Tag: driving

Is This a Carved-In-Stone Law Or A Suggestion? There IS a Difference, You Know.

I was on my way home from the Danish Store and traffic in the right lane was crawling while everyone in the left lane was zipping so I joined the Zippers because I was getting bored.  It was from the Zipping lane that I saw what was holding up traffic.

It was a minivan followed closely by a one-ton flatbed truck with its hazard lights flashing.  It took me a second to realize exactly what the problem was but when I did see it, I was all what the hell?!

All four wheels on that minivan were wobbling in comic exaggeration.  I mean serious wobbles I could see from a quarter of a kilometer away!

via GIPHY

When I mentioned it to The Viking, he passed on a snippet of his brilliance.

“That’s because they’re fucking stupid.  They didn’t know what they were doing when they changed their tires.”

Evidently, when you change a wheel on your vehicle, you put all the lug nuts on and tighten them individually in small increments so no one lug is tightened more than the others.

Apparently, this is a rule that you should never break.  I understand this is how you are supposed to do it, but I thought it was more of a suggestion than a Carved-In-Stone Law.  And I think I should be forgiven for thinking this way in the face of all the rules that are suggestions rather than Carved-In-Stone Laws.  For instance:

    • Brushing your teeth in an up and down motion – that doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense to me. Even when I was a small child I didn’t believe it because aren’t you just pushing food bits further under your gums?  It’s obvious that brushing side to side or in a circular motion are superior methods and I’m glad the Dental Association finally saw the error of their ways.
    • Speed limits – everyone knows the speed limit, but we all know that it’s an arbitrary number someone in an office assigned decades ago based on the quality of vehicles back then. Today’s vehicles have been engineered by aliens and that old speed limit is strictly a ploy on the part of the Powers That Be to increase speeding ticket revenue.  And to bore drivers to death.
    • Cold medication – sure, there is a dosage suggestion on the package, but that’s totally dependent on how terrible I feel at that moment. I don’t start free-basing cold meds just because I have a sniffle.  By the time I have assessed the severity of my flu symptoms and grudgingly decided I need to medicate, the two-pill dosage is obviously inadequate.    I start with a double dose and work my way up until I’m rendered unconscious for the duration of the flu.  Incidentally, the suggested number of Hot Rum Toddies you ingest during your suffering is woefully insufficient as well.
    • Wine – how much wine I put in a recipe is totally subjective. They say ½ a cup, I say 2 ½ cups and I drink the rest of the bottle because I hate leftovers.
    • Laundry detergent – if a quarter of a cup is good, then a half a cup is, logically, better.
    • Hair products – see above.
    • Serving sizes – once again, suggestions. The suggested serving size of Pickled Herring is categorically TOO LARGE!  A quarter teaspoon is sufficient, thank you very much, followed by 3 servings of something to get the taste out of my mouth.  Ice Cream, on the other hand, is a different matter.  The suggested serving size of a quarter cup is laughable!*  There shouldn’t even be a suggested serving size on Ice Cream and the Monster who suggested it should be jailed.
    • Exit speeds – why so cautious? As long as I have two wheels on the pavement, I’m good.  If someone screwed up the engineering of the exit ramp, forcing drivers to slow down far more than is reasonable, the sign should just be

**

I didn’t bother asking for clarification from The Viking.  He gets all squinty around the eyes when he has to participate in this kind of conversation and it always ends with shouting and eloquent curses.

Perhaps it would be better if I just check on a case by case basis.  You know, rain showers instead of a monsoon.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate my thoughtfulness.

 

* Unless it’s Licorice Ice Cream and then the Pickled Herring size applies

** And now that I’m thinking about it, a lot of traffic signs should be just emojis.  It would certainly make driving more interesting.

Knock, Knock!

We did something daring.  That’s right.  We dared.  And, it was glorious!

We have a Honda Goldwing – a great old girl that has seen better days but when The Viking blows in her exhaust and whispers sexy things to her injectors it’s like she’s 10 again.*  He dusted her off and fueled her up and we went through the mountains to Cranbrook, British Columbia.

We’ve never dared to ride for so long before because my Spine gets cranky about its missing disc and potholes.  However, you never get adventure from sitting on the sofa, so I packed some hefty pain meds and we hit the road.   I stuck earphones in and turned up my music.  While The Viking was driving like a Boss, I was conducting orchestras, doing drum solos and singing opera – happy as a clam.

We don’t have the fancy helmet to helmet communication because I prefer my solitary time.  However, I have created a complex method of communicating with The Viking, just in case I have something important to say that can’t wait until we stop for a stretch:  I knock on his helmet with my knuckles.  I would knock on his helmet with a pretty Scepter but apparently he doesn’t think I’m Queenly enough for one.  Whatever.  So, I knock on his helmet and he turns his head and I yell my important information at him.  It’s almost perfect.

Knock, Knock

The Viking turns his head.

I’VE BEEN HIT!!  A GIANT BUG JUST CRIPPLED MY RIGHT KNEE!

Shrug.

He’s obviously not concerned enough to pull over for triage.

Knock, Knock

Head turns.

WHY IS MY NOSE ALWAYS ITCHY WHEN I RIDE THIS BIKE?!

Shrug.

I spend more time with my finger scrubbing my nose than actually looking at the scenery.

Knock, Knock

Head turns.

I CAN’T CHEW MY GUM BECAUSE THE HELMET IS TOO TIGHT!

Shrug.

Seriously!  Do motorcyclists never chew gum?  Helmets should have cheek pouches. OR…..the back of his jacket should have a TicTac pocket.

Knock, Knock

Head turns.

I HAVE TO PEE!

Makes several hand signals that I believe meant that I’d just have to hold it until we reached the next gas station OR it could have meant that he’d stop if I wanted to squat in the ditch.

I decided to wait for a gas station.

Knock, Knock

Head turns.

MY BACK IS ITCHY AND IT’S DRIVING ME NUTS!!

Shrug.

I tried to keep my squirming to a minimum.

Knock, Knock

Head turns.

I ALMOST LOST MY PHONE WHEN I WANTED TO CHANGE PLAYLISTS!

Muffled curses and lewd hand gestures.

If he had a pocket on the back of his jacket to hold my phone, this wouldn’t be an issue, you know.

We had a wonderful trip though.  The weather was perfect, the hotel was clean and dinner out was lovely.  We should do this again.

As soon as I get finished sewing an organizing system to the back of The Viking’s leather jacket.

*He’s very good at whispering sexy things to old girls.  Trust me.  I know.

Hello Deer! And Who Was In Charge of The Food?

Spring has finally arrived, if only temporarily.  When you live in Alberta though, you hustle out and enjoy the good weather whenever it happens.  In the case of The Viking and I, we do less hustling and more shuffling, but we eventually get the job done.

Such was the case on Saturday.

The Viking has been searching for the perfect campground for a week-long escape with the Fifth Wheel and he wanted to take a nice drive to a couple of places to see exactly how they rate on the ‘Possible Location List’.  Finding a place isn’t as easy as you’d think.  We have standards that need to be met:

  • Are there actual trees? You’d be surprised at the number of places that have concrete slabs laid out like RV Prison Camps.
  • Is there electricity? We aren’t interested in ‘roughing it’ – we’re too old for that shit.  There are few things worse than battling moths and mosquitoes when you’re huddled around a lantern trying to play cards.
  • Is there a water hook-up? I like to have a shower once in a while to wash off the Bug Spray and smoke residue.  Oh, I know that it is the International Standard Perfume for summer camping but I’m not a fan of ‘Eau d’Smokey DEET’ 24/7.
  • How about a sewer hook-up? We’re human and humans poop and hanging my ass over a pit clogged with nasty is not something I can compromise on.  Just doesn’t happen, unless it’s a matter of life or death.
  • Can anyone walking by see us and think we are happy to chat?  We’re not.  We are Introverts.  We have nothing against other people, we just don’t want to talk to an endless stream of them trying to be neighbourly.
  • Is there a playground close by? If there is, we’ll want a site well-removed from said playground.  We don’t have anything against kids but they’re loud and annoying.  We’ve outgrown that stage in life where every kid is adorable and deserves a homemade cookie.
  • Is there anything of the slightest bit of interest to go see in the general area? Or walking paths?  That’s even better!  We/I get bored easily.
  • A Swimming Pool? The Viking likes being wet for some ungawdly reason and a swimming pool is one of his favourite things.  If there are a couple of chairs so he can booze it up in between refreshing his wetness, he’ll stay there all day and most of the evening.  I sit in a chair with a book, explaining over and over that I’m sure the water is wonderful and No, I’m not interested in wetness.  It doesn’t discourage him at all.

Anyway, there was one campground that we wanted to get a look at before committing, so we jumped in the car for a lovely afternoon drive.  In typical fashion, we didn’t discuss food and we didn’t discuss our route to the campground.  Needless to say, we were in an argument before we ever left the neighbourhood.  Last minute changes to his itinerary has a way of irritating The Viking.  I probably should have filed the proper paperwork in advance.

Since the day was so lovely, I didn’t let a little skirmish ruin the day.  We only went about an hour and a half from Calgary, but that hour and a half is packed with beautiful.

Hello Deer!

We found a gorgeous picnic spot; it’s just too bad we hadn’t thought to bring any food.  I’m not sure who was supposed to be in charge of the Lunch, but they obviously suck at their job.  A sandwich, a cracker, anything really, would have been appreciated.

We’ll have to get the Goldwing out one of these days and go back.  Once the food organizer gets his/her shit together.  We should probably file the proper request in advance with a list of menu options we would like.

As for the campground….well….it didn’t meet the standards*.  Unfortunately.  It was a very nice campground.  If you happen to live in the area and are looking for a great campground that has electricity and drinking water – Sandy McNabb Campground, west of Turner Valley is for  you.

*First world problems, right?  Pampered Queen?  Spoiled?  Unapologetically guilty.  😏

 

Hello Deer! And Who Was In Charge of Lunch?!

Spring has finally arrived, if only temporarily.  When you live in Alberta though, you hustle out and enjoy the good weather whenever it happens.  In the case of The Viking and I, we do less hustling and more shuffling, but we eventually get the job done.

Such was the case on Saturday.

The Viking has been searching for the perfect campground for a week-long escape with the Fifth Wheel and he wanted to take a nice drive to a couple of places to see exactly how they rate on the ‘Possible Location List’.  Finding a place isn’t as easy as you’d think.  We have standards that need to be met:

  • Are there actual trees? You’d be surprised at the number of places that have concrete slabs laid out like RV Prison Camps.
  • Is there electricity? We aren’t interested in ‘roughing it’ – we’re too old for that shit.  There are few things worse than battling moths and mosquitoes when you’re huddled around a lantern trying to play cards.
  • Is there a water hook-up? I like to have a shower once in a while to wash off the Bug Spray and smoke residue.  Oh, I know that it is the International Standard Perfume for summer camping but I’m not a fan of ‘Eau d’Smokey DEET’ 24/7.
  • How about a sewer hook-up? We’re human and humans poop and hanging my ass over a pit clogged with nasty is not something I can compromise on.  Just doesn’t happen, unless it’s a matter of life or death.
  • Can anyone walking by see us and think we are happy to chat?  We’re not.  We are Introverts.  We have nothing against other people, we just don’t want to talk to an endless stream of them trying to be neighbourly.
  • Is there a playground close by? If there is, we’ll want a site well-removed from said playground.  We don’t have anything against kids but they’re loud and annoying.  We’ve outgrown that stage in life where every kid is adorable and deserves a homemade cookie.
  • Is there anything of the slightest bit of interest to go see in the general area? Or walking paths?  That’s even better!  We/I get bored easily.
  • A Swimming Pool? The Viking likes being wet for some ungawdly reason and a swimming pool is one of his favourite things.  If there are a couple of chairs so he can booze it up in between refreshing his wetness, he’ll stay there all day and most of the evening.  I sit in a chair with a book, explaining over and over that I’m sure the water is wonderful and No, I’m not interested in wetness.  It doesn’t discourage him at all.

Anyway, there was one campground that we wanted to get a look at before committing, so we jumped in the car for a lovely afternoon drive.  In typical fashion, we didn’t discuss food and we didn’t discuss our route to the campground.  Needless to say, we were in an argument before we ever left the neighbourhood.  Last minute changes to his itinerary has a way of irritating The Viking.  I probably should have filed the proper paperwork in advance.

Since the day was so lovely, I didn’t let a little skirmish ruin the day.  We only went about an hour and a half from Calgary, but that hour and a half is packed with beautiful.

Hello Deer!

We found a gorgeous picnic spot; it’s just too bad we hadn’t thought to bring any food.  I’m not sure who was supposed to be in charge of the Lunch, but they obviously suck at their job.  A sandwich, a cracker, anything really, would have been appreciated.

We’ll have to get the Goldwing out one of these days and go back.  Once the food organizer gets his/her shit together.  We should probably file the proper request in advance with a list of menu options we would like.

As for the campground….well….it didn’t meet the standards*.  Unfortunately.  It was a very nice campground.  If you happen to live in the area and are looking for a great campground that has electricity and drinking water – Sandy McNabb Campground, west of Turner Valley is for  you.

*First world problems, right?  Pampered Queen?  Spoiled?  Unapologetically guilty.  😏

 

Bird Flipping, a Birthday Party and a Hospital

My parents turned 80 this year and, as befitting such an accomplishment, my older sister organized a combined Birthday Party for them.  At least I think it was just her, but it may have included up to two other sisters as well (there are 4 of us after all).  I never thought to ask and now I feel slightly horrible because I had no responsibility other than showing up at the best restaurant in town at 2:00pm.

It’s slightly more than 400km (250 miles) from my house to the best restaurant in Barrhead so I had to use math, my fingers and reverse counting to make sure my arrival was early enough but not too early (Dad’s a stickler about timing).  So it went kind of like this:

  • I have to be there at 2:00pm so I had better be there at 1:30pm.
  • It takes about 4 hours to get there so….12:30, 11:30, 10:30, 9:30……
  • Give yourself an extra half hour for traffic jams, speeding tickets and assholes who drive the exact speed limit in the fast lane.…..9:00am.
  • I’ll put some make-up on and since I haven’t done that in like 8 months I had better give myself a good 45 minutes in case I have to start all over at least once (and I did have to start over once)……8:15am.
  • I need 20 minutes for a shower (thank Gawd I don’t need to shave my legs because that would have added another 15 minutes to my prep time)…..7:55am.
  • I’ll make the coffee and it can brew while I’m in the shower…..7:45am.

I ripped through every article of clothing I own on Tuesday in an effort to find the perfect combination of nice but not too nice – it’s a Birthday Party, not a Royal Wedding.  After two hours, one crying fit, one rage against the designers of womens clothing, eloquently fat-shaming myself and a serious consideration of just showing up naked….I found an outfit I considered understated yet classy.  To be honest, it included Yoga Pants because 9 hours in a vehicle wearing dress pants makes me cranky.  The shirt was nice though and I found an old pair of Opal earrings that were perfect.

I went to bed Tuesday night knowing I had everything under control.

And I really did have things under control.  Right up to the moment I hit the highway.  You see, I was driving The Viking’s truck, not my Rav 4.  I couldn’t take my vehicle because The Viking found a crack in one of the tires and some scuffs on the rim.

Him:  Did you hit a curb?!

Me (avoiding eye contact):  No.  Why?

Him:  The rim is scratched, and the tire has a big crack in it!

Me:  What?!

Him:  Did you let someone else drive your car?

Me:  No.  I mean Yes.

Him (giving me the stink eye):  Was it Junior?

Me:  No.  Yes.

Him (very loudly but not yet loud enough for him to call it ‘yelling’):  You let Junior drive your car?!

Me:  Yes.  I mean NO!  NO!  I didn’t let Junior drive my car.

Him:  …..

Me:  Oh for fuck’s sake!!  Yes I hit a damned curb!  Twice actually.  The first time it was bad city planning, and the second time it was Mim’s fault because she distracted me by talking while I was driving.

So.  I was driving the big 1-ton dually and it has significantly more horse-power which turns me into a shouting, fist-shaking, finger-flipping, hair-tossing Harpy.  I’m the sweetest driver on the planet when I’m driving my RAV, but Tina the Truck brings out the worst in me.  And someone taking 20 minutes in the fast lane to pass someone in the slow lane drives me bananas.  In the following 2 and a half hours I was forced to flip the bird to 4 drivers.

via GIPHY

And then one other driver flipped the bird at me.  As a matter of fact, they almost missed their exit so they could flip me the bird and that made my day.  You have to admire such commitment.

I was telling my one sister (she drives the big transport trucks) about my finger flipping and she said she’s had to use both of her flipping fingers so much they’ve become Arthritic.  She showed them to me.  “See?  Look at that poor little fucker.” (pointing with her other flipping finger).  True story.  A cautionary tale, if you will.

Due to construction and two freight trains my half hour buffer was toast, as was my early arrival allowance and I was forced into passing several vehicles that I normally wouldn’t bother with.  I could just see my father waiting at the door to the restaurant, tapping his watch.  “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you Lor?”  So, imagine my surprise when I arrived at precisely 1:54pm to find no one was there.  Please, dear Gawd, don’t let me have the wrong day!  I asked a waitress and she assured me there was a reservation for 10 at 2:00pm.  But that’s only 5 minutes away and no one has arrived.

As it happened, everyone in the family is much better at nailing the time perfectly because at 1:59pm Mom was carefully exiting my older sister’s vehicle while everyone else was waiting for 1:59:59 before stepping into the building.  Well…..I think that’s what they were waiting for.

Guess who wasn’t standing at the main doors tapping his watch?  That’s right…..Dad.  We all milled around wondering what could possibly have kept him from making inappropriate comments to waitresses, arguing with his daughters and being the center of attention?  Those are the main sources of his life’s joy so it caused mass confusion in the herd.

It turned out he had to be taken to the hospital.    He wasn’t doing well and we were all quite concerned.  Thankfully, he was fine – an infection and some COPD – and after annoying his roommate and, more than likely, annoying the nurses for two days, they sent him home.

As for my drive home, it was far less eventful because there wasn’t any pressure to be perfect.  No one was at home tapping his watch and shaking his head.  The Viking was happily playing computer slots and enjoying the solitude when I finally got home.  And…..he had a kiss on deck.

The Viking Invasion

 

Erik and Annette arrived in Edmonton smiling but exhausted while The Viking and I were almost jumping up and down with excitement.  Almost.  Because it’s unbecoming for Double D boobs to start flapping around in crowds – someone, other than myself, could get hurt and The Viking’s little jiggles would offer little distraction from my epic display.  So we waited impatiently without jumping.

Then, through the sliding doors, behind a fussy little guy with a mountain of luggage, I caught a glimpse of Erik.  “THERE THEY ARE!!!”  The Viking pushed me out of the way so he could verify the sighting – like they were Yeti’s and I couldn’t be trusted with visuals.

We spent the night in a hotel near the airport then drove back to Calgary.  The following day would begin the ‘Victoria or Bust’ Vacation/Honeymoon Tour.  My legs were shaved, exfoliated and smeared with the best lotion available in the hopes that British Columbia sunshine would give them even the faintest of tans.  My legs are tan-resistant, always glowing in the dark like they belong to a damned Vampire.  Oddly, my feet tan just fine.  I’m pretty sure I know why though.

“Yea, though I walk in the shadow of my boobs, my legs shall fear no sunburn: for the great boobies protect them from UV rays.  Bugs will bite and thorns will scratch but no burn will afflict mine legs.  Surely their whiteness shall beam for all the days of my life.”

Um…… where was I?  Oh yes – travelling.  It didn’t take us more than an hour and a half to completely corrupt Annette with Canadian food – Tim Hortons to be exact.  A breakfast sandwich, a large double/double coffee and Tim Bits ruined her for life.  And we didn’t do it just once either; we shoved that shit down her throat for a week before The Viking and Erik decided we had to stop with the Tim Bits.  The breakfast sandwiches were still okay in their opinion but Annette and I would be starved of the doughnutty deliciousness until further notice.  It was only on the final leg back to Calgary that the Doughnut Police finally decided we could have Tim Bits again.

“What. The fuck. Is that?!” Annette and I wanted to know when they showed up with coffee and a teeny, tiny, miniscule little box of Tim Bits – like they were for Ken and Barbie or something.  The Viking was beaming like he was offering us gold bars while Erik nodded his participation in the offering.

The Viking:  We thought that since this was the last day of our road trip we would treat you with Tim Bits.

Me:  Did you do the math on this?

The Viking:  The math?

Me:  Yes.  The math.  There are 4 people in the vehicle and 20 Tim Bits.  That means we only get 5 each!

The Viking:  That’s enough, isn’t it?

Me:  Oh, it most definitely isn’t enough!  It might be months before I get Tim Bits again and you’re rationing us?  What is this?  War time or something?  What if I put you on a licorice diet?  Only allowed you 5 pieces of licorice once a day?

The Viking:  That’s not the same thing at all!

Me:  Yes it is!  Erik and Annette brought you 83 pounds of candy from Denmark and that might have to last you for 2 years.  It’s totally the same.

The Viking wouldn’t cave but Erik decided to watch his man-ly figure and generously donated his share of the Bits.  Annette and I split them between us because The Viking didn’t deserve any more.  I then proceeded to give him the stink eye all the way home.

We graced Vancouver Island with our presence for 3 days then we headed to Pentiction where we would tour Wineries and lay on the beach.  That was our intention, but it didn’t actually work out that way.  We hit one Winery, only stayed at the beach for an hour and a half before it clouded over, took a ride on an old historic train and got drunk a lot instead.

We did play Mini-Golf but Erik was like some sort of Pool Shark except with golf balls.  Sure, he was humble while we were playing but when he announced that he beat all of us by a minimum of 6 strokes he couldn’t hide the Victory Grin.

I asked, “Is anyone else suspicious that the guy who kept score is also the one that won the game?”  The last laugh was ours the next morning though when Erik developed painful Golfer’s Wrist; we had to find a splint to immobilize it.  What cost the price of Victory?

After Mini Golf we went to a Chinese Buffet and the true difference between how the Danes treat Buffets and how Canadians (at least this Canadian) treat Buffets were glaring.  Annette, The Viking and Erik carefully perused the food and picked out Fishy Stuff.  I perused the food and picked out the stuff I liked and put it on my plate.  Back at the table, my plate was full while their plates held only a few things.  They all finished their first course and returned to the Buffet for their next.

I sat nibbling on my chicken balls, watching the progress of my companions.  It took a moment for what I was seeing to sink into my brain.  The Viking was first, Annette was second and Erik was bringing up the rear.  Their movements were perfectly synchronized!  They all took one step to the right in precise unison.  They all put something on their plate (the hand movements were immaculately synced) and took another flawless step to the right.  They repeated this amazing show the whole way around the Buffet!!  This performance would have captured them a Gold Medal if it was an Olympic Event (we should make this an Olympic Event).  No swim team could have matched the precision.  They returned to the table, in-step, with a military precision Korean soldiers would envy.

“Um….I don’t know if you know this but that was an incredible display of The Buffet Shuffle.”  I said.  “I was completely entertained.  Well done!”

Apparently they had never heard of The Buffet Shuffle so I had to explain the intricate steps and movements involved.  I’ve been to a lot of Buffets in my life – my father is a huge fan – but I’ve never seen the Shuffle done so well.  Unfortunately, I didn’t think to get my phone out and record it until it was too late.  Equally unfortunate was the fact that when I went up to get another dumpling the only person I had to Shuffle with was a very tall, very skinny guy and he was more interested in the Ginger Beef than Shuffling.  I did try though, but had to stop when he caught me trying to match his movements.

We gazed at mountains and glaciers, tramped through a forest, Erik watched whales and the rest of us communed with nature at The Butchart Gardens.  We toasted bikers, toured a Miniature Land and browsed 317 gift shops.  We saw the Hope Slide, the Enchanted Forest, Fisherman’s Wharf and a Water Fall that used to be free but now isn’t.  Erik and The Viking drank Beer with Clamato Juice and Ceasars with abandon and then had the trots.  They didn’t believe me when I told them it was the Clamato Juice so they had the trots for much longer than they needed too.  Annette and I polished off two bottles of Lemon Gin and didn’t get the trots at all.

Most importantly, we had HYGGE.  In abundance!  We just spent time together and laughed and talked and were a family.  It was one of the best times of my life.  You know how sometimes you spend time with people but after a few days you want to shoot them in the face?  Well, this wasn’t one of those things.  It was bliss instead.

We arrived home to two very love-y cats who refused to let any of us out of their sight for two days.  That was fine because we had only a day and a half to prepare for my Wedding.  Thank goodness Annette is a brilliant Hair Stylist.  Also thankfully, she is a calm and serene island in the middle of my Stress Mess.

…..Stay tuned for My Completely Viking Wedding.

A Slightly Kinder Version of Hell

I opened my email today and then quickly closed it again.  There were 238 new messages.  238!!  I’m in no shape to deal with that!  I’m barely able to brush my teeth.

It all started last week.  Wait, more accurately, it started 3 years ago but last week was an event of sorts.  It’s genealogy – convoluted, confusing genealogy.  My Great Grandmother started this whole thing when she watched Roots: The Miniseries, way back in the 1970’s.  She started digging and researching and put together an impressive lump of material without the aid of the internet.

My parents took up the cause and collected an even more impressive chunk of information, including photos.  They wandered all over the USA, wrote letters and badgered relatives until they now have branches on the family tree that go back to the 1600’s.  The pile is spectacularly imposing.

All of this information and keepsakes and heirlooms and photos……all of it…..will go to my older sister.  But where does that leave my kids?  What if they want to know the stories about their great, great, great, great, great Grandfather/Grandmother?  It would break my heart to lose all the information that’s been lovingly compiled over 50 years.

I decided that wasn’t going to happen.  About three years ago I started writing a short book about my parents and their parents.  I’ve spent the last 6 months scanning over 800 photos.  Some photos deserved better than my old Brother scanner that tops out at 1200dpi, so I bought another scanner that does 6400dpi.  I taught myself Photoshop and spent hundreds of hours touching up photos.

This brings me why I’m in no shape to deal with 238 245 (more have come in since I started this post) damned emails.

I drove 4 hours to my parents and spent Friday afternoon, all day Saturday and part of Sunday working on notes for their book and going though keepsakes in the family trunk and then drove the 4 hours back home.  I want this project finished so I can move on with my own projects, namely a book on how The Viking and I stormed Europe, offended Catholics, pissed off the Autobahn, shocked small villages and educated Florencians on how to curse.

But for now my brain is full.

It’s so full there isn’t room for anything else.  And I’m tired to the bone.  It’s probably because my brain is so busy trying to compartmentalize all that information that it has nothing left to actually operate my body.  That happens to computers all the time!  It’s so busy updating the Anti-Virus that it can’t play a single game of Solitaire.  That’s totally legit.

Except, apparently, it’s not legit when it’s anything other than a computers.  Because I came home and my car vomited all the binders, photos, keepsakes, tintypes and diaries all over the kitchen.  On Monday I looked at the mess and…..NOPE!  It just wasn’t in me to deal with it.  Yesterday was the same way.  Until The Viking decided that all this shit was messing up the clean kitchen he had personally arranged for me.

 

 

 

So, with aching back and foggy mind, I have picked up the harness of Mundania.  I’ve got no great ideas for a blog post – or supper for that matter.  I’ll come up with something I guess.  It’s supposed to thundershower this afternoon, fucking up any thoughts on barbequing.  I might be able to but as soon as I rely on it the heavens will open up and drown me, the barbeque and whatever the hell the main dish is.  Maybe something in the slow cooker?  It doesn’t give off much heat so shouldn’t turn the house into a slightly kinder version of Hell.

In the meantime, I will tackle the monster that is my Inbox.

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.

Coffee Gawd

Bless me Coffee Gawd, it’s been a month since my last visit. In my defence I’ve been busy. First there was the holiday to Arizona and then there was the fallout of said holiday.

What is it about a vacation that makes you more tired when you get home than you were before you left? Are the Vacation Gawds assholes? Shouldn’t we be leaping out of bed on our first day back at work, excited to see what the day has to offer? Shouldn’t the ringing phone be a pleasant sound instead of a deafening siren of impending doom? I thought the whole purpose of vacations was to revitalize and re-energize, but I have about the same amount of vitality and energy as a damned Bassett Hound.

We’ve been home for six days and our Overnight Bag hasn’t unpacked itself yet. I’m tired too, but that’s no excuse to make me search the bag repeatedly every day looking for another toiletry. And the laundry hasn’t sorted itself either! It’s only one bag and it only takes a minute to start the washing machine. What is it waiting for?  It hasn’t been on vacation! There’s a bra in there that I need!

I dragged my ass to the grocery store so we at least had some coffee and a sandwich. The fridge is behaving as though it has all the time in the world to restock. Where are the salads and cheeses?! This is the perfect weather to make a nice beef roast with mashed potatoes and gravy and maybe some sesame carrots. The stove is just waiting to get going. You’re holding up the proceedings, Fridge!

Izzie seems to be the only person happy to be home again. She’s running and leaping and jumping and whatever the fuck else she does in the middle of the night. “Yes, I know you want to play but can’t you see that I’m in no shape to be moving from my computer chair? And the lacerations and bitings are not helping your case! And we aren’t in the truck anymore so find somewhere else to sleep that isn’t my shoulder!

The Viking comes into the house and plops in his computer chair. “Is there anymore coffee?” He’s so tired his lips barely move, combined with the Danish accent it comes out more like “Z en mo kuf e”. I mumble back, “S” while I jerk myself back to a vertical position and my eyes snap open. Where the fuck is Daylight Savings Time when you need it?! NOVEMBER 6th?! I can’t wait that long! I need that hour now!

It didn’t help that we must have eaten something on our way home that didn’t entirely agree with our intestinal tracts. That’s the problem with driving 2300 kilometers (1430 miles) in a day and a half – you are at the mercy of the Fast Food Industry. The Fridge didn’t help matters by being empty; it’s not like it didn’t know when we would be home. I specifically told it so we wouldn’t be shocked and surprised if it had a date over.

Anyway, that’s why I haven’t been by for a visit, Coffee Gawd. If you think about it, it’s probably for the best that I didn’t come sooner. I wouldn’t wish myself on anyone in this condition. It’s Saturday though. Maybe The Viking won’t notice that I’m not getting out of bed. If the fucking Fridge and Stove would cooperate and put something hot on the table for him at dinner time I could conceivably stay in bed until Monday morning at 8:58am. I need time to dress and commute to my computer chair. Apparently the phones won’t answer themselves.

Bastards.

 

Wild Sabretooth Burros and Burritos

The first time The Viking brought me to Lake Havasu there was a big, greyish plywood sign immediately after we left I-40 onto Highway 95 south.  The sign said CAUTION in big, hand-painted letters in yellow and below that WILD BURROS in red and below that DRIVE WITH CAUTION in red as well.

I peered through the darkness hoping to catch a glimpse of these exotic Wild Burros.  I didn’t even know there was such a thing as Wild Burros.  What would they look like? Would they be bigger than normal burros or smaller?  If someone put a Wild Burro beside a Tame Burro would we be able to tell them apart?  I wanted answers.

Sadly, I didn’t see one.  Not on that trip and not on the trips of the next two years.  And then the Government of Arizona must have decided they should make a small effort to protect these wild beasts because they put up an actual, real sign.

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Holy Mother of Gawd!!  These Wild Burros are nothing short of Sabretooth Burros!!  Look at that open mouth!

“The doors on the truck are locked, right?”  I asked The Viking as we drove past the sign.  I was suddenly glad I hadn’t seen one yet!  I think a person needs to prepare themselves for an event like actually witnessing Sabretooth Burros in the wild.  Would we be safe inside the truck or would a person need a Brinks Truck?  Or an Army issue Humvee thing with little openings to stick gun barrels through?  Would regular guns be enough?  Maybe we would need a Rocket Launcher or a Bazooka?

Me:  Why are you driving so slow?!
The Viking:  The speed limit is 65 mph.
Me:  What?!  That’s waaaay too slow!  One of those things could catch us!
The Viking:  I don’t think Wild Burros can run 65 mph.
Me:  Maybe not Wild Burros, but we’re not talking about regular Wild Burros, are we?  We’re talking about Sabretooth Burros!  Maybe those bastards can run 80 mph!
The Viking (sighing):  That’s impossible.
Me:  No wonder this area has such a small population.
The Viking:  ….
Me:  What if the speed limit is set so slow so the Sabretooth Burros can catch us?  Maybe we are a feeding program sanctioned by the government?!
The Viking:  For fuck’s sake.
Me:  Think about it!  They put up a dam to make a beautiful lake which lures boating enthusiasts but then they force them to drive so slow that Sabretooths can hunt them down and catch them!
The Viking:  That would never happen.  How do you even think these things up?
Me:  I’m just surprised they warned us about it with the sign!

It would be another year before we screwed up our courage to actually go looking for them.  Okay, it was only me that had to screw up my courage.  For some reason The Viking didn’t seem concerned at all!  But on October 16th, 2010 I posted this on Facebook:

Disregarding our own safety, we embarked on a determined search to locate the shy, elusive Wild (Sabretooth) Burro. Yesterday, we finally found a small herd of the beasts in the middle of the desert. Contrary to the image captured on the official, government sign, these beasts appeared to be herbivores and NOT carnivores. In fact, they looked identical to TAME burros, except their mane and hair was not nearly as tidy as Tame (non-Sabretooth) Burros.

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pregnant-burro

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So it was a bit of a disappointment.  I had talked myself into being excited about carnivorous burros that may or may not be able to run faster than 65 mph.  I was sure that Tina the Truck could easily keep us from being Burritos (see what I did there?) for Wild Sabretooth Burros unless they can run faster than 100 mph which is where the damned governor kicks in.  At that point we would probably be swarmed and killed and turned into Burritos.

I bring this all up because yesterday we went for a drive to see the new bridge over the Hoover Dam – amazing! – and then toodled through Historical Oatman on the way home.  We love the drive through the rocky hills but wouldn’t want to do it without air conditioning – it’s smoking hot!  If you haven’t read The Grapes of Wrath you should, it’s a kick in the gut and you won’t soon forget it.  It also gives you a new perspective of Route 66.

As for Oatman, it’s an old mining town turned tourist stop and it’s over-run with Wild Burros.  Contrary to my first thought, no one was eaten by the Wild Sabretooth Burros here.  I asked.  The gold ran out, that’s why it’s turned Tourist, so if you visit this wonderful place you don’t need to worry about becoming a Burrito.  Buy carrots though.

Anyway, Oatman has a lot of Wild Burros…..and there are babies!  Several babies!  And Wild Burro Babies are about the cutest things ever.

baby-wild-burrosAnd the best way to end a lovely drive.