…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.
One of my granddaughters is 4, and this is what happens when she gets a hold of her Daddy’s cell phone.
First, she figures out how to get to the text message screen, then she figures out how to find me in the Contact list, and then she starts sending me texts. This kid is brilliant, I tell you, just brilliant.
But, I may be prejudiced. Below is a screenshot of the actual conversation.
You be the judge.
I don’t know, I think it’s rather poetic. Don’t you? Look at how she cleverly inserted an actual word – derided – into the message, and then left me wondering…am I being derided? Did I do something that deserved such an outburst? Or is she simply pondering the condition of man, and his inhumanity to his fellows? Or is it just ‘Ed’? And who is this Ed person anyway?
The kid is a genius.
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…”
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.”
I joined Angie’s List recently, and was looking over some recommendations for pain management doctors.
Not that I’m unhappy with my current doctor, but one must keep their options open.
Most were chiropractors or rheumatologists, with a sprinkling of anesthesiologists (yes, please just put me to sleep so I don’t feel the pain), and so on.
That’s all well and good, and please don’t think I’m down on which doctor anyone chooses. If it works for you, great. Go for it.
It’s just that, for me, I need an MD or DO who understands my pain issues and how to manage them – preferably with a combination of chemicals and massage or physical therapy. A glass of wine helps too.
Which is why I don’t think I’ll be going to Dr. Wacky* anytime soon.
One of his patient reviews included this:
“I just love Dr. Wacky! I especially loved his advice to ‘forgive’ my tumor. I did and it worked! My pain level has significantly decreased! I’ll definitely be going back!”
This person was not being sarcastic.
He/she was also not the only one who referred to forgiveness as part of Dr. Wacky’s pain management protocol.
*I may have changed that name, to protect the
whack-job doctor in question.
I know so many of you are suffering seasonal allergies. There’s enough red noses out there to make W.C. Fields proud.
Go, go look up W.C. Fields.
*finds thread on jacket, pulls…sigh…now wonders if she can fix hole in jacket*
Anyone have a needle and white thread?
As I was saying, allergies…BLECH!
But, have no fear I have a helpful solution.
Auntie Awesomesauciness’ Guide to Clearing Sinuses
Step 1: Take a large mouthful of water, tea, soda, juice, or any of your favorite beverages.
*hands reader a towel…and a mop*
If you know who I’m talking about, and you miss him too…some of his more hilarious moments as the “center” of attention.
….to kill a vampire, but this only lists the top 10 with a few honorable mentions.
Most seem pretty complex to me, but then I’m sure not everyone goes around with a vampire hunting kit like Peter Vincent.
Please tell me you know who Peter Vincent is.