Okay, we are all grown-ups here, right? Right? And we can all agree that profanity is pretty much the norm nowadays. Amiright? Right. (note to self – stop using “right” so much) Anywho.. (and “anywho”) That I could go around all day, dropping the “F” bomb at every transgression I perceive is a given. Gone […]
Monthly Archives: July 2011
But, it’s the weekend!!
And, I’m not here!!!
And, you are!!!
See y’all next week!!!
I’ve never understood the children’s game, “Duck, Duck, Goose!”…..and, if pressed, probably can’t remember the rules, object, or anything else about it.
Good thing it has noting to do with this post.
We have a boat.
Which reminds me, I don’t get the whole “I’m On A Boat” thing.
I do, finally, understand “The Cake is a Lie”…maybe I just need to ask Uncle Google about the boat.
Good thing it’s not important to the subject at hand as I’m too lazy to do any research.
No, this post is about..well, this:
The look of disdain is because we ran out of quackers…hahahahaha…”quackers”..get it?
Yes, I’m easily amused.
And White Duck – as I call him/her – I can’t tell the sex and really I think it’s a little early to ask the duck to lift his/her feathers for me, I mean we did just meet last weekend – was accompanied by Black Duck:
They were waiting for us at the dock when we decided that it was time to get off the lake, because the temperature at 11:00 a.m. was somewhere around 147 degrees, and I was beginning to turn bright red in spite of wearing SPF 50.
We fed them all the crackers we had, hubby even getting White Duck to take a cracker from his hand…something I totally missed on camera despite repeated attempts. The closest I came was a blur of feathers and water at the end of hubby’s empty hand.
As a photographer, I’m a pretty good duck feeder.
After all the food was gone the ducks swam around the slip for a while, complaining.
It wasn’t until we were back to the parking lot when I realized something.
Angry ducks+uncovered boat=a whole lotta duck poop to be cleaned.
Wonder if I can feign some illness this weekend so hubby can go out alone and spend the first thirty minutes of the day cursing me and the ducks.
(edited to add: OHMIGAWD, people!!! Why don’t you WARN me about asking Uncle Google questions like “What is I’m on a boat?” Hmmmm??? Why? Now, my ears are singed and I think there’s a piece of my soul missing. Thank you…ingrates)
One day I went to my local big box hardware store.
Let’s call it Rome Nemo…just cuz.
I’m in the aisle that has duct tape….coincidentally I was looking for, you guessed it, duct tape.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t the duct tape aisle have, you know…duct tape?
I swear, there was painter’s tape and masking tape and double-sided tape, but I could NOT find the duct tape.
One of Rome Nemo’s helpful handymen-in-aprons, this one about eighteen and sporting a Justin Bieber haircut, was walking behind me as I stared at the tape shelf. I saw him just as he was about to make a clean getaway, and said, “Excuse me, but I can’t find the duct tape.”
He stopped and turned to face me, but not before he’d erased the “stupid woman” look from his face.
He shuffled back to me, and with one incredibly long arm, pointed to a shelf about a foot over my head. There was the duct tape, but being a shorty, I hadn’t seen it…and I couldn’t reach it.
“There.” , he said dully.
“Wow, that’s up pretty high. Would you mind handing me a roll?” I asked as he was trying to leave.
He sulked back to me and grabbed a roll off the shelf.
At this point, he was beginning to get on my nerves…so I quickly hatched a plan to exact a modicum of revenge on him.
“And, while I’m at it…”I began, “..can you tell me where to get some of those..um..waddayoucallem? Zip ties?”
“Aisle 743A.” He replied, backing up.
“Oh, and some really strong rope. And those big heavy-duty trash bags. You know the kind that you could fit…maybe, someone your size in?”
At this point, helpful-handyboy was beginning to inventory my requests in his head.
I could literally see the color drain from his face.
He stammered, “Ummm…uh….I don’t…..” as his feet picked up their backwards pace.
I smiled, sweetly, this little granny in the duct tape aisle, as he turned and fairly ran into a display of ….you guessed it…duct tape.
Sometimes, it’s good to be evil, twisted…me.
“Cuz, you know, ninjas.”
Look at that up there.
Isn’t it awesome?
Who cannot relate? (a show of hands will do, unless…you know, you are a ninja and then I’m not going to see you unless you take off the black hood-thingy)
And, who couldn’t use this as an excuse for….oh…EVERYTHING.
“Why were you speeding?”
“Why are you late? Again?”
“What happened to the last of the _________(fill in the blank – pie, espresso, aged brie, gin, Xanax)?”
“Why didn’t you finish____________(again, this is good for multiple uses – your homework, the yard, the laundry)?”
Yes, it’s my go-to excuse from now on.
Just don’t tell any real ninjas.
It won’t matter, I’ll never see them coming…cuz, you know….ninjas.
It’s the weekend, for cryin’ out loud!!
Go outside, let the stink blow off ya (as my mama would say)!
I’ll be back on Monday.
Now, go…I said GO!
Sigh…you’re still here?
Fine…here, here’s a gratuitous head shot:
….or “How I Almost Shot My Cat”
Back in the early ’90s we lived in a rental house that was on a very popular route for kids
skipping going to school.
As a result, there had been a recent break-in at my house.
My neighbor scared the kid off, or else he just felt so sorry for us he decided not to mess with anything.
Anyway, it left the family a bit twitchy.
And, we are Texans.
Twitchy, armed Texans.
A few days after the break-in I was home alone when I heard a commotion coming from the garage.
With the recent crime still fresh in my memory I stealthily snuck past the garage door and into my bedroom where I knew the firearms were kept.
I heard the noises, again, as I looked around the room. I was sure the burglar was now a whole gang of burglars and not only were they not concerned with being quiet, they were boldly marching towards the door that led to the house and I was moments away from confronting a gang of noisy, clumsy burglars.
It’s funny how the mind will go completely blank when gripped with rising fear.
I couldn’t remember where the guns were.
Then, I heard a loud THUMP! on the door that led to the garage.
That did it, my fear was pushed aside and I found the gun.
I grabbed it, released the safety and quietly tiptoed back to the garage door.
The noisy burglars were now playing hockey in the garage.
With a bag of rocks, or so it sounded to me.
Grasping the doorknob I flung the door open and yelled, “FREEZE!!!”, as I pointed the gun at…..my cat.
Our big Siamese, Smokey, had been playing with some paper he found in the garage.
Smokey stared at me, and I swear I heard him sigh….stoopid hoomin.
Amazing how much a twenty-five pound cat, playing with paper in an empty garage, can sound like a gang of brazen, clumsy burglars isn’t it?
I went to the grocery store.
Sounds boring, right?
Well, you aren’t me.
I stopped, first, in the produce section. As I was looking over the variety of fruits and vegetables a big sign caught my eye.
“Bags of Peaches, $1.99”
The sign was affixed to a bin that held bags of….nectarines.
Continuing on, I see another sign.
“Mangoes, $.99 each”
It’s affixed to a box. In the box? Red onions.
Sigh…..I fear for the produce sections of the world.
So, I wrote the title to the first post and then wondered how many people use “First Post” as the title to their first post.
That got me to wondering what else I could use, and after a few minutes, I realized that was just frustrating.
I mean, a “first post” is by definition a first post, right?
Sigh….I didn’t think blogging would be this hard…
Here, look at this for a while:
That’s Bugsy, the Insane. You’ll hear more about him the longer you hang out with me. He have a crazy goin’ on.