Doods

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.

Sometimes You Just Got to Say....

This is the last week of school for Big Kid and I, and thankfully, my term paper is FINALLY DONE!! Big Kid has some things to wrap up, but he is on his own for that one. I'm done! Yippee!

And man, am I ready for a vacation.

From Doods. My Doods. I want to find some girls and go on a Dood-free weekend road trip full of drinking and debauchery and laughter.

But there's still too much to do. Maybe next month.

::sigh::

So I'll just pretend all my girlfriends are here and we're dishing (sorry guys).

Why can't I have one freaking thing to myself? One thing, I mean just one---that at no point has had somebody else's grubby fingers all over it? Other than tampons, I mean.

Let's talk about food, for instance.

Now mind you, I am not forcing anyone to diet, I'm not starving anyone, and we have a mighty full larder. I provide 3 squares and ample snacks. And I'm not talking about Little Guy, because amazingly enough, the kid asks first before he even pours himself a glass of milk. Then he offers to pour one for everybody else.

It's the other two galoots I'm bitching about.

For Christmas, a friend sent me a boxed set of specialty cocoas in tins. There were three 20 oz tins. I stored them on the coffee shelf in the pantry, and specifically told everyone "hands off".

A couple months later, we ran out of regular cocoa, and it was a snowy day. The guys were begging for a hot cuppa, so I broke open the boxed set and one of the tins and made them each a cup of cocoa. Then I put it all back in the box and replaced it on the shelf.

Not TWO WEEKS later, I was rearranging some things and moved the box. It felt awfully light.

All three of the tins were empty. And replaced back in the box so it wouldn't be noticed right away.

After a survey of the family counting the number of people who enjoyed MY gift of cocoa in the previous 2 weeks?

Little Guy: 1 cup
Me: None
Hubby: None
Big Kid: Why's everybody looking at me? The dogs know how to heat water in the microwave too, you know!

There were two days of ass-kicking going on in the Attila house.

You would think after the raisin incident (where Big Kid consumed 2 pounds of raisins meant for holiday baking in one night and thought aliens were laying eggs in his digestive tract when he crapped out a bunch of undigested gray rehydrated butt chunks the next morning) he would have learned his lesson.

Not MY boy! Hmph.

My hubby is almost as bad. His excuse? "I had a golfball lodged in my throat/anal fissures/toe fungus/pick your ailment, and the ONLY thing that would make me feel better was that special thing that you had hidden for yourself under the 12 pounds of cast iron and copper pots in that far cabinet where you store the pans you only use once every two years."

Ok, that's sort of an exaggeration. But seriously, the real story is just as heinous.

For example: When I make up a grocery list, I look at the sales and ask the guys what kind of cookies/ice cream/pudding/whatever dessert they want. They let me know what they want and it always involves chocolate.

Not too long ago, Snack-Pack pudding was on sale, and I had a ton of coupons. So I picked up about a dozen packages of what they unanimously asked for. Milk chocolate pudding. Dark chocolate pudding. Chocolate and caramel pudding. Mississippi Mud Pie pudding. Something for all of them. I also got ONE Snack-Pack (4 cups to a package) of tapioca pudding for myself.

Hey, it's my kind of comfort food. I'm not going to apologize. I totally pass over any chocolate dessert for a piece of fruit, but once in awhile a little tapioca goes a long way. I hid it on the second shelf on the right side of the fridge, and buried it under the dregs of a bag of wilted pre-packaged salad, a half-filled bag of baby carrots (which everybody but me hates), and put a jar of dill relish and like 6 packages of chocolate snack packs in front of it.

The very next morning (usually I get up at around 5am) I opened the fridge to get coffee creamer and noticed that everything had been messed around with on that particular shelf. I moved the chocolate snack packs, and the relish, and the wilted salad, and the half bag of baby carrots.

Underneath there was one little tapioca container left, lonely and bereft amongst all the packaging.

When Hubby got up, I confronted him. "Did you eat my tapioca pudding in the middle of the night?"

He was indignant. I had an upset stomach so I ate "some" to settle it!

Some? 3 out of 4 pudding cups is "some"? When does it become "most"? After they're ALL gone?

And um yeah. Everybody and their mother knows that sugar, fat and lactose is the BEST way to settle an upset stomach. Silly me. The Pepto is front and center on the medicine shelf, next to the Tums. You really had to dig for this particular remedy, though, didn't you?

Both guys wait until I'm asleep to go rooting around in the cupboards in the middle of the night. It doesn't matter what is just sitting there in front of their faces. Like cookies, pudding, chips, or ice cream (in the freezer). If it's something that takes an effort to find, or an ingredient I bought for something I have to make the next day for a meeting, a conference, a school party...well then it's a prize!

Is it some kind of leftover caveman instinct where they have to hunt to get it? Is snitching a mini-bag of slivered macadamia nuts now the equivalent of bagging a mastadon for the family table?

I'm simply amazed...really AMAZED that the two of these Doods haven't yet bumped into each other in the dark---one scarfing down Betty Crocker frosting with his fingers and the other stuffing his face out of a container of Philly Cheese pre-made Cheesecake filling. Seriously---it's like they take shifts!

And it gets gross.

When I make a dinner that has nuggety stuff (chicken nuggets, jalapeno nuggets, cheese sticks, etc,) I have to make sure that everything is perfectly proportioned and if someone isn't there to eat their share at that exact moment, it gets wrapped up. Otherwise, there are a couple of guys who meander through the kitchen ostensibly to "put their glass in the dishwasher--ha", or "throw away their napkin---ha" who think that whoever didn't get their meal at that exact moment won't notice that their original equally proportioned six chicken fingers have been reduced to two.

On that thought, last month, I had just warmed up a small plate of BBQ pork that I hadn't finished from my dinner from the night before. I backed up, almost stepped on the little dog, and spilled about 80% of it on the floor. Scooped the pork up and put it back on the plate. It was coated with grody kitchen floor detritus and dog hair. I stuck the plate on the counter, was wiping the floor (nothing like getting sauce tracked through the house), and somebody knocked at the door.

UPS guy. I signed for the package, opened it, dealt with it, and ended up grabbing an orange before running downstairs to my office to take care of a couple of things. Totally forgot about the plate with the dirty pork.

Came upstairs and saw the plate sitting there, but it was empty. WTF? Called Big Kid, and demanded to know where it had gone. Since there was only the two of us in the house.

Did you eat my lunch? (not like I was actually going to eat it myself---with all the hair and crap stuck to it I was going to toss it, but I was baffled and pissed off by the audacity).

He pretended to be shamefaced. "It looked so good I couldn't help myself". Uh huh.

Did you even look at it before you ate it? No he hadn't. All he saw was something he wanted and inhaled it. As if it had been prepared especially for him. Didn't even notice that it had a fur and oatmeal crumb coating.

blech.

A few weeks ago, I had coupons for Tyson's ready made strips that you can find in the lunch meat aisle. The store had a 50% sale on Tyson stuff, so I got a bunch of bags of pre-cooked and seasoned chicken and steak for about a dollar a holler.

I showed them to all of the guys specifically and said---"I've got meal plans for these. They are NOT FOR SNACKING!"

The next night, I was making the fixings for steak fajitas and opened one of the packages of steak strips. It had a bad, sort of fruity, and fermented smell---kind of what I'd imagine a corpse that had been in the water for a week would smell like. The expiration date was two months ahead, so I figured I'd take it back to the store for a replacement. Sealed it back up, stuck the bag in the back of the fridge, and used the rest, which was fine.

I was going to the store a couple of days later, and dug the bag out. It was almost empty. eek! I confronted Big Kid and he swore he hadn't touched it.

I called Hubby at the office.

"Did you eat the steak strips from that bag in the back of the fridge?"

Busted! Again, he was defensive. I had an uncontrollable tickle in the back of my throat and I needed to eat a couple of pieces of steak to take care of it!

A couple of pieces? The bag was practically empty.

"Did you SMELL it before you ate it??? What in the hell is WRONG with you?"

It smelled kind of funny, but I thought it was the special seasoning!

Oy.

I swear, I could take a half a cup of moist dog food, hock a loogie on it, cover it with chocolate sprinkles, wrap it up and hide in the back of the fridge, and it would be gone by morning.

Just because it is something they have to hunt for.

WTF is wrong with Doods?

I Want the Powah!!

I read a strange story last week entitled "Woman Accused of Genital Theft".

Say what?

A middle-aged Nigerian man was accusing his former lover of "stealing his genitals." Apparently the two---this part is kind of unclear---had sex together for 29 days before he traveled home to visit his family.

"But instead of enjoying his stay with his family, Ulame said he started having problems with his organ. He noticed that he could not have an erection."

"He consulted a lot of pastors to help him out of the predicament. After that failed, he started searching for orthodox and traditional medicines but there was no solution to what he described as his shrunken manhood."

If I was a dood, I'd try a urologist before going to my pastor, but hey, that's just me.

He called his girlfriend, who advised him that she thought it was probably stress, and that he should try to relax.

Sounds pretty reasonable, doesn't it? But no---you know how they are. Doods.

Ulame went to an herbalist, who told him that his girlfriend had stolen his johnson with a mirror. Yeah, silly man. That's the first thing I'd have thought of!

Sheesh!

He and some friends decided to beat her up to get his genitals back. What did he think she was doing with them? Toting them around in her handbag?

Then a lot of other weird stuff happened.

The article didn't say if he ever actually retrieved his genitals though.

You know me, the story kind of got stuck in my head and wouldn't let go. I had midterms this last week and have been studying like crazy, along with a lot of other obligations that pooped me out. But through it all, this just stayed in the back of my mind.

First of all, in my opinion, if they really had sex 29 times in 29 days before his visit with his family, Ulame's middle-aged pecker probably revolted and went limp out of sheer exhaustion.

Second of all, next to the Crotch of Steel, I thought this would be a really neat superpower to have.

I was in the grocery store the other day, and some guy was ripping his girlfriend/wife up one side and down the other in public. If I had the power, I'd have zapped him a good one when he got to the second "stupid bitch".

Zap! Weenie-be-gone! Who's the bitch now, Big Boy?

The next person on my list would probably be Bill Clinton. I am so damn sick and tired of hearing about his pecker. Recently there was an article where Hilary confessed that Bill is turned on by dental work. Who the f*ck cares? All that makes me wonder is if there is anything that DOESN'T turn him on.

I'd give Bill the old zapparoo at least until the elections are over. Then he'd stay out of trouble. Besides, Hilary has a big enough set for the both of them.

The next on my list would be Denver Broncos' running back Travis Henry. At age 28, Henry has 9 children with 9 different woman, and even with a 22.5 million dollar contract and a hefty signing bonus, he has trouble managing to make his child-support payments. Flashy cars and jewelry have the priority. Oh, and smoking dope. Since he has trouble tying a knot in it----zap! No more for you! Have a cold shower instead.

This old fart down at the hardware store annoys the hell out of me. The next time he sneeringly calls me "Little Lady" (I top him by about 7 inches and outweigh him by a good 60 pounds), I'll give him a good zap.

Then again, that's pretty mean. See how power can be abused? I'm running amok just thinking about it!

Maybe next time I'll just call him "Little Man" in response and see how THAT grabs him!



Here's my latest on Disaboom, if you have a mind to check it out.

Hope you're having a great weekend!

More Doods

After we went to the Apple "Genius Bar" a month or so ago, Big Kid finally earned enough money to send his IPod to the actual brains who don't work for Apple but are referred by them for service.

When all is said and done, IResQ has a pretty neat deal.

For $29.95, they'll overnight you a padded FedEx box with overnight prepaid shipping, and they'll call you within a day with a diagnosis. You just have to stick your unit in there and call for a pick-up.

It took the Big Kid about 10 days to sit down and write the info on the enclosed card----had to remind him that he was facing 6 weeks of music-less days if he didn't get on the stick.

I called FedEx for pick-up the next day, and gave them an all-day window, since we weren't planning on going anywhere. Also specified that we'd place the box between the screen and master door, because if the Little Guy is outside, Hubby is at work, Big Kid is blasting tunes in his room, and I'm in the basement (still trying to tackle the laundry room), we might not hear a knock at the door.

Put the box out the night before, but Hubby advised that this might be a bad idea.

So I put the box out at 8am the next day before I went down to wrestle with 7 years of outgrown boys clothing.

Came up around 10 and saw the box on the kitchen counter.

What's this? I asked Big Kid.

"I guess it was delivered this morning," he shrugged. "I found it when I went outside."

$#@%%!!!!

It's your IPod going out to get fixed!!!!

He put it back out between the screen and front door. I went back downstairs to sort out winter clothes, and to solve the whole fat/skinny clothes conundrum that plagues most of us at some point.

In our big basement purge, I uncovered all the club clothes I wore at 25 that I can no longer fit in. Even if I were the same size now, would I want to wear them all of 15 years later?

I thought about those cheap floozies Kathy Hilton and Dina Lohan and voted no.

Now Hubby fluctuates between a couple of sizes. Most of his clothes are pretty current (like Dockers Khakis). We've stored them big or small over the years. Of course, we still have a few hideous suits (one was a light-blue polyester blend with a red stripe) that many men were sold by clothiers who assured them that they were [gag gag] "timeless", back when he was 20.

I guess it's a guy thing. I had to beat him over the head with a padded hanger to get him to release his death grip on the enormous lapels.

But I digress. It's a bad habit, I know.

Came up around 1pm to make lunch and noticed several packages on the counter. One of them was "The Box".

What's this? I asked Little Guy.

"UPS was here."

No, no no! This box is supposed to be PICKED up by FedEx! So he put it back between the screen and front door.

I was still feeling punchy after my stomach flu stuff, so I convinced the kids to take a nap after lunch. We slept until about 3pm.

Little Guy went out in the front and came in with a box that was delivered while we were sleeping.

From FedEx.

But it wasn't "THE BOX". That was still there between the two doors.

No Way! YES way!

Had a couple of phone calls come in that I had to take care of before I could call FedEx and say WTF?

But first Hubby came home early and handed me a box.

"This was outside. It must have come today." It was THE BOX.

Noooooo! Put it back!

About 5 minutes later, the FedEx truck pulled up and a guy ran down to pick the box up.

Doods.

You know, if women were in charge of the world this stuff wouldn't happen. ;-)

Shut up, Carm. You know I'm right!

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Happy Father's Day to all you Dads out there. Here's what I got Hubby, but I'm waiting until the kids are gone on Wednesday to give it to him.