Category: Odds & Ends

Why Aren’t You Electrocuted?!

Over the weekend, The Viking and I – mostly The Viking – had to replace our Garage Door Opener because it inconveniently and selfishly died.

We took down the dead and useless Door Opener and then began assembling the new unit.  It was all very straight forward, no big surprises, until The Viking went rogue.  He threw the instruction manual into the corner and began fiddling with electrical wires.

Me:  Why aren’t you electrocuted?!

The Viking:  What?  There’s no power to these lines.

Me:  The wires are coming right out of the ceiling, the breaker hasn’t been flipped, so why aren’t you electrocuted?!

The Viking:  These wires get their power from the garage door opener brains, not from the building’s power supply.

Me:  Stop talking in Sorcery!  The brains are plugged in!  I can see the power cord plugged into the power plug!

The Viking:  Relax!  Take it easy.  I know what I’m doing.

Me:  …….

Me:  …….

Me:  …….

Me:  I will never understand electricity.  It’s terrifying.

He carried on with his Warlockery and I watched him.

Me:  I can’t believe I’ve lived for this long without understanding electricity.  I stuck a knife in an electrical socket once because my mother told me to never do that.  Ever.

The Viking:  And so you did.

Me:  Of course I did.  You can’t just tell me not to do something without telling me why.

The Viking:  Well, you obviously didn’t die.

Me:  Exactly.  It hurt, but I didn’t die, and my curiosity was gone.  My parents could have spared me that.

Me:  I also stuck my head in a plastic Drycleaning bag because there was a warning on it that said to never do that.  Again, they never said why.

The Viking:  Seriously?

Me:  Yes.  And I didn’t suffocate.  Now that I think about it though, I think the warning did mention ‘Suffocation’ but I was like 6 years old and didn’t have a clue what that meant.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  My best friend found a box of wooden matches once.  They looked harmless but apparently they were ‘extremely dangerous’ and children should never play with them.

The Viking:  Let me guess….

Me:  See?!  You know already what needed to be done!  We tried to light the wooden fence on fire but it wouldn’t burn.  We tried to set the grass on fire too, but that wouldn’t work either.  The only thing that actually did work was burning our fingers.  And then I got a spanking, like having burned fingers weren’t punishment enough, because Darcy apparently didn’t know how to lie.  I couldn’t be friends with him after that.

The Viking:  Hahaha!

Me:  And pull cords on blinds.

The Viking:  You didn’t!

Me:  Actually, yes.  I did.

The Viking stopped what he was fiddling with and looked at me with an odd expression on his face.  “You sound like your daughter.”

Me:  That’s impossible because I made certain that I explained things to her.  Don’t put a knife in an electrical outlet because electricity, through sorcery, will enter the knife, travel through your arm and straight upward because of gravity or something and blow your head completely off your body.  And guess what?  She never stuck a knife in an electrical outlet.

The Viking:  That’s not how electricity works.

Me:  Does it really matter?  The point is that she never electrocuted herself because she listened to me.  Unlike you who will die at some point this afternoon because you keep touching electrical wires.

The Viking:  I’m not going to die today.

Me:  I feel like a kid when my Dad took me to work with him and I had to sit around doing absolutely nothing for hours because there might be bears around.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  There were only so many times I could be interested in what was in the glove compartment.  And without the truck running fiddling with the radio buttons was less than satisfying.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  I did find a magazine full of naked women behind the seat.  Dad took it away from me and then made another worker take me home.  He said he had an emergency to deal with but I didn’t buy it.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  He did explain the perils of playing with the gear shifter when the truck was running but he never left it running.  He must not have trusted my judgement.

The Viking:  …..

Me:  There were old pallets at Dad’s job and he wanted to take them apart and use them for something else.  He gave me a hammer and told me to get all the nails out but I accidentally stepped on a nail as I was pulling a nail from another piece of wood.  I didn’t even get a tetanus shot.  Oh!  And one time I had a really, really sore throat so he painted my tonsils with MercuroChrome.  It’s toxic to the environment but not tonsils I guess.  I’m lucky to even be alive!

The Viking:  …..

Me:  Hey!  Did I ever tell you that I know how to pick a lock on an interior door?  So if you were to lock the bathroom door and then accidentally faint I would be able to pick the lock and save you.

The Viking:  I never lock the bathroom door.

Me:  I’ve just noticed that when I get bored my mind has a tendency to wander a bit.

The Viking:  You think?

Me:  I’m seriously bored.  I didn’t think it would take this amount of time to replace a door opener.  I would have brought booze and a book if I had known.  Maybe a pillow for a nap.  And a fuzzy blanket.  Or binoculars.  That might have amused me for a little while.

You’re not even listening to me anymore.

Damn You Benjamin Franklin!

Welcome to Coffee.  You weren’t hoping I would be all bubbly and chatty, were you?  Cause I’m less bubbly and chatty and more dozy and dumb.  I’ve been this way all week long.  If my eyes roll back and my head flops to the right don’t worry, it’s not a stroke, I’ve just fallen asleep.  If clearing your throat loudly doesn’t wake me, try poking me with your spoon.  Coffee has done nothing to alleviate my exhaustion; apparently caffeine isn’t the guy for the job today. Maybe a cocktail of energy drinks with extra strong caffeine shooters will do the trick.

I have nothing to report in the way of interest this past week.  It’s all a blur.  However, yesterday I did have to muster up some form of energy because I had some errands to run/schlump.  Thank goodness for automobiles, even if I probably shouldn’t have been trusted behind the wheel.

A group of pimply-faced high school students pushed the cross-walk button but I was already too close to stop and too tired to give a shit. One of them waved his arms at me so I rolled the window down and yelled “DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!”

I dozed off reading the label on a can of soup in the grocery store and a guy said “You gonna buy that or what?” My eyelids creaked open and I scowled at him. “Daylight savings time. And no, I’m not going to buy that because the sodium is too high but I can’t make my arm lift it back to the shelf. Here, you do it.”  I pushed the can into his hand and shuffled along.

Later, when I was home and shouldn’t have been expected to interact with anyone besides The Viking, the doorbell rang and two young guys were smiling beatifically, badges from Vivint on their jackets. “Hi! I see you have an SAI Security System sign in your garden. That can’t be right because they don’t exist anymore.”

“So? Not many criminals keep up on corporate take-overs and share prices.”  My left eye wouldn’t open so I had to rely entirely on my right eye.

The tall one hesitated but managed to come back before I fell asleep on my feet. “Do you have an alarm system now? Are you protected by a different company?”

“Yes. And before you go any further…..Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight. Savings. Time. I’m too tired to listen to you.”

They both looked uncertain and just as my eyelid was crashing shut the tall one said. “Okay. Thank you for your time.”

Kidney Clothes called to see if I had anything to donate. I said no, I didn’t have anything to donate but the woman said “Not even an old blouse or sweater? We could really use some sweaters.”

“Daylight Savings Time.”

“Pardon me?”

“Daylight Savings Time. I’ve lost 7 hours of sleep this week and by tomorrow it will be 8 hours of sleep. I haven’t got the energy to clean out my closet today. Call me next month.”  Yes, that was a little rude but I only had so many words in me and I used them up quickly.

“Um. Okay. Thank you for your time.”

I’ve fallen asleep twice on the toilet this week and once at my desk – The Viking caught me that time but he was more envious than cranky, especially when I offered to spoon with him if we went to bed right then. His sense of ‘work before play’ kept him from acting in his own self-interest though.

I also sucked in a cat hair when I was yawning and do you know how difficult it is to get a cat hair out of your mouth? It’s ridiculous. I suppose I should be grateful that it isn’t fly season yet but somehow I can’t muster up the effort.

I know who is to blame for this and this definitely needs to be blamed on someone! I need someone to heap curses on and a name to shout when necessary – and this week it has been very much necessary. “DAMN YOU BENJAMIN FRANKLIN!!”

Okay, to be fair, he didn’t actually invent Daylight Savings Time, he just came up with the idea. Probably when he was drunk. It took some other nefarious individuals to implement this evil, but I’m too tired to list out all the people involved.

So Benjamin Franklin will be receiving all my angst and curses. At least until I’m not a walking/schlumping zombie or a danger to the public at large when I’m behind the wheel of my car.

Daylight Savings Time never used to bother me at all, but for the last few years it’s been kicking the shit out of me.  The Viking is in the same boat.  Do we live our lives on the razor’s edge of competent functioning?  Is a single hour of sleep all that separates us from Sloths with the ability to drive?

If I had a Time Machine, I would go back to Benjamin Franklin, rip that pen right out of his hand and tell him not to even think it because some asshole in the twentieth century will think it’s a great idea and ruin humanity forever.  Or at least a week.

So, did DST kick the shit out of you too, or is it just The Viking and I?

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a nap. A seven hour nap.

Thanks to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Coffee this weekend.  Cheers.

No Good Lousy Day!

I slept badly last night, dreaming the whole night about asshole guys running into my car, stealing my groceries and throwing random things at me.  It looks like I’ve been hit between the eyes with a hatchet! And my head is throbbing! And my neck is stiff and sore! Gawd!!  Why am I even out of bed?

And what in the hell is up with the fucking cat?! Teddy has taken over my office chair! He was eating his breakfast and then before I could hit the power button on the coffee maker he was in my chair!

When I got up to get a cup of coffee…..

When I went to open the family room curtains….

When I went to take a pee……

When I went to get another cup of coffee…..

He says he’s just keeping it warm for me but if that were the case he would be easier to dislodge; he wouldn’t be digging his claws into the fabric which necessitates a damned wrestling match every single time! As soon as I get his front claws unlatched, his back claws catch the edge of the seat. And he’s had the worst farts ever lately so every time I squeeze him in the middle he emits a noxious cloud of poo gas. It’s so bad I have to check to make sure it isn’t actual poo, and then more poo gas seeps around my face while I’m checking.

And he leaves gobs of his hair on the seat! And he and Izzie were playing with the stupid hair remover brush thingy and broke it! And now I’m going to have a hairy ass everywhere I go today!

Izzie isn’t any help either! While Teddy is rubbing his hairy body all over my chair, she’s taken residence on my keyboard. Or on my mouse. Or standing in front of the monitor.

I’ve loved you both up already! Can’t you see I’m in a bad mood? Stop looking at me like that! Why aren’t you harassing The Viking?! He’s not in a bad mood!  As a matter of fact, he seems to think my bad mood is fucking hilarious!

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And now I’m out of coffee and it’s only 11:40 in the morning. Fuck!  I suppose I may as well run some damned errands with my hairy ass. I’ll go get more of the good cat food so Teddy doesn’t smell so bad. And I’ll get groceries – and I swear to Gawd if even one guy tries to steal them in the parking lot I’m going to lose my shit!

And then I think I’ll get myself a Caramel Apple Cider at Starbucks. With whipped cream. And a piece of Banana Bread.

Because I deserve it.

Scared Shitless

I’m kind of tired today but come on in anyway. Coffee is exactly what I need right now. And a cinnamon bun.

So, how’s life treating you? Well, I hope.

Me? I’m fine and would be wonderful if I hadn’t scared the shit out of myself last night.

I was lying in bed with my eye mask on to mute the bedroom light I had kindly left on so The Viking could see what he was doing when he came to bed. As usual I was wandering around in my personal Happy Place. I love it there. It’s a big cave with a hot pool surrounded by crystals that bathe the cave in dancing light. There’s a huge fireplace that magically never burns down to bare embers and a large bed covered in the softest furs created by witchcraft and not by the slaughter of innocent animals.

I built this place to help quiet my mind. I thought this was meditating, but I recently learned that I am meditating all wrong! From what I understand, I’m supposed to imagine rolling a boulder up a hill or imagine my soul is floating above my body or try to empty my mind and think of nothing. None of these things make me particularly sleepy and probably would just piss me off, especially the last one because my mind hates empty spaces so every random thought rushes in and creates beehives of chaos making it impossible to sleep.

So whatever! I don’t care if I’m not meditating within the strict International Meditating Guidelines. Who wrote the dumb rules anyway? Besides, the Meditation Dictators will only know I’m doing it wrong if I tell them and I don’t see any need to consult at the moment.

I also have a forest home where no bugs live, a secluded and deserted beach, and a glass hut on top of a mountain. If building these Happy Places aren’t technically considered ‘meditating’ well who cares? Right?

Okay, where was I? Oh yes, I scared the shit out of myself last night. So while I was lying in my furs, all warm and comfortable and pain-free, this hideous bellow interrupted my peace. It didn’t last long but it was deafening. I shook it off and hastened back to my luxurious nest. But then just moments later there was another horrific grinding sound, like rocks slamming against other rocks! WTF?! And a few minutes later another blaring trumpet followed shortly by a sound like someone sucking the bottom of their milkshake through a straw, only very, very loudly.

I was officially annoyed and irritated now!

Suddenly a thunderous, rolling growl erupted and my entire body jerked awake. Adrenalin gushed through my brain as I ricocheted upright.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT NOISE?!!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. Whoever is making these noises had better knock it off, tout suite! I suspected it was Mim because she was physically closer to my room than The Viking, who was out in the office. Even though she’s a spawn of my loins I was fully prepared to beat her bloody if she didn’t stop with the noise.

Mim called from the spare room, “I don’t hear anything.”

Then it could only be The Viking but I didn’t want to come right out and accuse him in case the noise was coming from outside the house. “I AM GOING TO SLOWLY ROTISSERIE THE PERSON MAKING THAT NOISE!!”

The Viking arrived in the bedroom. “What’s the matter?”

“SOMEONE IS MAKING GAWD-AWFUL NOISES AND IT’S WAKING ME UP!!”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well someone is making noise and it had better stop because if I have to get out of bed to physically execute the culprit I am going to get cranky!!” All this yelling was totally ruining my Happy Place.

“What kind of noise was it?”

“It was like a grinding….something…..I don’t know! It was just loud!”

Except there was a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that I did know what all that noise was. Because I was fully awake and logic was happening now.

“Maybe you were dreaming?” he said reasonably, kindly, sweetly.

I settled back on the mattress and pulled the eye mask into place. “Yes, that’s probably what it was. I was just dreaming.” I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Sorry.”

He closed the bedroom door quietly, humming a soft lullaby, while I returned to my cave with the fur bed, the hot pool, the shimmering crystals and the fireplace.

Because I don’t snore.

Two Cats, One Week – A Review

Hello!  Come in!  We don’t have to huddle in my bedroom this week and can have our coffee at the kitchen table like normal people do.  Muffin?

First things first, we finally settled on a name for poor Kent: Teddy Bear. Because he’s quite literally a fuzzy, sweet Teddy Bear and since he’s already a year old I can’t see him outgrowing it. He looks bigger than Izzie but that’s because his fur is ridiculously fuzzy. It’s like he’s wearing Chinchilla pajamas.  There’s no other way to describe the way his fur feels. So, while he looks bigger than Izzie, she actually weighs more.

Mim approved of the name, The Viking liked it and, best of all, Kent came running when we called the name.  So, ‘Teddy’ it is.

The first couple of days were….well….hair raising. The profanities and curses were completely out of control. I had no idea cats could be so precise, eloquent and long-winded in their opinions and the blizzards of slapping were, to be honest, appalling.

But that was then and this is now and the situation has calmed down significantly. Izzie has transformed from Indignant, Profane, Furious Feline to Resigned, Defeated, Slightly Confused and Excited Feline.

And while the household has eased back to normalcy, there have been complaints.

“Something is playing with my toys. Make it go away.”

“A turd was on my Castle and now it has The Stank.”

“You touched it and now you have The Stank.”

“A very large hairball is in my tunnels and I like it not!”

“It touched my tail! My TAIL!”

“The Turd put a turd in my litter box! I can never use it again. Ever!”

“The Hairball ate all of my food and now I’m starving to death.”

On several occasions she didn’t bother with complaining at all but took matters into her own paws.

Me: Is that some of Teddy’s fur between your toes?

Izzie: Maybe.

Me: Stop slapping him! He just wants to be your friend!

Izzie: ……

For his part, Teddy is just happy to be here but he’s not above disturbing shit.

“Hey Izzie!  Look! I’m sitting on your precious Mama!”

“Oh! Oh! I’m touching your castle!! “

“YooHoo! I’m in your tunnel! Ha HA!”

“Are you going to finish that? No? Perfect! I’m still hungry.”

And it turns out that Teddy isn’t too nice after all and is quite capable of defending himself, as evidenced by a few well-placed slaps of his own.  However, as the week progressed, the slaps lost momentum until now it’s more poking than slapping.

They are experimenting with chasing each other at the moment but there seems to be some tricky negotiating going on. Apparently Teddy got too close for comfort once……“Whoa!  That’s my Lady Parts, Buster!  Back off!”…….and then Izzie was just a little too enthusiastic for Teddy’s taste…….Holy Shit!  It’s just a game!  Dial it back, Sister!”…... so there is a flurry of shouting, cursing and name calling.  Playing has never been so complicated. A short burst of Spontaneous Patty Cake went surprisingly well though.  I call it a win.

And then, there was ‘The Incident’. While Izzie was taking a nap on my keyboard, Teddy figured out how to get on top of the fridge and invaded her Secret Place To Sleep. He settled himself comfortably and then called:

“Izzzzie! I’m in your BE-ed! It’s so nice I think I’ll sleep here forrrrr-evvvvver.”

Izzie launched herself off the desk and onto the window sill, behind the curtains and then a big jump onto the fridge. Every bone, sinew and muscle was ready for battle. Except Teddy wasn’t easy to push around anymore and he was settling in for a good, long nap.

 

 

 

Which necessitated another complaint.

“Mom, we need to talk about Hairry. He has to go. Seriously. He has taken over my bed and now I won’t be able to sleep ever again.”

Obviously, I had better get another bed. Pronto.

They are greeting each other with nose touches and Ring A Round The Sofa is a success. Teddy has taken to The Viking and The Viking has taken to Teddy. It’s a Bromance. Just two guys hanging out, watching TV. In the meantime, Izzie curls up with me, just a couple of girls hanging out, making fun of the two guys hanging out and watching TV.

I am cautiously optimistic at this point.  Izzie is learning how to give Love Eyes that don’t look like she’ll kill me in my sleep and Teddy has learned that a collar isn’t the end of life as he knew it.  The only problem left then is that our desks simply aren’t big enough……

Perhaps The Queen of Mean has met her match.

PS:  The cover photo isn’t mine – I found it on the Internet.  All other photos are actually Izzie & Teddy.

 

How My Boobs Won Crib

Yeah! Coffee time! Come on in for some Tim Hortons brew and a doughnut. What’s not to like about that? I hope you had a good week. I can actually say that mine was pretty darned good, too.

Last weekend The Viking made me dinner. I love it when he cooks; it’s always delicious and I feel spoiled. After dinner we decided to do something really wacky and play Crib instead of sitting in front of the TV.

The thing about playing any game with The Viking is that he always wins. Always. We are talking about a guy who can roll 8 Yahtzees in one game. Granted, it’s selective winning because he’s shit at the Lottery, but when there is nothing more than my pride at stake, he wins. I don’t play Strip Poker with him unless the heat is turned up because I’m the only one sitting there naked. I dress in several layers for any game beginning with the word ‘Strip’ so the game will last longer than 5 rounds, too.

So, when The Viking suggested Crib and not Naked Crib, I was willing and completely prepared to lose. I promised myself to be a good loser and not throw anything at him. Instead, I would focus on chatting and enjoying my Parfait Amour while being trashed on the Crib board.

But this time it was different. Sure, I was leading after the first couple of hands but that means nothing. The Viking is one of those guys that lures you in so he can trounce you when you think you’ve got the game in the bag. I had to admit though that I was doing very well and the space between our pegs was increasing with every hand.

He moaned when I was half way around the board and a good twenty points ahead. I said, “Stop complaining, you’ll come from behind and win as usual”. That’s just how the universe works. Just when you think you’ve got him, Odin steps in and ruins everything.

I was starting to pay attention now though. Could Odin be busy? Was I on the verge of achieving the impossible? Not only was I far ahead but he was becoming concerned that he might not make it over the Skunk line. A bubble of excitement formed in my stomach, battling the certainty of failure for space.

Don’t get all giddy yet; this is exactly what he wants. He’s playing with you. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch and all that. Manage your thoughts so your disappointment isn’t too keen when he does charge from behind and win the final peg hole. Remember he did that last time you played. He beat you 5 games in a row!

Try to distract him!

So I said: “I bought these new bras and they are super comfortable but they don’t have a lot of support. See?” And I bounced in my chair a little bit and my boobs started jiggling at him. It worked! He was mesmerized! So I kept bouncing while I pegged my points (not an easy feat). I lost his focus for a moment when he pegged his miserable 4 points but I bounced harder and higher and that seemed to get him thinking less about his cards.

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He was still quite a distance from the Skunk line; he would need to get a 20 point hand if he had any hope of avoiding the dreaded Skunking. When I picked up my hand I felt the thrill of triumph! He can’t catch me! I’ve won! I’ve beaten The Viking! Sweet Geezus I’ve pulled it off!! I will never complain about my boobs again! All that remained to be seen was whether he could make it over the Skunk line.

AND HE DIDN’T!! I’VE SKUNKED THE VIKING!!

I tried to be gracious while I was doing the Strutting Turkey Winners Dance. “It was just a bit of bad luck. You have killer Crib skills. Don’t let it get you down! Ha! Ha! Ha!” I couldn’t help myself. This was unprecedented.

He played it cool though; pretending it didn’t bother him. He shrugged, “I don’t give a fuck if you won. Will you stop dancing and deal the cards? Please?”

I sat down and shuffled the cards. “You’ll beat me this time. I’m sure of it.”

He grunted, “Whatever. Deal already.”

And I really believed he would beat me. I really did. You don’t just beat The Viking at something and then not expect him to annihilate you the first chance he gets. I thought I’d be lucky to be simply Skunked and not Double Skunked.

Unfortunately for The Viking, Odin really wasn’t paying him any mind at all. Maybe he’s a Boob Man, too. Who knows? The first few hands were sort of even – he was ahead of me at one point. I was encouraging and helpful all the way; I didn’t even laugh. But I won again! Not by a lot, but I still won, and if we had played another round he most certainly would have gotten me. But he had Jet Ski Races to watch and I was spared.

I did have a word with the Gods explaining that I really wasn’t being a poor winner, I was just celebrating a rare win. Like David celebrated victory over Goliath. Or, more appropriately considering which Gods I was bargaining with, how Thor would celebrate a battle victory. And wouldn’t Thor use every asset at his command to win? Well, I have boobs and if they’ll help me win a damned card game once in a while I will definitely use them.

I think we’re good.

PS:  I probably will still complain about my boobs.  I’m not infallible.

PPS: A big thank you to Part Time Monster for the weekly Coffee Share.

A Primal Scream and Maple Brown Sugar Drop Cookies – Part 2

So, a few days ago, the Internet Gawds decided to fuck with me by rendering my website unresponsive. Google went all Schultz….

 

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and Word Press kept saying “What? I don’t understand!”

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Then one of the Lesser Internet Gawds said it was all Jetpack’s fault. So I fired off a frantic, Primal Scream on their Support Form who then said I would have to wait for 24 to 48 hours before someone could look at my problem.  Wait?!

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Apparently my Primal Scream was a little less rational than I had hoped.  And then it turned out not to matter because the Internet Gawd that was fucking with me got bored and returned my website to me.  Yeah!  Right?  Wrong!  I had to ‘fess up to Paul at Jetpack Support that I may have over-reacted so I wrote an eloquent apology to him.

AND HE REPLIED!!

Here is the apology with Paul’s response in italics:

Lori,

SIGH! So the next day I thought I would take a chance and the stupid site loaded without any problems at all! This is like taking my car to the mechanic because it makes a horrible squealing sound and then it won’t make the sound for the mechanic but as soon as I leave the shop it starts squealing again. Gawd! Of course, I have The Viking now so this is no longer an issue but still……. The truth is that I panicked, because I have no idea how all this stuff works together. The Internet Gawd pointed the finger at Jetpack and like a panicky beast with the Dumb I fired off a primal scream on your Support Form.

I believe you! I know how this feels, so no worries. It happens to all of us every once in a while.

However, we’ve both learned something in the past couple of days. I’ve learned that there is actually someone on the other end of the Jetpack Support Form. Too many online Support Forms are there only to give the illusion that someone gives a shit if you have a problem. Jetpack has Happiness Engineers though! That must be the best fucking job on the planet! Wait. You do get paid, don’t you? Because I’m a Happiness Engineer too except they call me a Wife or a Mother and I get nothing for wages. Or vacation. Or sick days. You probably aren’t paid enough either though, are you? Because Engineering happiness is hard work.

You’re too funny! Yes, we do care and we are taken care of. We hope you’re appreciated, too.

You’ve learned that Menopausal Women who don’t understand how this shit works can panic in glitchy situations. We’ve survived child birth and shopping trips with 3 children under the age of 4 and our husband getting a vasectomy and horrible in-laws and a whole slew of other crap but when our blog goes down for a day we lose our shit. You might want to put a button on the Support Form for ‘Menopausal Women Who Don’t Understand How This Shit Works’. And the automated reply saying you’ve received our Primal Scream could say things like “It’s okay, have some booze.” OR “We understand this is the last fucking thing you need today so we will hurry to help you.” OR “You’re not stupid. Just confused. Here’s a hug.”

We will look into implementing some of your suggestions, but we can’t make any promises 😉

Anyway, please accept my apologies for bothering you. I can send you Brownies as a consolation/apology gift if you’d like. I make amazing Brownies. Oh! Or Maple Brown Sugar Drop Cookies! They are delicious! Please ask for these so I have an excuse to make a double batch and eat half of them myself.

Sorry again. Thanks for your help. Have a great day.

This was the greatest response I’ve ever received, and I’ve been doing this for a while! You made my day, and we’re glad that your site is back on track.

If you ever need us again, we’ll be here 🙂

Best,

Paul C. | Happiness Engineer | WordPress.com

I CAN’T BELIEVE HE REPLIED!

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I was expecting no acknowledgement at all.  Or at best, maybe a turd emoji or a ‘Whatever!’  The Viking didn’t think I’d actually sent the apology so he was as surprised as I was.  At the end of the whole mess, I guess Paul C. won’t send me a turd emoji if I need help in the future.  Which is a relief because I hate getting turd emojis.

AND….just as I was about to publish this post I received an email from Jetpack wanting me to rate my experience.  I said it was GREAT!  They said:

Thanks for your feedback!

We love to hear what we can do to improve our support.  Would you mind taking a moment to tell us what could have gone better?

So I said:

“Nothing……short of Paul C. coming directly to my house and personally hugging me.  He deserves a raise.  And cookies.”

I guess there’s a moral to this story somewhere.  I’m not sure what but I imagine you guys will come up with a few.

 

 

 

Without a Blood Offering We’re Screwed

We’re screwed! Completely and utterly screwed!

Sorry. That’s a little rude of me.  Come in and sit.  Here’s some coffee and a piece of cake.

Yes, I was on a diet, but that’s done. No reason to diet when we’re screwed!

“How are we screwed?”

The Viking did it! You would think he would have known better considering Viking Gods are a little more interactive than the regular run-of-the-mill Gods.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about The Viking challenging the Gods. It started with him telling me that his friend Barney hit an elk on the highway the other day, and his truck is a write-off. And if The Viking had stopped there we would be fine. But he didn’t. He carried his thought just that one step further and screwed us!

He said, “That’s so weird because we spend way more time on the highways than Barney and we’ve never hit anything.”

Half way through that sentence I started waving my hands at him, “DON’T SAY IT!!” But he just kept talking! Even the cat looked horrified!

Well, normally I’m not superstitious. I have a black cat and I walk under ladders all the time and I’ve never thrown salt over my shoulder, but this is different. This was a direct challenge to the Gods. Right now, Odin and the gang are laughing their asses off?! The Norns have just changed the threads of our fate.”

Of course I believe that! The better question is “Who doesn’t?” That’s why I never count my chickens before they hatch and I always knock on wood. The worst part is that we don’t know when or how retribution will arrive. Maybe they’ll just throw an elk in front of us next time we hit the road or maybe it will be a Mack truck. The Gods can be vindictive that way.

I put some flowers, grains and a couple of apples on the back step as a form of appeasement but I don’t think the Gods were interested. It didn’t look like they even passed by. I dumped a beer on the lawn – that was the closest thing to mead I could find – and tossed a chunk of my hair out there, too, for good measure. I’m not feeling very un-cursed though.

Oh! Hey! You’re not a virgin are you? Because I think if I could find a virgin…….

Okay, okay! I was only joking. Mostly. Besides there isn’t a volcano within a 1000 miles of here.

So that just leaves us with a blood offering. The Gods are probably hoping for a bull or a goat but the best I can do is a chicken from Safeway. I wonder if I could get the butcher to keep the blood from one chicken and a heart? They wouldn’t think that’s weird, right? I can’t be the first person to ask. And while I’m thinking about it, why am I the one doing all the appeasing work around here? I’m not the offensive one!

If the chicken doesn’t work, then the only thing left is to sacrifice The Viking himself.  Hopefully the Gods will accept just some of his blood.  He is very useful around here and I would miss him terribly if I had to give all of him to the Gods.  According to my research though, they might be appeased with just a cup of blood and some mead.

If this works, maybe, just maybe, we might not be as screwed as I think we are.  And I hope he learns the lesson that he can’t go around, willy-nilly, challenging the Gods and think he can get away with it.

Thanks to Part Time Monster for hosting Weekend Coffee Share

First Aid Kits and a Missed Opportunity

I’m so glad you came for coffee. Have a seat. Yeah, it’s gross, right? Sure I’ll tell you how it happened.

On the third day of our vacation I banged my right foot on the Seadoo trailer. Considering we were at a very busy gas station I thought I did well to keep my wails and curses from all but the closest people. The Viking was as sympathetic as always.

“What the fuck did you do now?” There wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice.

“I banged my foot!  And there’s blood!”

A loving person would stop fueling and check my injuries but he opted for the ‘fuelling is more important than you are’ approach. I was left to poke at my toe – the main victim in the accident – and wonder if I could die from blood loss. There were two (2!) fairly big cuts after all. What if a major artery was nicked? Do big toes have major arteries?

Disappointingly, the blood started clotting – too soon in my opinion. I was hoping for a small puddle of blood congealing around my foot; surely he would spare a little sympathy for that.

“I’m done. You can go get the change.” He called as he finished up.

You see?! Zero sympathy! If he cut his toe in 2 places and there was blood I would definitely have sympathy.

“Fine!” I said as I hobbled back to the cashier. “If I die from blood loss before I get back, you are totally to blame. Make sure you tell the kids that!” Unfortunately, I didn’t die so there was no accountability and he just got away with severe indifference.  There is no justice in this world.

When we got back to the trailer I tried making my toe more noticeable. I called attention to a cat toy and pointed to it with my red, bleeding toe. He looked at the toy and completely ignored my toe which annoyed me.

I take care of everyone! You got a cold? Here, let me get you some Neo-Citran and a warm blanket. Does your back hurt? Let me get you some muscle cream and the heating pad. You need a ride? Let me drop what I’m doing and help you out. Feeling sad today? Come here and I’ll baby you with a fuzzy blanket, a cup of tea and Netflix.

But WHO BABY’S (BABIES) ME?! I get a cold and I have to go to the store myself to buy some meds, come home and make my own damned Neo-Citran and find my own damned blanket. When I’m sad? Pfft. My back hurts? I go find my own pills and keep going.

I’ve been taking care of people for over 30 years now. Yet I can count on one finger how many times someone has told me to sit down and handed me a warm blanket while they fixed me a cup of Neo-Citran. So when I bang my damned toe and it bleeds and it hurts like hell……someone had better give me some fucking attention! How hard can it be?

“Oh Honey! That looks nasty! I bet it hurt. Let me get some disinfectant and antibiotic cream. Would you like a cup of tea? A warm blanket? Can I tuck you into bed?”

See? Not hard at all!

Finally, I poked one of the cuts until it started bleeding again and said, “It’s bleeding again. And my beautiful neon pink toe polish with the lovely white flower is ruined.” Then I lifted my foot so it was inches from his face. “Does it look infected to you?”

“No. I think it’s fine if you quit fucking with it.”

“I don’t think it’s fine and it feels like it’s getting infected!” Of course it was fine and would heal nicely if I just quit fucking with it, but I was fully invested by now and there was no going back.

“So what do you want me to do?” The Viking was annoyed. For some reason Facebook was more important than the gangrene growing on my toe!

So I went to the bathroom and got a bottle of peroxide and a cotton ball. “You could disinfect it.”

I saw the question in his eyes.  Why can’t you do it yourself?  Maybe he read something in my eyes because he sighed heavily then rummaged around in a cupboard to produce an enormous First Aid Kit. I said, “Holy Shit!”

He opened it up; it had everything you would expect a well-stocked emergency room would have. It was almost as big as the First Aid Kit in the garage at home, and only slightly bigger than the First Aid Kit he had in the house. And then I remembered there is another one in one of the Seadoos and one in my car as well.

The Viking has been stockpiling First Aid Kits! Why would he think he needs a Trauma Kit around us at all times?

And that took the wind right out of my sails. Sonofabitch! I hate it when this kind of thing happens. So he actually does care…………but not in the way I recognize care and when I finally do recognize his brand of care I have to accept it and forget about the kind of care I really wanted because I’m a fucking adult! No cup of tea, no warm blanket and no getting tucked into bed with a kiss on my forehead.

FUCK!

What I got instead was a disinfectant swab made of cardboard banged repeatedly on the cuts until I said it didn’t feel infected anymore, a swipe of antibiotic cream and the joy of putting the First Aid Kit away.

2 weeks later it became apparent that an ugly dark purple splotch was taking over my toe nail. It’s now living proof that I should have been coddled and an opportunity was missed.  But…..we have 5 industrial sized First Aid kits which proves The Viking loves me.  I guess.

And that’s how my toe got gross.

No Way!! An Award Nomination?

Susan Jarreau. That’s who did it. It’s entirely her fault. I was minding my own business, writing posts, crashing into things and trying to annoy The Viking – same old, same old. And then suddenly it wasn’t same old, same old because……Susan Jarreau!

She found my blog a while ago and liked my posts – it’s always a thrill when someone likes my posts! After I was finished dancing my Happy Dance, I decided I should go and check out her blog – it’s only fair, right?

Holy Shit!  She’s amazing! It’s not often that I find an author who writes so beautifully. And while I was feeling inferior to her talents she had to go and nominate me for The Black Cat Blue Sea Award!

Don’t you need to write something useful? I’m just stumbling through life leaving havoc, chaos and confusion in my footsteps. That’s not really worth an Award, is it? If it is, I should have been writing decades ago!

via GIPHY

Apparently, this is an award given and received by fellow bloggers and is meant to be fun. I have to answer 3 questions and then nominate 7 other bloggers for the award. If any nominees are not interested in participating they don’t have to, I won’t be offended and neither will anyone else. The Rules are:

black-cat-blue-sea-award

The questions Susan wanted all her nominees to answer are:

 1.  Why did you start blogging.

The Viking and I assaulted 8 European countries last fall. I played Charades with 3 dart players, a bartender and a waitress in the town where Joan of Arc was born. The Viking got drunk and offended a Priest in Florence. We both gave locals in Pula a lesson in creative cursing. And we had a foot race in Reims to a place neither one of us wanted to go to.

I started blogging because I wanted to know if I could tell these stories so others might enjoy them or if I was just a nut. The jury is still out on that but I have followers! How cool is that?! Maybe I should start plumping up my travel journal.

2.  What do you do when you need to unplug and relax?

Absolutely nothing. Except breathe. And if I could convince The Viking to serve me Bugles and Brandy I would be drunk, too. I would do all this nothingness in bed with a heated blanket and a body pillow. I need to sort through the detritus cluttering up my brain from time to time and I can’t do that without locking out the world. Does that answer the question?

3.  Name 3 people you admire and one of the qualities you admire in them.

  • The Viking because when someone thinks about fucking with him he pulls out a Battle Axe and a Shield and says “Make my day.” The reason I find this admirable is because I don’t have a Battle Axe or a Shield and I have foot prints all over my back. Someday though……
  • Mim (my daughter) because…….really? I can only say one thing I admire? Fine. I’ll pass over intelligent, confident and honest and settle for…..she looks fucking adorable in Pig Tails. I didn’t notice that about her until a couple of weeks ago when she showed up all hippie chic with Pig Tails and then I just wanted to pull them and squeeze her cheeks.
  • The third person I admire is actually not a person, technically, but a cat; Izzie, to be precise. As I sit here, mentally sifting through all the people I know to pick only one I admire and why, Izzie has just finished molesting my boobs and is now shouting obscenities and graphic death threats at The Viking who has closed the bathroom door so he can poop in peace. Who wouldn’t admire that kind of hootzpah? Seriously!
And now for my seven nominees:
  1. Actual Conversations With My Husband
  2. Trent’s World (the Blog)
  3. KB Garst
  4. Travel Much
  5. Searching For Fai
  6. Storytime With John
  7. Idaho Blue Bird
Questions for my Nominees:
  1. What was the worst pet you’ve ever owned and why? If you’ve never owned a pet, tell me about a friend or relative’s worst pet ever.
  2. Who is the worst human being you’ve ever known? Why are they the worst? Here’s your chance to ‘out’ them!
  3. What is the worst dish your Mother always made when you were a kid? Did you have to eat it?

Phew! Finally finished. This was the most difficult post I’ve ever written; I’ve been at it for 3 days and my head hurts. Compliments and Awards are things I have no idea how to handle so I do a lot of babbling and blushing. But, I’m done.

Huge thanks to Susan Jarreau for nominating me. It’s been a nightmare, to be honest, but it forced me out of my comfort zone and, if the experts are to be believed, it’s a good thing.

PS: One last thing! I would like everyone who reads this post to the end to answer at least one of those questions I asked my Nominees. Put your answer in the comments and make me laugh.