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Clearly A Rebel

clearly a rebel

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SQUIRREL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*walks into room and picks up small box from floor*

Well, I’ll be damned.

Here’s my crazy.

I spent all day yesterday looking for it and it was right here all the time.

Just goes to show you the old saying is true….it’s always going to be in the last place you look.

Which reminds me.

George Carlin once said that saying “It’s always in the last place you look” was monumentally stupid.

He was right.

Think about it.

Get it?

Okay, if you didn’t..and I’m sure you did get it because my readers are brilliant…of course the whatever you are looking for is always going to be in the last place you look, because who finds something and then keeps looking for it?

I mean, once it’s found don’t you stop looking?

Unless, like me, you find something and then thirty seconds later lose it…say, in your other hand or on top of your head…and then resume the looking until you see something shiny and forget what you came into the room for, but you better fill the cat’s food bowl or deal with the consequences of a very angry hungry kitty, and damn the litter box is full again, what’s for supper? 

 

Heyyyyyyyyy…here’s my keys…it’s always the last place you look…

PSA – May Come In Handy If I Am Ever Provided The Opportunity To Do Community Service

I can just see me now, going around to all the high schools and talking some real sense into those hormone-crazed boys and girls.

Here’s one of my visual aids, what do you think?  Will it work?

You cannot argue with that logic.

And Then There Was The Time I Was Witness To Spontaneous Combustion, But That Was After I’d Ruined The New Carpet

 My baby girl and her husband have finally bought their first home.  It took them eight long years, but come August 3rd , they’ll be homeowners.

August 5th, they’ve organized an army of friends and family to descend upon the house and paint every room.  After years of being a rental property, let’s just say it really, really needs some TLC in the paint department.

My hubby and I are part of the army, so this naturally brought up discussions of our first time.

Not that first time.

Our first time painting a room.

My hubby, who as a child learned to paint from his construction-worker grandfather, talked about the beautiful finishes, the satin sheen on the walls and the small amount of clean-up involved – which in those days was a big deal because paint was often oil-based and damn-near impossible to clean off without industrial-grade solvents.

I talked about the fire.

All eyes turned to me in surprise when I said paint and fire in the same sentence.

What?

I was 14 and my bestie was the same age.  She and her little brother and mom had moved into our townhome complex the previous fall and by springtime her mother had promised she could paint a  red and black checkerboard pattern on her wall…after the white carpet was installed.

What was the woman thinking?

Naturally my bestie enlisted my help and when I arrived that morning I found the checkerboard pattern had been neatly penciled all along one wall and all the furniture neatly stacked and covered on the other.

I took off my shoes, but in retrospect leaving my socks on was probably a bad idea.

Bestie poured black paint in one tray and red in the other.  I took the red and proceeded to paint squares marked with an “R” in the middle, and bestie painted the ones marked “B” with her black paint.

After a little while we decided to stop and get something to eat.  We set our trays on the floor and I stepped back to admire the work…right into a tray of red paint.

Hopping around on one foot only made the paint splatter so part of the room looked like a crime scene in a matter of minutes.

Covering up the walls was no biggie since we were painting anyway, but the carpet…

Red paint on white carpet.

Yeah, no amount of Resolve is gonna get that shit out.

In the end, we wound up strategically placing her bed at an odd angle in the center-ish part of the room and telling her mom that’s the way she wanted it.

Thank heavens her mother bought that story, and apparently never cleaned under the bed.

When we were done the checkerboard pattern looked pretty cool to a teenager, and we dutifully cleaned up all the paint brushes and disposed of the paint cans..and when I say we disposed of the paint cans I mean we put them on the back porch and covered them with the canvas drop cloth we’d been using  to protect the carpet – unsuccessfully as it turns out.

About a week later I went back to bestie’s house and immediately upon entering the front door I noticed a smoky haze. 

At first, I thought it was the pasta she was making for her baby brother, but closer inspection revealed the drop cloth on the back porch was on fire for no apparent reason.

An hour later and I’d had my first lesson on spontaneous combustion from a hunky firefighter in full gear.

That was just one of many adventures that she and I had and managed to keep from her mother and mine none involving fire…at least not that I remember…

It’s a Bear

No, really it’s a bear..or part of a bear anyway and it’s in my freezer at home.

Here’s how these things happen to me.

I walked in the door from work late last week and hubby was looking like a little boy who’d just scored the Topps package with an extra bubble gum accidentally stuck inside.

“C’mere”, he said excitedly waving me towards the garage.

“What?”, I replied as I followed him.

“Look!” he said, as he opened the freezer

*yes, we’ve been married so long we have entire conversations that consist of one-word exchanges – communication-schmumunication*

“What?”

“Look what the boss gave me.”, he said as he placed a clear plastic bag of a frozen meat-like substance in my hand

“And this is….?”

“Bear meat! Ground bear meat!”

He looked so giddy I didn’t have the heart to say what I couldn’t stop my mouth from saying anyway.

“What am I going to do with ground bear meat?”

*this is the part where I watch hubby’s happy balloon totally deflate*

“I dunno…make chili or stew with it, I guess.”

He snatched the bag from my hand and shoved it back in the freezer.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to make up for my obvious insensitivity over the excitement of ground teddy bear, “I’ll use it in the chili, okay?”

“I guess, but boss-man says it tastes kinda gamey so be sure to add a lot of spices.”

“Great. No, really that’s great. I’ve never had bear chili before.” (shocking, I know given that I am a Texan and we are known to be a bit crazy and adventurous when it comes to food)

I hugged hubby and told him to thank boss-man for the bear.

And, now I’m back to my original question – what the hell am I gonna do with several pounds of ground gamey-tasting teddy bear?  I’m not sure there’s enough chili powder and cumin on the planet to cover that taste, and I’m not sure I can get past the thought of the doe-eyed look of every cute li’l cartoon bear I’ve ever seen on television and around the Intertubes for as long as I can remember to eat it.

That’s it, Grumpy Bear, I’m turning your bitchy ass into chili! MUWAHAHAHAHA!

Next year, boss-man, why don’t you try trout fishing instead?

Dropping the Bimm…

Know how I keep this site free from the dreaded “F” word?

I use feck instead.

Or, I will use feck instead.

As often as is fecking warranted.

You’re welcome.

Here, look at a kitty as a sort of palate cleanser for the brain.

Merry Christmas-in-July!

I Gots New Shoes

Sometimes the simplest things will make me giddy.

Yesterday it was the arrival in the mail of my new Nikes.  They are grey and purple and made for running/hiking up the side of a mountain.

I have no intention of running/hiking up the side of a ditch, much less a mountain.

But you know what?  With my new shoes I look like I could.

Any second now.

So long as EMS is on standby.

Because, You Know….Ninjas

Yes, I forgot about writing a post this morning…and here’s why…..

 

Take That, Bitches!!

Yeah, you heard me…take this:

домики для феи

I have no idea what that is, but a search for it brought someone to my site.

And that rawks…like..totally.

Unless that’s some alien form of communication, and I’ve somehow begun an interplanetary war.

In which case it still totally rawks.

I’ll be in my super-secret bunker if anyone needs me.

Maybe I Should Be Flattered

After all, I haven’t been a 6X since I was 6 years old.  But “Heather” is also trying to sell me insurance, so there’s that.

Here’s our e-mail exchange, because you know…ninjas.

Hello XXXXXX,

Hope your day is going well.  I just wanted to follow up on our previous emails in regards to your current Insurance policies. 

Maybe now is a better time for you to take a closer look at what we can offer.  We have a unique approach of offering numerous options with several different companies to insure that you are always receiving the best value for your premium dollar.  On average we initially save our clients $800 annually on their insurance portfolio, but considering we go through this process for you each year we should save a new client thousands over a five to ten year period.

Are process shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.  From there if it makes sense we can move forward, if not at least you know that you are currently getting the best value for you money. 

Even if you decide that where you are is best, we simply appreciate the opportunity.

Thank you again and I look forward to talking with you soon. 

Have a great day,

Heather

Are?

Are process?

Fingernails on a chalkboard.

If “Heather” hadn’t made that mistake, I probably would have just deleted the e-mail.

She did though, so the grammar nazi in me had to respond.

Dear “Heather”,

My insurance needs have been handled by someone who can remember my name, thank you very much.

And it’s “Our process…” not “Are process…”

If you wish to be taken seriously, pay more attention to the details.

Have a good day.

XXXXXX