July 2009 Archives

So, I am officially finished at the chiropractic clinic.  It was bittersweet because I loved my patients but really could live without The Hag or The Greed. I'm not always sure The Greed was mutual among all parties. Really.  I'm not sure. Either way, I jump again, feet first, into another risk.  This risk has proven stable for months, but, of course, the moment I choose to acknowledge it exclusively it decides to freak out and disappear. I haven't had any massages at the spa in a week. That's not happened before. This is a little scary, especially since my first spa job was a total bust.  I mean, $900 in three months, maybe back in the Depression that was huge, but these days, that pays nothing.  The difference is, of course, that the current spa cares and is trying.  Pam is awesome.  The other spa, well, best to leave things unsaid. I know it's the end of summer; people are taking last-minute vacations; and there is school supply buying, but still, when you take such a leap, it makes you nervous when irony wraps itself around a brick and hurls itself at your head. I know everything will be okay, but man, the universe has some serious means to make a person feel uncomfortable. I would cross my fingers, but the lid to the washer insured I couldn't do that for a while. WHAM!  Thank you for making my job painful...urk... _____________________________ That would have sucked for a last day. I seriously thought I had broken my fingers last night when the washer lid slammed upon them.  I could just imagine On My Last Day trying to convince my boss that my fingers really were screwed.  I know I wouldn't have believed it.  Thankfully, they just hurt a lot today and seem to be bruising nicely.  Otherwise, it could've been ugly.

So, yes, it has happened. We have lost yet another icon to the great, vast beyond.  Once more a great contributer to our life experience has left us to wonder how we'll really see a world without him. I am, of course, talking about Gidget, the Taco Bell Chihuahua: [caption id="attachment_436" align="alignnone" width="225" caption="Yo quiero a pair of diamond-encrusted wings and a halo, bitches!"][/caption] Oh, and Walter Cronkite died, too. But, what would the world have been like without Gidget to remind us about the fast food numminess of Taco Bell and the ensuing gas bubbles of indigestion?  Where would we be without the easily quotable "Yo quiero, Taco Bell" to put on unending amounts of t-shirts, talking chihuahua dolls, and random crap?  Never mind that said quote came from a male voice out of a female chihuahua.  (I think it points to steroid use, but it will remain a "conspiracy theory" since no one will dare to slight such a beloved icon.) Unfortunately, the Gidget estate has decided to keep her funeral and memorial very private.  I know fans across the world would have loved to have it YouTube-d at least.  But, even her celebrity fans have chosen to mourn in peace. She lived a fabulous life of stardom and wealth.  Even when her days as a Taco Bell promotional pusher ended and she spiraled down into a hole of steroid-laced doggie treat binges, depressed tequila rages, and the odd fling with a very suspect Great Dane, she was very courteous and inviting to her fans.  She never forgot from where she came, even if the tequila made her question which dog house she visited last. After finding religion and inner peace, she cleaned up and started doing special appearances at dog shows and fairs in order to impart some much needed happiness to the world in general. She died of a stroke at the age of 15, leaving behind a grown litter and a better world. So, this week, it's asked of her fans to visit a Taco Bell and have a moment of silence, bean burrito held high, for our dear Gidget. Walk that Rainbow Bridge like a diva, girl! Good dog! ___________________________ Heeeeelloooooo, satire!  Okay, so I am actually pretty upset that Walter Cronkite died.  I think a real sense of honest journalism went with him.  I think "honest journalism" went out the window years ago and the internet is the only way to actually discern the truth among the trash, but you seriously have to work for it.  However, I couldn't help but make fun of and yet immortalize a pop culture icon like Gidget.  She was actually pretty cool as animal actors go.  She never minded that a man voiced her on TV.  Most actresses would have a fit, shoot some drugs, talk to a shrink, and then sue.  I imagine that from time to time she wet on the guy's ankles.  Good dog.  Goooood dog!

So, yeah, the older I get, the less tolerable of heat I get. I love me some cold weather.  Bundled up under coats and blankets.  Cozy and warm.  Mmmmmm. Summer blows.  I can only take off so much and even then I risk scaring the neighbors, poor dears. Now, granted, I believed my anti-summer moments were reserved to me, the Hubby, and random  weird person visiting from Antartica. Recently, I came home to this sight. [caption id="attachment_429" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Overheated bunny says, "Uuuuugh.""][/caption] Funnily, this was after me getting out of my car and thinking, "Geezus, it's as humid as Louisiana.  How the hell do we deal with it?" Apparently by stretching out as far as we can on a pile of rocks to reduce body heat and barely breathing enough to make the owner of your current territory fear she will have to pick up a bunny carcass. I'm all about backyard wildlife, but not so much with the cleaning up of bodies. ___________________________________ The bunny appears to be okay.  So does her boyfriend.  Yes, there are two.  One hops away and doesn't have very dangly parts jiggling...that's the little girl.  We don't expect babies because it may be too late in the year.  At least the wildlife expresses my extreme dismay over the heat.  It's nice to know Mamma Nature gains sanity every once in a while.

I don't know what the hell is up with Wordpress right now.  I keep getting these weird errors that go away if I reload. It's happening a lot lately.  If anyone has problems, let me know.  I might have to have Super Husband look at the code. Yeah, so I've been looking in the mirror, which is a whole lot of dangerous. I've gained a lot of weight.  I really need to do something about that. Here's the hysterical thing: I was hanging with the girls last night after we fed and then kicked the guys out the door (nearly literally) and K. was talking about how her baby might be allergic to corn syrup.  I made a comment about how that will be hard because she couldn't eat anything and how I might be jealous of that.   A. looked at me and said, "Pretend you're allergic."  That immediately set off my "Why the hell didn't I think of that" alarm.  So, today, I set about nixing the things with corn syrup to which I was faux allergic.  Wouldn't you know that we only have the soda we keep for guests and one bottle of salad dressing that fits that bill?  My really easy diet solution just sprouted wings and flew out the window. Dammit. You know, all that argument about high fructose corn syrup making you fat seriously crashes when it's not even in your house. I suck at counting calories.  I'm looking at the things I can cut out of my diet.  Imagine a smoker going cold turkey.  This will not be pleasant. I've also come to terms with the fact that I may have to allow myself to jump into the evil white-water river that is Facebook.  People don't send fucking emails these days.  They just update Facebook.  I can't find out what my friends are doing otherwise.  (Except for those few who are resisting.  I feel so weak.) As I've said on my equally evil Twitter account: it will be the grumpiest Facebook ever.  "Fuck you all!  Now, what the hell are you up to?" I am afraid of the friends list that will create. Speaking of creating, there has been little of that these days.  This disturbs me.  A lot of it is because our "mess room" has not be set into motion. That needs to happen soon.  Partially because I have this incredible desire to shop for peel-and-stick floor tiles at the Dollar Store as has been recommended to me, and also because I refuse to make a bigger mess in our almost empty sunroom than the cats have already achieved.  The recommendation by a friend to call it the Vomitorium might not be far-fetched.  (Fucking cats.  They feel the need to puke, and of course, they choose the only carpeted place in the house.) My mom has also offered me a chance to sell my stuff at her local farmer's market.  I think my permanent jack o'lanterns might go over well. Only one way to find out. Also, just for the randomness:  Ymac Sumac had a friggin' amazing voice! Google her if you don't know.  It will increase your Google-Fu powers. ____________________________ Yeah, so it's not the most coherent post, but ask me if I care.  It's what's happening that's a helluva lot more interesting than the fact we got new curtains for the den.  A part of me is seriously thrilled, the other part wants to kill the obviously house-wifey part and bury her under the poorly-made wishing well created by the previous owner.

I have no idea what the random error messages on my blog are about, but if you reload they go away.  Weirdness follows me. For instance: the Mystery Switch. [caption id="attachment_424" align="alignnone" width="200" caption="Its innocence is deceiving"][/caption] It leads to something.  We're not sure what.  We checked all the outlets and the ceiling fan.  The switch next to it is the porch light.  When we turn on the Mystery Switch, the lights dim as if something is happening.  Short of nuclear missiles arming and readying to launch our doom from the secret silo under our house, we haven't a clue what this thing is about.  The husband even stood out in the driveway and muttered at the house, waving his arms, but it didn't give up its secrets.  (Yes, yes, he did.  And, you know, compared to the shuffling old man up the street with his shorts pulled up to his chest, this is normal.) The husband is now on a mission.  The source of the Mystery Switch shall be discovered. More details to follow even if they include "What the hell do you mean the wires lead to a goat in a giant hamster wheel?" You know, hysterically enough, I get clients asking me regularly if we've found more "What the hell?" moments in our house.   I told them no.  I cursed us. Maybe worse than I thought. So, my brakes needed changing in my car.  So did the oil.  (I've been kind of neglecting my car for personal reasons and have finally come to terms with why, who, it's not her fault, and I really don't want another car note.)  Much to the total shock of regular women, the fact I can change my oil is an awe-inspiring concept.  Seriously, folks, it's not that bloody hard.  If the place you take your car to charges more than $20 or $25, you better ask if the oil filter is on fucking Mars and can only be reached if the right sacrifice is laid upon the alter; otherwise, they are charging you too damn much. Anyway, so it needed to be done and we awoke early to try to avoid the ungoldy heat of mid-day.  Lucky for us, the ungodly humidity felt the urge to visit early.  Joy. So, we opened the carport storage room to get the things for the car and there was  a rather strange noise... Todd: Well, crap. Me: What? Todd: You really don't want to see what I'm looking at. Me: Well, now I need to look. Yes, maladies and germs, the water heater blew its seals and was dumping its contents into the storage room which were kindly running under the house. Off to call the Warranty Folks we went. You know, I don't know from warranty people, but anyone who can get a plumber out to replace a water heater on a Saturday is a  miracle worker Jesus should hold in respect.  (Send your complaints about my comparison to learntotakeajoke@lightenup.com.)  So, we have a new water heater, and it only cost us $55.  If anyone tells you new homebuyers to not get a home warranty, please give said person a wedgie because that person obviously needs some humiliation for being a total ignorant dweeb. I love being a homeowner, even through all the the incidentals and random moments of "What the hell?"  At least you know in the end, it's still yours.  When it's a rental, all you can do is count the days it takes the landlord to fix the damn problem before you call the real estate commision. Yeah.  We don't miss it at all. Besides, there's no way in hell we could have gotten a plumber to come over on a Saturday. There is more.  I know there is.  I suspect the cabinets under the kitchen sink lead to a dimensional portal that sucks up sponges.  Prove that I'm wrong. _________________________ Seriously, ya'll, changing y0ur oil isn't hard.  Unscrew the plug, let it drain into the oil container.  When it's finished, unscrew the oil filter and let it drain some more.  When it's finished, screw the plug back in, replace the filter with a new one, and refill it with oil.  It might be dirtier than baking a cake, but it's simpler.  Your fathers lied to you.