Monthly Archives: August 2011
Yeah, I know you (all four of you). You think that just because it’s Wednesday there’s going to be a post waiting for you, don’t you?
Well, you’re absolutely right.
Tell me you have never wanted to ask your post man/woman if they always ring twice or not.
Soooo…you think you’re a pretty talented artiste, eh?
Yeah, he did that…with one hand. I can hear any dreams I had of being remotely talented gasping for breath.
It’s a dog’s life on Facebook.
Which has absolutely nothing to do with this little gem from Africa.
How those two relate, I don’t know.
All we wanted to do was replace the fish in our little 10-gallon, freshly scrubbed with new gravel and plants, aquarium.
Who could have guessed we’d meet…
The Fish Nazi.
Hubby has had aquariums and fish since he was a little boy. We’ve been married 35 yrs. You do the math.
Fish Nazi was all of maybe 25 yrs. old, and yet he knew everything there was to know about fish.
Including how many we were allowed to buy.
Here’s how it went down:
FN: You know the dirty the filter and water, the better right? Yeah, fish just love that gunk. They do better when the water is dirty and the filter is black. In fact, you don’t even need a carbon insert in your filter system. Just the sponge, and you rinse it when it gets clogged.
Me: Huh. Never heard that before.
FN: It’s true. (Pointing to the bank of tanks along the wall) I only change 25% of the water in these tanks every week. And I never use filters, just bubble wands.
Me: Learn something new every day, right honey?
Hubby: (a good ten feet from me and studying the various species he wants to put in our tank) Right.
FN: Ten gallons? Let’s see that’s about 6-7 fish.
Me: Really? I thought it was one fish per gallon.
FN: (rolling eyes in the presence of obviously fish-retarded woman) Right. Then I could put a shark into a ten-gallon tank, couldn’t I?
Me: I see your point.
Hubby: We’ll take two cory cats, two of the aqua guppies, ummm…let’s see one of those dalmation mollies, a mickey mouse platy…
FN: That’s IT!
FN: That’s six fish.
Hubby: (stares at FN for a moment) Oh.
FN: I’m just saying you shouldn’t add any more fish. (he twitches…I’m not kidding, he started twitching a bit)
Hubby: (whispers to me) I am not going to argue with this kid. Let’s get these fish and you can come back in a day or two and get the other four we want.
FN: Do you have an ammonia tester? Some water clarifier? Because you really need those.
Me: But I thought the fish like the dirty water?
FN: (again with the rolling eyes, which stopped mid-roll as hubby stepped a little closer, making FN look like he was mid-seizure or possessed) Uh…well..
Hubby: No. Thank.You.
– At this point, FN backs down. Did I mention hubby is six foot two, eyes of piercing blue and can be extremely intimidating, even when he’s just buying fish? –
So we left with our six fish, and one of them promptly committed suicide. I think it was trying to get inside the filter and block it so they could all make their great escape when we had to empty the tank and clean it. Sadly, he only got as far as half way and got stuck.
Today I trek back to the store and hope the Fish Nazi isn’t working, or if he is I have to tell him I murdered all the fish he sold us on Saturday and am back for more, lest he forbid me from adding any more fish to my aquarium.
I know it’ll traumatize him, but really, it’s the only way.
On second thought, just…I don’t know…
I have about a gozillion stories I could tell you that center around my oldest daughter.
Every one of them is true, and every one of them is like it was written for a movie or sitcom.
Daughter is a hairdresser, and all that that implies, and the latest craze is feathers.
Yes, feathers clipped into hair as an accent piece.
This is all the rage.
So, this rage has caused two things.
1. Price gouging by suppliers and;
2. A chance to make a buck selling feathers online opportunity seized by daughter.
I don’t know where she got all these feathers, but I think most of them came from fly-tying suppliers – who I might add are royally pissed at all the frivolous feather usage depleting their stock – and since she got them so cheap and can sell them for so much, well…she’s stoked about the idea when she calls me from the car yesterday.
“Mom? You have an eBay account, right?”
“Yes, I do. Why?”
“I want to sell feathers. You know the kind you clip on your hair? I can sell them for like a 400% mark-up.”
“Yeah, it’s so amazing what people are paying for them on eBay.”
(At this point she launches into a mathematical treatise that is I am sure Nobel Prize-worthy, but which loses me in the second sentence – not because I am stupid, but because I am working and half-listening to her speed-of-light commentary at the same time)
“See what I mean?”
“Yeah. So, what are your plans?”
“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t got the whole page layout and photo details worked out, but you can help with that, right?”
“Yes, I know how to do that.”
(At this point I hear her son in the background, chattering away – he’s three, they chatter…a lot)
“Wait a minute, Mom, I need to take some aspirin.”
I hear the phone shuffle, I hear some muffled sounds and then…
“Oh MY GAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWD!! MOM, I….I….OH MY GOD, I…DON’T…EVEN….OH MY!!”
This is followed by the sounds of gagging.
Mama-bear haz a alarm.
“WHAT is going on?”
“Mom…I don’t, oh my God (son’s name)…this is…oh Mom..”
“Son had to pee, really bad this morning and we were in the car so I gave him an empty Vitamin Water bottle to use. And just now…to take the aspirin….”
“Oh my God! You didn’t!”
“I did…only I didn’t swallow it. I spit back into the bottle, but the taste….”
More gagging sounds, and at this point I totally lose it and am laughing so hard I believe I may bust a rib.
“Did I just poison myself?”
“No. Actually urine is pretty harmless.”
“Yeah, that’s comforting.”
My oldest girl. She have a crazy goin’ on.
They’re trying to kill us.
Or, more specifically – me.
They’re trying to kill me, only I don’t think black duck really has his heart into it. He just seems to take orders from white duck.
And white duck is a total wiseguy.
And, yes, I’ve decided these two are male.
Sexist? Probably. But I’m betting no female ducks would try to kill me just because I forgot the crackers……again.
And that’s what happened last weekend.
We went to the marina and spent a lovely 150 degree day out on the boiling waters of the lake.
After many hours of baking in the sun, sweating like a whore in church on Sunday, I cried “uncle” and we headed back to the dock.
This is where it gets weird.
We hadn’t seen the ducks that day. The last time we’d seen them I had forgotten the crackers, but they were all like, “Quack, quack, quack” as they swam away, which I could only interpret as “No biggie – we’ll get some next time.”
We had, however, seen a definite increase in mallard duck presence. Duck turf wars being what they are, I presumed that white duck and black duck had lost the battle and had taken up residence elsewhere.
I was wrong.
Not only was I wrong, I was unprepared for the sudden return of black duck and white duck and their excruciatingly loud demand for
They waited, the sneaky bastids, until the boat was on the lift and I was preparing to step off onto the rail and then down on the dock before suddenly appearing out of nowhere onto the lift’s pontoon directly beneath me, squawking at the top of their little mob-duck lungs and scaring the absolute bejabbers out of me.
Their covert attack apparently achieved the desired effect as I swayed forward and backward like some completely blitzed gymnast, certain the fall onto the heavy metal structure below would put holes in my body that juuuuuuuuuusst might be inconsistent with a pain-free, bloodless existence.
My husband missed this life-and-death struggle and didn’t take notice of me until I was finally able to grab the dock’s support pole and slide/spin around it like a stripper, landing with a thud on the dock.
“What are you doing?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.
Ever cool, I replied, “Practicing.”
“Oh. Okay. You ready to go?” He asked, gathering up the last of our things and putting them in the cart.
“Yeah, sure.” I replied, now breathless and shaking a little, I followed him down the walkway.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that black duck and white duck were following us in the water…their little duck bodies gliding silently across the surface.
I swear they were laughing.
*Note to self: Next time, bring crackers….*
And….just because, this one never fails to make me laugh.
If you have some spare money and you don’t know what to do with it – other than sending it to me – you could buy one of these (first image – awesome, right?). Because, well…you know….
And, I heart Andy Levy…here’s why.
First my freezer and now my refrigerator! It is seriously incontinent, and I’m so tired of cleaning water up from the shelves, bottom and kitchen floor that I’m considering retrofitting a Depends undergarment on it.
And it is freezing….everything.
Except when it’s not and I’m mopping up the water.
According to my go-to appliance guru I have a stuck thermostat.
What is that?
Was there some kind of organized major appliance revolt I missed hearing about on CNN? A flash mob?
I just want you to know, washer and dryer, that I’m watching you…very closely.
From my new, favorite, television show…and because it made me giggle uncontrollably.
“My mama’s fried chicken could bring peace to the Middle East.” Ricky Skaggs
And, because it is soooooooooo true, my second favorite quote this week:
“Bless yer heart is a polite way of saying yer stoooopid.” Michael Waltrip
And if I have to explain either of these people to you, well…you obviously don’t know Dixie.
Now, go out there and have a great weekend!