Category Archives: Maybe I’m The Only One Who Thinks This Is Funny
…why I love my husband. so. very. much.
Picture a blender, filled to the brim with:
- Greek yogurt
- protein powder
And by “filled” I mean 8 cups full. The above is what goes into my blender every morning to make the smoothies we drink/eat for breakfast every day.
This morning was no different, at least not until the moment when I pushed the button and the bottom of the glass jar separated from the plastic fluglebinder what screws onto the bottom and fits over the pin that makes the whirly-whoosh go ’round.
It’s very technical, so try to keep up.
Suddenly it looked like some unfortunate soul had blown chunks all over my stove, the counter, the tiny space between the two, the blender and me.
“Feckity, feckity, feckity, FUCK!” I screamed.
Hubby, from the bedroom said, “What happened?”
To which I replied, “The blender came apart and there’s blender-puke everywhere!”
He came out of the room, obviously not able to grasp the concept of “blender-puke” and upon surveying the carnage said, “But, what happened? I mean how?”
“I don’t know,” I said, grabbing paper towels to try and stem the river before it hit the floor. “but, it looks like it separated.”
“How?” He asked, his voice registering agitation.
“Look,” I began, getting pissed, “I don’t have time to argue with you about how it happened right now.”
“What? You can’t multi-task?” He said, his face a deadpan.
I started to giggle, and then he started to giggle, and then we cleaned up the barf.
And that is why I love him. He makes me laugh, even when I don’t want to.
And you thought I was going to relay some sappy story about hearts and flowers and shit like that, didn’t you? It’s like you don’t even know me.
There’s this thing, called the Internet, that is truly one of nature’s most amazing black holes ever.
I mean, one minute you’re asking Aunty Google about where to find the best gingerbread cookie recipe, and the next thing you know you’re reading about famous gingers in movies – my personal favorite being Maureen O’Hara.
Hours can go by and before you know it, it’s time to go home and you won’t even be in the running for Most Productive Employee this week/month/year.
Oh well, might as well console yourself with trolling comments on hilarious Amazon products – like uranium and unicorn in a can (go look, and don’t say you haven’t been warned) – or watching BuzzFeed videos and then accidentally coming up with:
“The Most Awesomesauce Phrase of The Day” in the comments.
Today’s phrase was about makeup application, and one commenter was lamenting the cost of makeup and how if she put it on she wanted it to be seen, dammit…so she said:
“…put that shit on like you’ve been slapped n the face with a PopTart ladies…”
On Friday the weather here was…perfection…awesomesauce…amazing.
It was low-70’s, low humidity, light breezes and beautiful sunshine.
It was like someone ordered the perfect day from Amazon, and chose same-day delivery.
That Amazon can bring it.
Naturally, I had all the windows in the house open. It smelled wonderful.
Hubby was relaxing, I was puttering about the house – I’m such a domestic, I actually like cleaning and laundry and stuff…I know, I’m weird.
“What’s that noise?” I heard hubby ask.
Above the din of birds (I swear there’s an Audubon ad somewhere that says, “Go to the Awesomesauciness House” and every bird within a hundred miles has read it.) and the gurgle of the fountain I couldn’t hear anything I didn’t recognize.
“What noise?” I asked.
There was a silence, and I walked into the den. Hubby sat with head slightly cocked, listening.
“THAT noise”, he said.
“That noise?” I asked, “that’s a bird.”
“I think so.”
“I think it’s a squeaky door.”
And that’s why we spent the next few minutes test-open/closing the doors in the house, only to find out it was….a bird.
Last week I had to go give ALL THE BLOOD…that may be an exaggeration, but as the phlebotomist filled vial after vial it didn’t feel like an exaggeration.
Let’s start in the waiting room of the lab where the BIG SIGN said that appointments took precedence over walk-ins, something the online module had told me when I made my appointment.
There was only one other person in the room at the time, so I figured I would only be there a few minutes, since you know I made an appointment and all.
Why do I always think the world is orderly and things will go according to The Plan? Because, it almost never does and you know by now I should have figured that out.
Some people never learn, and by ‘some people’ I mean me.
The door to The Back opened, and out came two guys dressed in a uniform just like the one guy still waiting.
“Did it take long?” Guy waiting asked.
“Nah, not too long.” One of guys leaving said.
A few minutes later, another two guys from the same place came out.
This is where I began to catch on. Some company sent over ALL THE EMPLOYEES for some kind of testing that day.
So much for having an appointment.
And then, this happened…
A pixie-ish elderly lady, with a bright smile and twinkling eyes, came in on the arm of a man about her age whom I assumed was her husband. They signed in and sat down to wait.
“Why are we here?” asked Pixie
“You’re having blood tests.” Husband answered.
A few minutes went by, in which time every person coming and going from the lab got a cheerful “Good Morning” from Pixie, followed by an equally-cheerful, “How are you?” to anyone who hesitated in front of her.
“Whose house is this?” asked Pixie after a while
“No one’s house, you’re giving some blood.” sighed Husband.
Pixie looked at the television for a few minutes.
“Why are we here?”
“Because. You. Are. Having. Blood. Tests.” Husband said through gritted teeth.
Pixie went back to greeting people as they came in the door.
By this time, I was trying hard not to giggle at Husband’s plight. I have been there, and done that, and I know it was not so funny when I was living it. But damned if it wasn’t funny from the outside in.
About then the door to The Back opened, and two more guys came out along with a tech who called Pixie’s name.
Pixie bounced up, and said…”Oh I’m Pixie, but I think there’s been a mistake.” and pointing to her Husband she continued, “He’s the one giving blood today.”
That was the question, and a very good one at that, I had rattlin’ round my brain the morning my husband looked over the back fence and then came back to announce said ‘loo was placed right at the entrance to our back forty.
It’s not really a back forty, it’s only a back quarter. But, back forty sounds so much more farm-y.
Actually, I don’t live anywhere near a farm, and the land behind my house is really two lots we bought a long time ago and they measure a quarter acre.
The land is constantly being used for construction crews to drive across to get to other lots they’re building on, or to stack materials for the same reason.
The port-a-potty was a first, but it was just after the dead body in the yard and it was a holiday weekend, and it was elebenty hunnert degrees at 9:00 a.m. so to say I was not happy is an understatement.
First thing I did was go out back and get the name of the company, their phone number, and the unit’s identifying number so I could call and tell them to get their shitter off my property.
I called before realizing it was July 4th, and got the answering service.
Yes, shitter-rentals has an answering service.
My own doctor doesn’t even have an answering service.
Apparently shitter renting is lucrative.
The lady I spoke to was suitably apologetic and understandably perplexed. She said she’d relay the information to the appropriate people and they’d get back to me on Monday.
I got off the phone just in time to hear a truck out back stopping on my lot.
I ran outside to confront the driver as I could see he had one of the rental company’s logos on the side of his truck.
He spoke no English.
Not. A. Word.
But, he understood my violent hand gestures indicating I wanted the shitter off my property to mean he should get the hell off my property immediately.
He skee-daddled…leaving the shitter behind.
Sigh….great, now all I’d done was scare the shit out of some poor immigrant and he had no place to ‘go’.
Monday rolled around, and (gasp!) no call from the rental company. Not only that, but we’d had a storm and the shitter was lying on its side covering my back driveway and bleeding blue chemicals. It looked mortally wounded.
I called them.
The lady I spoke to was very nice up to the point where I said, “…and I need this thing off my property right now..today, immediately. It got knocked over in the storm and now it’s leaking.”
“Did you request the rental?”
“No, no I didn’t.”
“Oh..well, ma’am we can only move the port-a-potty at the request of the person who rented it.”
“Wait, so you’re saying you come drop a shitter wherever you’re asked to and then when you’re called to point out a mistake in location you refuse to move it.”
“Ma’am, we can’t move it unless you ordered it.”
Right about here is where I lost it.
“Fine.” I fumed, gritting my teeth. “then I’m shoving your shitter into the street and the police will be giving you a call.”
I hung up the phone, furious.
Hubby was standing right there.
“Of course, I didn’t mean we were going to shove it into the street.” I said, noting his alarmed expression. “I don’t want some unsuspecting driver to come along and hit it. Someone could get hurt.”
“That would be…..shitty.” Hubby said, and we both collapsed in laughter.
I went back into the house, leaving him still trying to catch his breath.
A few minutes later hubby came inside, wiping the sweat off his brow.
“Took care of it.” He announced.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I moved it to the property next door.”
I went outside and sure enough through a combination of pushes and rolls, hubby had managed to get it from our yard to the property it probably belonged to.
“Was it heavy?” I asked when I came back in.
“Nope, but you have no idea how badly I wanted someone to drive by just so I could yell, ‘Shitter was full!’ at them as I shoved it over on its side.”
This…so much this…
And since there’s nothing but a blank white box there, and I wasn’t really struck by the profoundity (it’s a word) of blank white boxes…just go over to The Argyle Sweater’s page and look at the panel for today’s date.
Now go visit The Argyle Sweater for some more giggle-fits.
Like, all the time…
In November of 2013 we adopted a rescued feral dog.
Actually, that’s not true.
In July of 2013, this feral dog was trapped at the plant where I work and subsequently went to live in East Texas with a truly lovely woman and her 2 other dogs.
Unfortunately, this woman was not equipped to rehab a feral and her other two dogs were constantly fighting with the new addition.
So, I got a call that the dog we’d trapped was going to a shelter if I didn’t come get her.
Sigh…I had ‘lived’ with this dog around the plant for a year. She was typical of the feral dog..with one exception..she seemed to like humans. Well, most humans. She’d bark furiously at the ones she didn’t like.
I asked hubby if we could get her, knowing she’d be a big challenge, and given the fact that we are gone from home like 10-12 hours every day, he said yes.
Of course he did.
Since the day we got her we’ve been working on socializing and rehabbing her. Today, she’s nearly a total transformation. She still displays some behaviors typical of unsocialized dogs, like growling at new visitors, running from people – particularly new people – and not really being all cuddly.
She’s sort of like a cat in a dog suit. A white shepherd/Lab mix dog/cat. It’s that complicated, and that simple, too.
But, look at this face, and tell me how you can’t love it?
However, that sweet face can also look/sound menacing when she’s confronted with a frightening situation, even though in every way she’s sweet and submissive.
So, last week we had some AT&T U-Verse kids (they weren’t kids, but I swear they weren’t far from it) come to the house to install some new fiber-optic contraption thingy for the Internet and phone in the house.
When they came to the door, the dog immediately growled and paced and barked at them from her post in the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about her, she’s fine.” I said.
“Really?” Kid #1 was not convinced, and of course I couldn’t resist adding to his nervousness…
“Wellll…she’s fine so long as I don’t say THE WORD.”
(there is no word)
“What word?”, he asked, his voice an octave higher.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Wait, DON’T SAY IT!” he said.
At this point, I’d given the dog her command to stand down. It’s small and subtle, so Kid #1 hadn’t seen it, but he did see her lay down to watch him.
Enter Kid #2, “Whoa! Is she okay?” he asked as she stood to growl at him.
I gave the stand down signal and she laid down again.
“She’s okay.” I said.
Kid #1 and Kid #2 started to work.
“So, how long will this take?” I asked, since the agent on the phone had said it would be 2-4 hours I was going to make myself comfy in another room and read or whatever.
“Oh, we’ll be done in about an hour or so.” Kid #1 said.
“Awesome.” I replied.
“Is she really okay?” Kid #2 asked Kid #1.
“Unless the lady says ‘the word” Kid #1 replied, working with one eye on the dog.
“The word?” Kid #2 asked looking at me.
“Yes, all I have to do is say one word so you two better behave.” I said, barely able to contain myself.
“Yes ma’am.” they replied in unison.
Work commenced and about 30 minutes later they were ready to leave, but my husband had just walked in the door and the senior tech – Kid #2 – was about to launch into his sales spiel..you know the one where we need to bundle all our services and save money and so on.
An aside: I’ve actually looked into this bundling thing, and doing so would cost us about $5 more a month. Certainly not a deal breaker, but I’ve not heard good things about AT&Ts television reliability.
I had been in another room, the dog with me, but when hubby got home I walked out to the living room where Kid #2 was talking to hubby, and the dog followed me.
Kid #2 spotted the dog and stopped mid-sentence.
“Well, we’re all finished here and if you’d just sign the work order we can get out of here..I mean, we can leave and let you enjoy the rest of your day.” Kid #2 said, shoving the work order and pen towards hubby.
Perplexed, hubby signed the order and the kids nearly ran out the door.
“What did you do?” he asked as they left.
“I resent the implication.” I said, the smile spreading on my face.
Hubby stared at me.
“Okay, I may have implied there was a word I could say that would make the dog attack them so they better behave.”
“You did not!”
“You need a babysitter. All. The. Time.”