes are astonishing.  WOW.  Live bands out on the streets, haunted houses, ghost walks and so much more.   Helicopters overhead and police everywhere: on horses, bikes, feet and those two-wheeler things…

That same year we also stayed at the Lizzie Borden house – and sat on the couch where she gave her dad 41 whacks with the ax.  Twisted.  Haunted walks and ghost adventures – sign me up!

Historically, we decorate our house and our garage to scare the neighborhood kids on Halloween.  Nothing makes us happier than to hear someone say, “You guys have the best house!”  Rock on – turn up the fog machine and que the clanging chains and moaning beasts.

This is my favorite time of year.

However, some frightful things, which shouldn’t necessarily be so frightful scare the living bejeezits out of me.

Every morning is routine for me.  You know the main character on the show: The Big Bang Theory?  Sheldon Cooper?  Yeah, well guess what?  I have Sheldon moments.  No, I am not going to bore you with the details about the latest research on how Matrix mechanics are being called the first conceptually autonomous and logically consistent formulation of quantum mechanics. Did you know it extended the Bohr Model by describing how the quantum jumps occur?  Seriously, I’m not kidding.  It’s hard to believe but, it did so by interpreting the physical properties of particles as matrices that evolve in time.   Think of it, as being equivalent to the Schrödinger wave formulation of quantum mechanics as well as being the basis of Dirac’s bra-ket notation for the wave function.

Are you kidding, me?  I have no idea what the hell any of that means.  How many of you just read that twice?  I’m more like Penny – duh.  Blah, blah, blah chicken.

However, every morning it’s the same.

Prior to the front door being painted a lovely shade of river mud brown, it wasn’t uncommon for me to open the front door and have a lizard stuck to it or the molding – waiting to dash inside.  Okay, whatever just don’t harass the cat!

Every morning I open the door and check the door.

Nothing.

Check the welcome mat for creepy crawlers a.k.a. “beetles” which in regular non-dreamer terms means ROACH.

I scan the first landing and if all looks clear, I proceed outside.  Lock the door and scan the second landing and two steps.  If all clear, proceed to car.

Very simple.

Very reliable.

Today I open the door to depart for work at 7:15AM.

Scan.

Clear.

I approach the top of the first of two steps and look down to the next landing.  There’s a “beetle” on it’s back.  Dead.

That’s right you MOFO – you better be on your back!  Dead.  Legs curled in and dead like a crispy little leaf off a tree.  That’s why we exterminate your ass.

D. E. A. D.

Regardless, I still give it a wide berth – respect for the newly departed and all.  I make a giant left bank to avoid the carcass.  Suddenly as I am passing by the high noon mark on the lifeless shell it suddenly flips over and starts to run.

Run.

At.

Me.

FUCKER!!!

My heart rate goes from a calm 60 bpm to nearly 175 bpm as I nearly climb the 100 foot palm tree in an effort to get out of this thing’s way.  I’m slightly dumbfounded at what is happening. It was dead.  On it’s back.  Maybe I’m imagining this.  I didn’t sleep well and I didn’t get to juice my fresh fruits and veggies.  Maybe it’s a hallucination.  I pause and turn around.

This beetle, I kid you not, is as big as my thumb.

In length and width.

It’s antenna where so big, they were only good for two things:

1.  Being used as a car jack.  Need to change your tire?  No troubles, let me get my thumb size roach out one moment please.  Just call him Arnold:  “I’ll be baacck.”

2.  Bringing in Radio Tokyo with perfect clarity.

And it’s running!  With 12 pairs of the latest Nike Air shoes on – I swear.

I’ve never seen a beetle this enormous except for those you see in Natural History Museums to explain about the prehistoric creatures and what scientists unearthed in long forgotten caves under the earth’s crusty surface.

Not only was it wearing the latest Nikes but it had a matching head band to keep the sweat out of it’s eyes and an iPod tucked into it’s right wing shield.

That’s right.

WING shield.

Not only do they play dead.   They fly.  When I realized this I nearly broke the windshield trying to get into Norman as I was certain it was making it’s way towards me.

Buzzzzzzz  Buzzzzzzz.

I feel faint.  Turn the air on.  Put the seat back.  Head between my knees.  OMG it nearly killed me.

………………8 hours later……………

I arrive back to the scene of the crime.

No pools of blood and gore on the landing, no half eaten chickens in the yard.  The beast must have gotten away.

I get out of the car and immediately start stomping my feet.  There I am in my dress and end of day ballet flats (yeah, well you try wearing heels for 8 hours and see what your feet tell you.)  Anyone looking out their windows would have thought I was doing some sort of Indian Rain Dance minus the ornate Shaman staff and speaking in tongues.

I walk back to the trunk and then it happens.  Noises.  I hear a noise in the shrubs.

Sweet Jesus it’s back!

What do I do?

Stomp harder, hopping one foot to the other, all the while muttering: fuck, fuck, fuck.

I slam the trunk shut and stomp and dance my way up to the front door, eyeballing every dead leaf to make sure it’s actually a dead leaf and not a beetle playing dead.

This is ridiculous, however when you’re dealing with a beetle that is big enough to feed a starving family for 2 days, and comes with it’s own saddle, spurs and lasso, you have to take precautions.

I get inside the house, slam the door and peer out the peep hole.

Only then do I realize the rustling in the shrubbery was nothing other than a stupid ass squirrel.

I thought it had me.

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.

Thank Goodness For That

It’s the time of year when we  give thanks for the things we are so grateful to have in our lives.   Granted, many of us share the same thankful thoughts.  Right?

Your list may or may not include:

Family and friends

Lack of family and friends (yes, that can be a blessing)

Health, wealth and social status

Food and shelter

Military protection, doctors and scientific discoveries.

There’s also a segment of us who will be thankful for our educations, pets (if you didn’t already include them with the family as they should have been in the first place), cars, hair stylists, video game high scores and special abilities in the bedroom….or out of the bedroom.

Our list of thankfulnesses (yes, I made that word up) could go on and on with serious things, mundane things, common-sense things and mind-numbing idiotic things.

When it comes to your turn at the family dinner to name one thing you are thankful for this year….throw a curve ball and be thankful for something you normally wouldn’t think to appreciate.  To help you get your creative talents flowing, I offer you my list of unusual thankfullnesses below:

Toilet plungers

Not having to wash clothes in the river

Reflective paint

Double sided tape

Toothpaste

Ear plugs

Chapstick

Not being attacked by domesticated house animals (i.e. dog, cat, lizard, pig, goat)

Flashlights

Tongs

Tape dispensers

Escalators

Elevators

Dental floss

Air conditioning

Cursing that idiot who (fill in the blank here) with severe diarrhea in rush hour traffic

Animals that eat the damn mosquito

Hand sanitizer

Sex toy sanitizer

Air sanitizer

Public pool sanitizer filters

Bleach

Hide-a-keys

Inflatable beach rafts

Costco samples

Not married to or dating an axe murder

Hidden agendas

Invisible ink

Hooker shoes

Rubber

Candy necklaces

Heated toilet seats

Wheeled suitcases

Lint rollers

Glow in the dark condoms

Inventory control specialists

The first person who decided it might be okay to try and eat a King Crab

and lastly……

for now….

my favorite….

Kola Bear farts (they smell like cough drops)

 

If you are desperate please feel free to use one of the suggestions listed above.  It’s only a small sampling of the endless list of available thankfullnesses.

Wishing you a fabulous Thanksgiving and remember, it’s now officially okay to put up your Christmas decorations.  However, if I catch you preparing for Valentine’s Day before Christmas has arrived, we’re going to put you through an intervention.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Holiday at a Time

There’s a man down the street who all summer worked on revitalizing his yard.  His home sits on the corner and he drudged out the land down nearly to the magma core.  Next came several types of soil, followed by apparently several types of grass seed.  I say  several types of grass seed because the grass came up in different shades.  He should have mixed the seeds together and then spread them.  Throwing a handful here and there made his yard look like a patchwork quilt done by a blind person.

Dark green here.

Light green over there.

Clump of dark green here.

Patch of light green over there.

He put in a lovely brick walkway from the driveway to the front door and two beautiful lamp posts highlighting the path.

All of this property enhancement, seemingly serves one purpose: to showcase his Christmas light display.  It started off innocently enough with a few strands around the front door.  Low and behold by this evening there are so many colors and random twinkling going on someone is bound to have a seizure.

Really?  What the hell?  It’s not even Thanksgiving!  Up go the outside lights, two story tall inflatable Santa displays and armies of plastic figures.  Not to mention the houses I’ve seen with the Christmas trees proudly displayed in the front window.

Side note:  Actually, a neighbor of ours, kept their Christmas tree up until EASTER last year.   They could have started a fire, that tree was so old.  I’d would have been afraid to sneeze in their living room for fear all 120,000 needles would have dropped to the floor.

Blame the retailers.  They can’t wait to get into the next sale season.  What ever happened to enjoying the holidays as they arrive on the calendar?  I can’t take two months of ANY holiday celebration.  I’ve packed up my toys and gone home long before the true festivities even begin.

And really, spreading out the holiday season only causes one thing to linger in our minds:  the true dread of the family meal.  It’s like ripping off a band-aid.  Let’s get this over with and fast.  How many people do you know that truly, down deep in the pit of their little toe, enjoy the family gathering?  Let’s be honest.  Anyone who doesn’t have some type of mild heart burn is probably nipping on something.

Of course I’m right.

It starts the second week of November.  They can’t even wait for Thanksgiving week.  Retailers have put up Christmas trees in their entrances and colored our world in shades of green and red, furry white cuffs, jingle bells, flashing lights and holiday cheer.

Not to mention, the Thanksgiving turkey is pissed off.  He doesn’t even get a chance to make it to the table before everyone is celebrating the big, fat, jolly guy.  How embarrassing to stand up at the holiday mascot support group and acknowledge your holiday has been cut short so people can celebrate some old guy who works with midgets in the northern tundra making toys.  Not to mention, insists he travels via flying reindeer…..one which has a glowing nose for a GPS.

Right.

And when was the last time anyone did a random drug screening on Santa?

I’m just curious.