Got my rantypants on. LOL I know I do it from time to time, so wallow in it with me, or run far far away.
I'm ranting about Doods. The Doods in my house. Yes, other than the dogs, I am the onliest female in my home, and I don't always understand what in the heck they are thinking.
So somebody help me out.
Pillsbury refrigerated Molten Lava Brownies (2 to a box) were on sale and I had coupons so I bought 4 boxes. All the same. They were stacked neatly on the right side on the top shelf of the fridge.
I wake up in the morning and there are two boxes open with a brownie taken out of each.
What were you thinking? That if you took the second brownie, you'd have to actually walk 3 steps to the garbage can and throw out the box? That the person who takes the first brownie gets a bigger brownie and the other is like, inferior?
WTF is up with that? Just wondering.
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Out of all the Doods in my home, there is ONE who leaves the toilet seat up (in my opinion). He has his own bathroom, which is off of our bedroom, and his seat is always up. I don't care...if I have to run to the john in the middle of the night, I already KNOW to check the seat position in the dark. It's his space, I don't complain.
But I frequently go to bed early to read, get up from time to time, and go to MY bathroom and find the seat up.
I accuse the perp and tell him to stay out of MY bathroom, and he blames the other males in our house. I happen to know that they are sitting pee'ers (at least in MY bathroom), but he continues to accuse them.
So I write a really nasty note and tape it to the backside of the seat. About not being such a pig and putting the $#@%$$ seat down.
Guess who gets all offended by it? Not the sitting pee'ers. They've never seen it, because they don't lift the seat up.
WTF is up with all that? Just Wondering.
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I don't wear your baseball caps, don't wear your sunglasses, don't use your IPOD cords, can't remember the last time I used your wallets or car keys.
Yet in the morning when you can't find them, a couple of you run around screaming and cussing that somebody "MUST" have moved your shit, because you ALWAYS leave it "insert location".
When I suggest you check the pants/coat/car floor that you used the night before and you find your lost shit, you act like somebody has played a malicious joke on you just to mess up your day.
WTF is up with that? Just wondering.
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When I insist it's your turn to do the dishes, and that as good as our dishwasher is, you have to actually soak and scrub some of the dried crap off, you complain about the grossness of the knives and spoons that have been dipped in peanut butter and not immediately washed off. Yes, it turns white and gluey. Yes, it's gross. And yes, you all do it, and expect somebody else to deal with it after you toss it in the sink.
You laugh your heads off when a person describes a fart so enormously wet and windy that it left a couple of corn kernels in his shorts (gah!), but go weak at the knees when you have to touch a spoon that had somebody else's mouth on it.
WTF is up with that? Just wondering.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Crack My Sh*t Up
Ok, truth time here.
Way before it was legal in some states, Hubby used to smoke pot once in a while. He did it as a teen and young man, not so much as he got older. He suffers from migraines, and tried to quit once he could get the migraine meds in a personal shot form some years ago. Didn't work very well at first, and our family doc basically said, "you might want to rethink quitting altogether", simply because he went from one or two migraines a year to one or two a month.
He was committed to quitting because number one, he didn't want to be a hypocrite when we preached "no drugs" to Big Kid (who had and still has absolutely no idea that his dad was smoking pot---he thinks Hubby's a square old fuddy-duddy). Number two is that I am very VERY allergic to something that is in pot.
I have stood in line next to people in Blockbuster or the grocery store who have residue in their hair or their clothes. Just from being near them---my eyes start to get itchy and burny, my sinuses and throat start swelling up. I haven't been to a concert in nearly 20 years. Hubby never smoked it in our home, changed his clothes when he got home and does his own laundry. So the impact on me was minimal. But he quit for good about 8 years ago.
What really ticks me off is that Big Kid was denied Social Security disability benefits a couple of years ago because he told the judge that he smoked pot once in awhile. He has a severe mental illness where self-medicating is the norm and told his doctors that the only time he felt emotionally "normal" was when he was high. He was denied benefits because the judge felt that he wouldn't be bi-polar (or have a panic disorder) if he wasn't smoking pot (although 4 professionals, including their OWN stated that he was very ill and needed assistance).
A year later, our state voted to make medical marijuana legal. :::sigh::: Of course now it's moot, because the kid can barely breathe, much less smoke a doob to make himself feel better.
In our little burg, we now have 2 medical marijuana dispensaries. And now that it's fairly easy to get a card for medicinal purposes, it's been a real eye opener as to how many of our friends and associates (most of them very conservative people) used to be closet pot-heads. Well they aren't in the closet now! I've never met so many people with sciatica in my life. You'd think they all migrated to our town like wounded birds for the healing mountain properties.
The closest dispensary is on the main drag in town, and advertises itself as a "spa and wellness center". It was there for 6 months before Hubby clued me in. I had no idea!
Since it's football season, Hubby and I changed "My day" (I insist that he reserve one day a week for me. Just for me. He works so much and has so many commitments with his other activities during the week that we hardly see each other) from Sunday to Saturday. Yesterday we decided to drive down into the big city and look at used cars. My 18-year-old Caddy is getting long in the tooth and we figured it might be time to trade it in before it falls apart.
We drove past the "spa" and there were a few cars in the parking lot.
"OMG!" exclaimed Hubby. "That's Fred's car!"
Fred? Who the fluck is Fred?
"He's the guy that does my business cards." And then Hubby picked up his cell phone, punched in a number AND CALLED HIM!
"Fred, my man! Getting the big bag of ganja for the weekend, Dood?" (in his best teenage stoner voice)
DOOD?
There was some mutual chuckling and they signed off.
"He said he was dropping off business cards. Uh huh. He doesn't personally deliver them to anybody else."
What the heck was that all about?
Apparently the boys (I'm not going to say men, because this is about as juvenile as it gets) in our small town recognize each other's cars. Maybe it's a guy thing, because I wouldn't know what the manager at the supermarket drove even if he ran over me. And every time they see somebody they know parked in front of the "spa", they all call whoever it is up for a serious ribbing. Really!
I don't get it. A little farther down the mountain, there is an "Oriental Massage" place with visible parking that's been there for about 10 years. As far as I know, they don't call each other up and ask if they got a happy ending. ;-)
This "ribbing" stuff has gotten so prolific that a friend who works in the local gubment called the establishment NEXT DOOR to the "spa" and told them that if they wanted her continued business they would have to deliver, because there was no way in hell that she'd ever park her candy apple red roadster anywhere near the pot place. LOL
I guess these guys have found their "inner child". What a bunch of boobs.
Cracks me up.
Way before it was legal in some states, Hubby used to smoke pot once in a while. He did it as a teen and young man, not so much as he got older. He suffers from migraines, and tried to quit once he could get the migraine meds in a personal shot form some years ago. Didn't work very well at first, and our family doc basically said, "you might want to rethink quitting altogether", simply because he went from one or two migraines a year to one or two a month.
He was committed to quitting because number one, he didn't want to be a hypocrite when we preached "no drugs" to Big Kid (who had and still has absolutely no idea that his dad was smoking pot---he thinks Hubby's a square old fuddy-duddy). Number two is that I am very VERY allergic to something that is in pot.
I have stood in line next to people in Blockbuster or the grocery store who have residue in their hair or their clothes. Just from being near them---my eyes start to get itchy and burny, my sinuses and throat start swelling up. I haven't been to a concert in nearly 20 years. Hubby never smoked it in our home, changed his clothes when he got home and does his own laundry. So the impact on me was minimal. But he quit for good about 8 years ago.
What really ticks me off is that Big Kid was denied Social Security disability benefits a couple of years ago because he told the judge that he smoked pot once in awhile. He has a severe mental illness where self-medicating is the norm and told his doctors that the only time he felt emotionally "normal" was when he was high. He was denied benefits because the judge felt that he wouldn't be bi-polar (or have a panic disorder) if he wasn't smoking pot (although 4 professionals, including their OWN stated that he was very ill and needed assistance).
A year later, our state voted to make medical marijuana legal. :::sigh::: Of course now it's moot, because the kid can barely breathe, much less smoke a doob to make himself feel better.
In our little burg, we now have 2 medical marijuana dispensaries. And now that it's fairly easy to get a card for medicinal purposes, it's been a real eye opener as to how many of our friends and associates (most of them very conservative people) used to be closet pot-heads. Well they aren't in the closet now! I've never met so many people with sciatica in my life. You'd think they all migrated to our town like wounded birds for the healing mountain properties.
The closest dispensary is on the main drag in town, and advertises itself as a "spa and wellness center". It was there for 6 months before Hubby clued me in. I had no idea!
Since it's football season, Hubby and I changed "My day" (I insist that he reserve one day a week for me. Just for me. He works so much and has so many commitments with his other activities during the week that we hardly see each other) from Sunday to Saturday. Yesterday we decided to drive down into the big city and look at used cars. My 18-year-old Caddy is getting long in the tooth and we figured it might be time to trade it in before it falls apart.
We drove past the "spa" and there were a few cars in the parking lot.
"OMG!" exclaimed Hubby. "That's Fred's car!"
Fred? Who the fluck is Fred?
"He's the guy that does my business cards." And then Hubby picked up his cell phone, punched in a number AND CALLED HIM!
"Fred, my man! Getting the big bag of ganja for the weekend, Dood?" (in his best teenage stoner voice)
DOOD?
There was some mutual chuckling and they signed off.
"He said he was dropping off business cards. Uh huh. He doesn't personally deliver them to anybody else."
What the heck was that all about?
Apparently the boys (I'm not going to say men, because this is about as juvenile as it gets) in our small town recognize each other's cars. Maybe it's a guy thing, because I wouldn't know what the manager at the supermarket drove even if he ran over me. And every time they see somebody they know parked in front of the "spa", they all call whoever it is up for a serious ribbing. Really!
I don't get it. A little farther down the mountain, there is an "Oriental Massage" place with visible parking that's been there for about 10 years. As far as I know, they don't call each other up and ask if they got a happy ending. ;-)
This "ribbing" stuff has gotten so prolific that a friend who works in the local gubment called the establishment NEXT DOOR to the "spa" and told them that if they wanted her continued business they would have to deliver, because there was no way in hell that she'd ever park her candy apple red roadster anywhere near the pot place. LOL
I guess these guys have found their "inner child". What a bunch of boobs.
Cracks me up.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Lions, and Tigers, and Bears! Oh My!
After racing home from work yesterday so as to not miss even a single second of Monday Night Football, Hubby did a bad bad thing.He forgot to close the garage door to protect his beloved vintage car. You know, the one he can only drive for about 4 months out of the year because it doesn't do very well on snow and ice.
This morning he woke to find muddy paw prints on the hood. Apparently a bear came to check out the place for some goodies (thank GOD Monday was trash day, so the cans were empty) and climbed over the front of his car.
What it DID find was an industrial-sized jug of super hot sauce. The destroyed jug with teeth marks was in the front yard. LOL
That little piggy prolly went WEE WEE WEE all the way home!
Oops. Wrong fairy tale. ;-)
Saturday, September 11, 2010
This and That
We got the results of Big Kid's sleep study. He's doing ok and doesn't need the Bi-Pap to breathe any more...just needs to sleep with his oxygen mask. We were at our family doc's office when we got the results. He was pretty surprised that the tonsillectomy gave the Kid enough room to breathe, because he was convinced that the boy was suffering from sleep apnea.
Out of curiosity, he accessed the med records from the hospital and was surprised (as were we) that not only did the ENT remove the Kid's tonsils and adenoids, but part of his palate as well.
Although the results are obviously great, I'm more than a little annoyed. I spoke with the surgeon before and after the surgery, and at no point did he mention removing any part of Big Kid's palate. I went over EVERYTHING the kid signed when he was out of it before signing off prior to surgery, and there was no mention of it in there as a course of treatment.
I feel a little guilty. Although having a tonsillectomy as an adult can be pretty painful, we limited the amount of vicodin the kid was getting (he's been known to drug-seek) and weaned him off as quickly as possible. Having part of your palate removed is a much bigger deal, and I would have been more understanding about the amount of pain he was in. Grrr.
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Little Guy has been accepted to a fantastic new program down in the big city. It's a culinary college for people who have disabilities. They even have a working restaurant! He'll be able to take classes in all aspects of the food industry so that he'll get a chance to decide which part jazzes him the most as a future career. As most of you know, he's already a budding chef who has interned at a few places in the last couple of years.
It's a private "college", not state owned, so it's expensive. Hubby and I were planning on taking out a student loan for him, but I was able to secure a grant and transportation to pay his expenses. He's so excited and so are we!
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You ever wonder how in the world some authors ever come to be published? Gah!
A used bookstore down in the city runs a 200 books for $100 deal. The caveat is that you have to rummage through humongous packing crates to find your books. They're not catalogued or separated. Me and the boys (gotta have boys to haul the books, you know) spent a few hours down there on a day that was SUPPOSED to be cool, but ended up being 91 degrees outside, and prolly 10 degrees higher inside the warehouse.
I managed to get 100 finally, and talked them into letting me come back on a cooler day to search for the rest. I had to toss aside about a zillion Dr. Phil books (I've never read him, but I wonder why nobody wants to KEEP them), textbooks and self-help books to find goodies. Even so, I threw in about 20 by authors I've never heard of, but looked promising.
Yikes. I'm kinda sorry I did.
The first one started out pretty good. A couple of murders in a small southern town that hasn't had a murder in years. Young sheriff, hunky but a little inexperienced, sexy female FBI agent coming to town because she suspects that the murders are the work of a serial killer who has killed elsewhere.
Ok, I'm on board. It's got me hooked.
Until about the 4th chapter when it comes out the hot FBI agent is a robot from the future.
Blech. Can't suspend my disbelief on that one. I'm out.
_____________________________________________
Hubby and I decided to take the Activia Challenge. Well, no, not really. It was on sale and I had coupons so I bought a bunch of 4-packs for 88 cents. We like yogurt, and I don't think Hubby and I get enough calcium on a daily basis since neither one of us are really milk drinkers. We've been snickering about the "Bifidous Regularis" for ages----is that even a real word? There's a friendly bacteria that makes you doody?
Well it didn't have much effect on Hubby, but he's always been regular anyway. First cup of coffee in the morning sends him to the john with the New Yorker tucked under his arm. Me, on the other hand---I've always been sporadic at best.
Until I met Activia, that is. Yes, it made me regular. At 2 O'CLOCK IN THE FREAKING MORNING FOR 4 DAYS IN A ROW!!! Every night I woke up feeling like I had an out-of-control freight train full of logs barreling down the old Eisenhower tunnel. It was so bad that I was afraid that if I inadvertently ripped butt in my sleep, I'd wake up in a puddle of my own shrapnel. Yuck. That was it for me.
So how was YOUR week?
Out of curiosity, he accessed the med records from the hospital and was surprised (as were we) that not only did the ENT remove the Kid's tonsils and adenoids, but part of his palate as well.
Although the results are obviously great, I'm more than a little annoyed. I spoke with the surgeon before and after the surgery, and at no point did he mention removing any part of Big Kid's palate. I went over EVERYTHING the kid signed when he was out of it before signing off prior to surgery, and there was no mention of it in there as a course of treatment.
I feel a little guilty. Although having a tonsillectomy as an adult can be pretty painful, we limited the amount of vicodin the kid was getting (he's been known to drug-seek) and weaned him off as quickly as possible. Having part of your palate removed is a much bigger deal, and I would have been more understanding about the amount of pain he was in. Grrr.
_____________________________________________
Little Guy has been accepted to a fantastic new program down in the big city. It's a culinary college for people who have disabilities. They even have a working restaurant! He'll be able to take classes in all aspects of the food industry so that he'll get a chance to decide which part jazzes him the most as a future career. As most of you know, he's already a budding chef who has interned at a few places in the last couple of years.
It's a private "college", not state owned, so it's expensive. Hubby and I were planning on taking out a student loan for him, but I was able to secure a grant and transportation to pay his expenses. He's so excited and so are we!
________________________________________________
You ever wonder how in the world some authors ever come to be published? Gah!
A used bookstore down in the city runs a 200 books for $100 deal. The caveat is that you have to rummage through humongous packing crates to find your books. They're not catalogued or separated. Me and the boys (gotta have boys to haul the books, you know) spent a few hours down there on a day that was SUPPOSED to be cool, but ended up being 91 degrees outside, and prolly 10 degrees higher inside the warehouse.
I managed to get 100 finally, and talked them into letting me come back on a cooler day to search for the rest. I had to toss aside about a zillion Dr. Phil books (I've never read him, but I wonder why nobody wants to KEEP them), textbooks and self-help books to find goodies. Even so, I threw in about 20 by authors I've never heard of, but looked promising.
Yikes. I'm kinda sorry I did.
The first one started out pretty good. A couple of murders in a small southern town that hasn't had a murder in years. Young sheriff, hunky but a little inexperienced, sexy female FBI agent coming to town because she suspects that the murders are the work of a serial killer who has killed elsewhere.
Ok, I'm on board. It's got me hooked.
Until about the 4th chapter when it comes out the hot FBI agent is a robot from the future.
Blech. Can't suspend my disbelief on that one. I'm out.
_____________________________________________
Hubby and I decided to take the Activia Challenge. Well, no, not really. It was on sale and I had coupons so I bought a bunch of 4-packs for 88 cents. We like yogurt, and I don't think Hubby and I get enough calcium on a daily basis since neither one of us are really milk drinkers. We've been snickering about the "Bifidous Regularis" for ages----is that even a real word? There's a friendly bacteria that makes you doody?
Well it didn't have much effect on Hubby, but he's always been regular anyway. First cup of coffee in the morning sends him to the john with the New Yorker tucked under his arm. Me, on the other hand---I've always been sporadic at best.
Until I met Activia, that is. Yes, it made me regular. At 2 O'CLOCK IN THE FREAKING MORNING FOR 4 DAYS IN A ROW!!! Every night I woke up feeling like I had an out-of-control freight train full of logs barreling down the old Eisenhower tunnel. It was so bad that I was afraid that if I inadvertently ripped butt in my sleep, I'd wake up in a puddle of my own shrapnel. Yuck. That was it for me.
So how was YOUR week?
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