Category Archives: Random Crap

I Don’t Care How Cool You Think Your Job Title Is

It’ll never be this cool….unless, of course, you are Mr. which case, I salute you, sir!

big door

The Kingdom’s Travails – Day Nine

Life was so simple back then.

If some article of clothing, or household linen, got dirty – mussed in some way or even stained with the tears of mine enemies – the queen could simply toss it into her top-loading beauty, add the necessary chemicals, turn the dial and magically this machine would erase all traces of every transgression in thirty minutes.

But these are dark times for the Kingdom.

The washing machine hath vexed even the noblest of repairmen in the Shire.  It hath brought them to their knees, and coaxed forth curses muttered under sweaty breath as one by one they try to best it and unlock its wizard’s secrets.

Day by day and hour by hour the machine sits quietly and patiently awaiting the next challenger.

Who among the realm’s repairmen can tame the terrible beastie?

Today a new challenger shall enter the lair, and take with him the hoped-for miracle that will once again send the castle into realms of clean socks, clean undies, and clean towels.

The occupants of the castle light a candle and pray the machine is bested, lest the queen be forced to enter the other dragon’s lair (also called a ‘laundromat’) and do battle with numerous beastly machines that steadfastly refuse to dissolve detergents properly or dry clothes without a mound of coins being fed to them that would rival the national debt for all of Ankh-Morpork. 

The last trip the queen made to this terrible place did not end well as the vicious witch of the southerly winds grabbed and clawed at her freshly-laundered and folded clothes as she struggled to place them in her carriage for the trip back to the castle.

Much muttering of unspeakable curses upon all who would vex her so was heard, and the menfolk of the castle did tremble…except the cat, he simply one-eyed the ruckus and went back to sleep.

I fear further outbursts from the queen may involve breakage of nearby objects, and so I light a candle myself and ask the gods of electricity to be kind to the noble Repairman of the Whirlpool today.

The whole of the Shire doth wait with baited breath…

I Am Afraid I Might Have to Break Up….

….with my dentist, and it won’t be pretty I tell you.

He’s become something of a stalker lately.

At least once a week since the beginning of January I’ve gotten a text message:

“Hey {name}! It’s time for your checkup!”

And when that doesn’t work someone from his office will call me, and since I never answer when I see it’s them, will leave me this chipper message:

“Hi {name}! We have/had a cancellation/opening this week at {time} on {day}.  Would you like to come in for a check up?”

Mind you, it’s not like it’s been years…no,…it’s not been years since I’ve been to the dentist.  It’s just that I haven’t been this year and there’s all that insurance money to be spent my dental health to think of.

Now I’m not one of those scaredy-cats when it comes to seeing a dentist – especially since Dr. Feelgood practices sedation dentistry – and God love him for that!   It’s just that I haven’t had time for my semi-annual check up and cleaning yet. 

It’s only February, dude!   Don’t push me!  I’m feeling suffocated here!  I hate to have to say this, but I think we need to take a break.  I need my space.

It’s not you, it’s me.

No..wait…it’s you.  It’s definitely you.

Just give me some time, and maybe I’ll call you. 

Sigh, I hate break-ups.  There’s all that starting over, getting to know someone, and praying they aren’t a psychotic stal—-  

:phone rings:

It’s him……..

Yes, I Realize Valentine’s Day Was Last Week

But, if you had any idea what kind of week last week was for me, you wouldn’t be making such a big deal about my missing Valentine’s Day right now.

For that matter, if you knew how I really feel about Valentine’s Day we wouldn’t even be discussing it.   We’d be talking about the dynamic synergies of post-modern banjos instead, because that would be far less controversial.

Yes, I said ‘controversial’.

I hate Valentine’s Day.

Let me ‘splain.

When I was a kid I remember having Valentine’s Day parties at school.  We’d all bring decorated shoeboxes with little cutouts in the tops and set them on our desks. 

At the appointed hour, we’d go around the room dropping our handwritten Valentines in the boxes of our classmates – always reserving the fanciest ones, with all the glitter on them, for our super-not-so-secret crush.  

Then the teacher would pass out the heart-shaped candies, cookies, and cupcakes with red icing on it that wound up on your face, hands, and clothes.  Every.  Time.

It was fun.  Lots of fun.

I carried on this tradition with my children, until it wasn’t a ‘thing’ anymore and just like that one more party in school went ‘pfffffffft’. 

C’est le vie.

We still had Valentines and cupcakes at home.

Then one day about ten years ago, and my kids had long since grown out of Mom’s Valentine’s Day celebration and onto their own,  I happened to be at the store on Valentine’s Day.

I was getting ready to check out in the Express Lane (no more than 15 items, and God help you if you accidentally overlooked that lone lemon in the bottom of your cart which put you firmly at 16 items as the jackass behind you will LOUDLY proclaim), when I noticed a long, long, long line in front of me.

Everyone in the line was male.  Each was holding flowers, candy, and cards…in some combination – many with all three. 

Every one of them looked sad, depressed and anxious….as if they were in line for vasectomies, not simply to pay for the undying expressions of love they held.

That was when it hit me.

Valentine’s Day is one of those Hallmark holidays, made up to make men feel guilty and women entitled. 

From that day on, I told my husband that if he wanted to give me a card or flowers or candy he better NOT do it on February 14th.   Do it on the 13th, the 15th, or even not at all…just take out the garbage without my asking.  That tells me more about how you feel than any pre-packaged, wrapped in hearts and flowers, sentiment just waiting for you to pay more than it’s worth at the local store does.

It’s been freeing, if sometimes awkward when someone asks me what I ‘got’ for Valentine’s Day and I launch into my tirade about how I hate that day – incidentally, they don’t ask how I feel about too many things after that, so it’s a win!win! for me.

And you know what?  My hubby empties the garbage without my asking a lot more nowadays, too.   Now that, my friends, is romantic.

Good To Know I’m Yummy

From the Spambot du juor:

“Excellent website. Plenty of helpful information here. I’m sending it to some friends ans also sharing in delicious. And naturally, thanks to your sweat!”

Apparently I’m delicious, thanks to my sweat.

I must conclude, therefore, that my sweat is yummy.

You’re welcome.

Apparently, I’m In the Process of Buying a New House

Well, at least the person who answered the phone at Major Plumbing Company thinks so.

For the record, I’m not.

Also for the record, I need a plumber.

And that’s why I called Major Plumbing Company in the first place.  The conversation went like this:

Major Plumbing Company Receptionist/Scheduler:  Hello, this is MPC, how may I help you?

Me: Yes, I need to get someone to come out and look at a valve in my tub.  I can’t turn the water on.

MPCR/S:  Address?

Me: 123 Everywhere, Anytown, TX

MPCR/S: *silence*

This went on for a few seconds, so I looked at my phone to see if it had dropped the call.  It hadn’t.

Me:  Hello?  Hellooooooo?

A few seconds later….

MPCR/S: And when do you close?

Me: What? This isn’t a new house or a sale.

MPCR/S: Can you verify your address again, because I’m not finding it.

Me: 123 Everywhere Court – or it could be Drive, depends on which map you are looking at, Anytown, TX

MPCR/S: *silence*

By now, I figured out the silence was actually my being put on hold.  I waited just a few seconds and she was back.

MPCR/S: What is your closing date?

Me: (what the hell, let’s have some fun) November 30th, 1997

MPCR/S: Uhhh….

Me: This is not for an inspection.  This is not a new house, this is not a sale.  I need a repair to the valve in my bathtub.

MPCR/S: And who is your builder?

Me: Jack.  Mine is the house that Jack built.

MPCR/S: Is it still under warranty?

Me: I wish…but, no.

MPCR/S: And when is your closing date?

Me: January 4th, 2027

MPCR/S: *silence*

I hung up, thoroughly amused and pissed at the same time.  Major Company lost out when I called Much Smaller and Local Company and scheduled an appointment in less than one minute.

Seriously, though, how stupid can a person be and still be employed.  Because, if that woman is the ‘bar’, then it’s scraping the ground right now.

Clearly A Rebel

clearly a rebel

And Then Everyone Ran Into Everybody

Walked outside yesterday morning at 4:00 AM to see hubby off to work, and heard sand hitting the cars, street, grass.

What the…?

Hubby looked at me and said..”It’s sleeting.”

Few things will cause me to seize with terror. 

“It’s sleeting.” is definitely on the short list for that.  

It’s not that I can’t drive in sleet or snow, I can.   What I cannot drive in is freezing rain or ice. 

I know my limitations as a driver.

However, I live in Texas and the last thing any Texan will admit is not having  a thorough, indisputable, knowledge of…….everything.  Including driving in the ice/snow/sleet.  This is a perfect example of a little knowledge being an extremely dangerous thing.

Any Texan, except me.   I prepared to go back inside and slip into my jammies and get back in bed.  Hubby, also a Texan – one with a massive four-wheel drive truck, prepared to go to work.

He said he’d call me when he got there and let me know how the roads were before I made any decisions.

At 4:45 AM he called me to say the roads weren’t bad…..yet.   And, if I wanted to go to work I better leave…

I contemplated the question of whether or not I ever really wanted to go to work, and decided that was far too philosophical for 4:45 in the morning.  

I focused, instead, on whether or not I wanted to go to work driving on an ice rink.  And my car doesn’t have skates.

I decided to be brave, to be bold, to be stupid.

I left at 5:00 AM, and at first the roads were dry and clear.   I wondered what all the fuss was about.

Halfway through my commute I noticed that hail/snow stuff called “grapple” or “gropple” or something like that was hitting the windshield.  It lay in waves on the road that moved back and forth as cars passed over.  It was quite fascinating to watch, but before long the roadway became wet with the melting of the snow/sleet as it came down heavier and heavier.

No problem, I thought, I got this…it’s just wet roads.

Then….the bridge…the first of many I had to cross loomed large in front of me.    It wasn’t wet.  It was white. It was frozen.  It was treacherous.

Contrary to the belief of every Texan who drives – that if you are on wet/slick roads, put the pedal to the metal  – I slowed down a little and instead of death-gripping the steering wheel lightly guided it with my fingers as I crossed bridge after bridge.  Each one was slicker than the last and heavily iced.

I actually got to work with no issues, but the instant I got out of the car I think I heard every Dallas PD and FD unit heading out and by 7:00 AM there were well over 100 car accidents in the DFW Metroplex.

Which just goes to prove my theory about Texas drivers – if the pavement is not dry, the sky not clear, and the temperature not in the 90’s, let’s all get in our cars and run into each other, the barriers, guardrails, restaurants, fences, houses, airplanes, skateboards, and whatever else we can see from our drivers’ vantage point, just as fast as we possibly can.

Dear Santa, Love Bugsy the Insane

I found this note in Bugsy the Insane’s kitty room:

Deer Santez,

I have been a very gud, exellent, luving, kitty this yeer.

for chrissmuss i wanz:

a mouse – a live mouse, not the stoopid catnip-filled ones – they dont fool me

catnip, lots of catnip

tell mommy to let me eet the tinsel, i luv it even if i frow most of it up and sparkly-poop the rest

tell mommy to let me help rap giffs, i’m very gud at it

tell mommy to flush the swirly agin…and agin…and agin…i luv to try to catch the water

tell mommy i only trip her when my fud bowl is emtee, or i’m bored, or it’s toosday, or you know because

bring me the birds in my yard. it’s my yard, so i must eets them. it’s a kitty law

pleez make the little humans go away, i don’t like them. they smell, they are loud, and they touch me with sticky hanz

oh, and i guess i should ask you to bring mommy a live mouse, too. after all, she makes sure i get my treats and that medusin i take beecuz i haz a sick and my shugur gits out of wakk.  i reely lub her, but don’t tell her.

i promise to be a verry gud, exellent, luving, kitty agin next yeer too.

yur frend,


I’ll Admit It, This Terrifies and Fascinates Me

In the strange land of “reality” television lives a program called  “Finding Bigfoot”.   I have always had a fascination with the Yeti, Bigfoot, Sasquatch, or whatever you call it regionally, and distinctly remember watching the grainy footage from the late 1960’s over and over as a teenager.

Imagine my delight when flipping through the 586 channels on my cable box one day I found an entire hour devoted to nothing but the search for Bigfoot.  I watched the person who was soon to become my favorite – Bobo – trying to re-enact the stance and walk of a ‘squatch someone had seen somewhere in the woods of Northern Maine, and even though the too-skeptical Ranae and the too not-skeptical Matt get on my nerves from time to time, I am hooked and watch the show whenever I remember it’s on.   And, if I miss it it’s replayed like elebenty-billion times throughout the week, so I usually catch it at some point.

Now, comes an actual scientific study that may prove the existence of the ‘Squatch.  I’ll admit that hearing the DNA results both scared and fascinated me.  

I still would like to meet Bigfoot….maybe we could swap venison recipes….right after I recover from the heart attack.