A Toast

Dating beneath you. I've heard it. And I'm not talking about being on top...really? Where is your mind? GUTTER. What has that got to do with King's syrup and peanut butter...wait, strike that. This is NOT about bowling, I SWEAR! She gets me, I mean it.

Yes, I admit it, I am dating beneath me...and I felt the effects of it today. When I was having breakfast. And I couldn't find the necessary ingredients for my toast. I had to look here and there...waay UP there.

Why? Because she can't see over there. Or reach up here. Oh, I tried to fix it and I made it worse. Because I don't live down there. And I have no clue what makes sense...in her world. And that's what it's all about.

I'm not making this up. That's what she says. When I try to move something. Or find something that no longer lives there. Welcome to together. I don't mind so much. I can, after all, see things she can't. That gives me a slight advantage. I mean if you've ever seen us heel to heel. Slight. Right.

This is where the beneath me ends. She is perfect. But you know that. Or we wouldn't have celebrated the first full year of bliss this week. It's true. And I couldn't be happier. Even if I can't find my toast condiments all in one place.

Ithacat

Yes, that is poop on my blog. Poop. I've blurred it in an attempt to make it less offensive. Have I succeeded? That's Parker. Perhaps you've met.

She doesn't care much for the litter box.  She used to be able to stand on the corner so that none of her precious feet had to touch such a gross and disgusting event. I'm not sure if she can still manage that or not. Clearly she can't manage actually hitting the box, so NO I won't be teaching her to use the toilet any time soon.  I'd settle for her covering it up when she is done.

The good news is she is a relatively clean cat. Now that I've met country cats I can say that with some form of authority. I do not love poop on the outside of the litter box. I have a part-time dog I get to bend over and pick up poop for...I do not need a cat. Parker, this is one of your selling points, don't muck it up.

I mean if it's particularly offensive when it comes to odor, you can scold her. If she agrees, she will actually go over and try to cover it up with litter. You can see her vain effort above. It's not always effective. I am not convinced she does not do this out of spite to let me know she doesn't approve of my irregularity in cleaning said box.

All things being equal, which they are not, I do much prefer Parker's poop slightly missing the litter box to say Gus's inability to clean his toes after using his litter condo. The girl excuses his poor hygiene to his polydactylism, which would be much cooler if it were pterodactyl RAH RAH!

I've got nothing against the liberal-toed, I just don't love litter in the bed, for example. It's days like that where I'd rather pick up doggie poo in a bio-degradable bag, yes we just bought those! Right!? Here's a girl that doesn't want to pay for a bag for her groceries, and I just bought bags for poo. (can you see my eyes rolling?!) I'm quite certain  it would be cheaper to buy bags with groceries and use them twice rather than....oh never mind.

Anyway, when did my blog become about this? Oh right, when the only exercise I got was picking up poo. Right, right. For shits (pun intended) and giggles, have you seen this yet? (yes, I was thinner then, I did more than pick up poo. Oh, and that is not the aforementioned Gus...does that toe thing grow on trees??) sheesh.

Stop Waffling

Once upon a time I cried to my friend, "I just want someone to make me pancakes in the morning." See, I'm not great with breakfast foods and even worse at pancakes. And I don't want them often but every now and again I get a hankering for pancakes.

And I thought my time would never come. I would never be so lucky as to find someone to love who loved me back. No one to share my life with. No one to swap social theories or life dreams. No one to have sleep overs, pillow fights, or pint night...and I'm talking ice cream here. No one to decorate the tree, drive while I sleep, or tell me to put my laundry away. No one, damn it, to make me pancakes and coffee!

 

And this friend that I whined to about life and pancakes gave it to me straight that day, "Girl, you need to learn how to make your own pancakes!"

 

Well, I never did. To this day I still can't make pancakes. But I did get a waffle maker for Christmas. Actually I got a waffle machine, the waffle maker has been around for a while...and she claims she's not great with pancakes either. But she does make a mean egg.

Piece On Earth

It's family time in the country. I've come to learn that means Cookie Day. It's about as much fun as putting a puzzle together with a menancing Calico.

I had high hopes for Cookie Day, maybe it was my fault. I love holiday traditions and baking cookies is my thing. But this wasn't so much festive as it was Betty Crocker Hell. Every elf had its specific task and I made mine to stay out of the kitchen.

I'd rather chuck matchboxes at my young playmate than squeeze crisco through my fingertips. Meanwhile, the girl was knee deep in cookie dough. Actually, she too, found a way to escape most of the kitchen fiasco which didn't surprise me much.

What I learned about the girl is she is obsessive compulsive, as if this is something I didn't already know. And I can assure you she touched the cookie you are about to eat at least four times as she perfectly placed it atop the waxed paper upon which it was perched, again, again, and again.

 

She also does this with a jigsaw puzzle. She is lucky she is darn cute. You can scour the pieces, deduce from a slight white speck crosschecked with the box that that particular piece will reside in the upper left quadrant, and lay it there for future use. As you can see from the photo above, this is how I work. There is a method to the madness.

 

There is another method to the other's madness. The girl will come behind me and take all the pieces from the center of the puzzle and move them back outside the perimeter of the puzzle. She is telling me now "the pieces don't go in the center of the puzzle". No, no, I don't think you understand the point of the puzzle. That is exactly where the pieces go baby.

 

But this is love. This is how we will do a puzzle. This is our tradition. I will put them together. The girl's cat will push them on the floor. I will pick them up and organize them. And the girl will reorganize them in a completely irrational way. My step-father says 'the family that plays together, stays together'. Yes, and we will be working on the same puzzle for the rest of our lives.

 

I wonder if she realizes when I put the knives away I purposely turn the blades every other way...just to see how long they stay that way. To her credit, she hasn't touched them, but I guarantee she's seen them.

Snaggled

Heavens to Murgeminid! Oh really? You're going to question that word? Because you have a particular fondness for the term, Murgatroyd? As if you even know what that is!

Oh man, I found something in the country that beats the city hands down! And it was right in front of my face the whole time.

I spent many hours sacked out on my deck in the city trying to catch a faint star shooting across the sky in some meteor shower or another in years past. Truth is I was never sure if I actually saw one or if there was just a floater clouding my eyesight.

In the country, the stars alone are worth the price of admission. They don't need to dart around at all. Wishes be damned. BUT, I did manage to catch a pre-show of the Geminids, which was quite impressive and the show hadn't technically started yet. There's something to the, lack of people...a lack of LIGHT.

Pop! Look at all those stars. There's one. There's one. Ooo that was a good one. Yeah, that's the life I wanted. Just staring up into the sky with the girl by my side. Hiding beneath a blanket, just the two of us.  Or...walking in the shadow of the Mormon Temple amidst their Holiday Lights show busloads of people around us.  It really doesn't matter, as long as we are together.

And yes, the stars in the country are still white, not green and purple like I've misled you in the photo above. It's not a recreation on my childhood light bright, but it could be....Exit Stage Left...

Boarders, Carried Alive

It has finally happened. There is a cardboard box in my attic. An empty cardboard box in my storage area. Please don't tell my neighbors.

 Maybe you don't know me, but this is a huge taboo. It happens. There are tools on the table and a box in the attic. What the hell is going on?

I am not a hoarder. I am not in denial. And I still think saving empty boxes is stupid. Unless it's a bike box. Or a bike light box. Then it's completely logical. I stand by my criticism of saved teevee boxes. It's not like the new ones will last long enough to be moved. And the old tank tubes could withstand a steamroller, I don't think it really needs a box.

And then there are the action figure boxes. And the Hallmark ornaments. Really? The box retains its value? Yes, I guess you could make $5 on that ornament you've been hanging on to from 1983 so you better hold on to that box. I bought a toy truck for $500 without a box, so I'm just saying box or no box it all depends on the buyer.

However, when you have a delicate, specially delivered, cool as shit beer bike sign, go on and keep the box. You're not gonna wanna risk damaging that in a move for sure. Oh, there might be a good shoe box or two in the attic too, I'm not gonna lie. Give me a nice sturdy Keen's box or a 5.10 and I'll hang on to it for papers or trinkets. I think I've actually got plastic Easter eggs in one of them so there! Holiday items do not count as hoard.

Okay, okay, I might have some old Panasonic tape boxes at the ready too. But those are superior ace boxes. And on the endangered list, not to mention I no longer have access to swiping them. I'm not making excuses. Just what are you trying to say? Okay, so I hoard boxes. It's not exactly Reality Show material.

Up In Smoke

Let there be no mistake, I am bored in the country. I complain about the incredible lack of things to do. The limit of culture and art. It's just not like the city.

Take today for example. My country mouse was in town for some very important training after which we were under the gun, so to speak, to get our butts downtown for some very important 'art'.

Forgive me, I stand corrected. Turns out the city, too, bores me quite a bit. A limitless amount of culture and art, apparently, is not always a good thing. Today, a Chinese 'artist' blew up a tree. And called it art. I call it FAIL. To quote Deana Carter, "I shaved my legs for this?"

I expected pyrotechnics, like the sign said. I expected mind bending, tree altering effects like the diagram indicated. I expected lights and wows and cool. It's not at all what I expected. It was beyond the complete opposite. It was what they call in the fireworks biz: A DUD.

It sounded like a ancient gun fight with the smoke of one to boot. But when the smoke cleared, the tree stood unaffected and the crowd dispersed, scratching a collective head going, huh? The guy next to us turned and said, Is this Art?!

 

Well, it's in front of the art museum; that's the closest it's gonna get to art in this town. The smoke artist said he hoped the smoke would look like a virtual tree. O...kaaay.... It was some kind of protest about lighting Christmas trees. Protest, YES!, now you're in the right neighborhood.

 

Art, maybe not so much, and the Chinese, maybe not as big a threat as once thought.

 

Change

My neighbors have five vehicles lining the street. I can't talk, I've got 8, but they all fit in the Barn and roll on two wheels. I guess it depends how you define vehicle.

Theirs have motors, barely. And ironically they got three bills when they finally sold one today. I don't have one bike less than that! But three hundred is better than no hundred so you take the money and run.

Sounds like fun. I want three bills! I asked my ebayin' neighbor about selling unwanted items. He gave me a name. So today my neighbors sold a big hunkin' car and I sold two tiny round pieces of hollow metal for the same price. Party on Kerwin.

He said, "you sure didn't waste any time dropping those rings." Depends on how you look at it. I've been sitting on them for a decade. Not because I have any emotional ties to them. I just didn't know what to do with them. She wanted to chuck them over the side of a cliff. I didn't even have that much attachment.

Having done both...I'd rather have love over a ring any day. And it'd be a lot more fun to drive the neighbor's car over the side of a cliff anyway. Today I am a much richer girl.

This Socks

I'm not naive and I don't live under a rock. I've heard of this very thing happening. Here and there. Sometimes on Tuesday. I know it happens. But it's never happened to ME.

You might argue that's it's because of the way I live my life. You might be right. Who I sleep with. Where I hang my hat. Who are we kidding, if you really knew me you'd know I sleep IN my hat. No way I'm losing THAT.

Socks is another beast. Or maybe a small sacrificial lamb. And somewhere in my abode is a nasty, ravenous Sock Monster who eats Sock Guy for snacks. Not only that, it follows me. From City to Country. Country to City.

My dwindling sock supply is not locationally challenged. This has never been a problem for me. I've never sacrificed a sock before. I've seen it on teevee. I've heard the old wives tales. But never once have I permanently lost my fuzzy foot covers.

 

Until now. Now it's a good day when the dryer spits out TWO perfectly matched SmartWools. It's like winning the lottery. Kenmore Keno. And Luck is not my Lady tonight.

 

In the country there is a cat. Maybe two I'm not sure. But they carry these things around like a two year old's teddy. But I collect and congregate them. And engage in round of the childhood game Memory Match.

 

That's not it. There is something seriously eating these things like pop tarts. And it's not just mine. Now Sock Monster is eating the girl's socks too! So if you see me at an event or cruising down the street PLEASE don't mention that my socks don't match. I KNOW, but I'm running out of socks!

Afrayed Knot

Yet another entry from My Life in the Country. Those country girls are of a tougher breed. You'd think I could hack it, but I am often yanking out my girl card. I ain't too proud to show it.

It's like camping. The dirt. The bugs. The heat. There's no TV, barely Internet. But back home in the cushy city...there is no power. It's hot, there's no moving air, and rotting flesh in my freezer. I think I'll stay put.

The above is a picture of my girl's cooling source. I see now why she unplugs everything for fear of fire. She is a smart girl. She should be afraid. I sleep with one eye open in case that Pre WWII wiring ignites.

I'm typically a fan, no pun intended, of older appliances because I think they were built to last. This is clearly an example of just that; it's lasting all right! However, improvements to efficiency and attention to detail, most notably, SAFETY, are good excuses to UPGRADE. Just a suggestion.

So this death trap is placed precariously to cool us whilst we sleep. A shot of WD40 couldn't hurt things. I tried to sleep near it but couldn't get a wink of sleep. Squeak, Squeeeeeak, Squeeeeeeeaaaack! And I hate turning the thing off, it takes a good twenty minutes before it completely slows to a halt. The girl claims the slash in the Pitt's ear was from a vicious dog fight...I'm not entirely sure she didn't just get too close to the spinning machete she calls a 'fan'.

Clearly the girl got sick of waking up to an empty drenched bed because she broke down and bought an air conditioner. Say it isn't so! This is more historic than that Farmer Joad Fan. Now if I could just get her to clean out the 'office' so the puppy can actually lay down and enjoy the air.

Baby, you rock!  And I promise, you're gonna be a fan!

Dear John

I don't know, have I mentioned how amazing the country home is lately? No really, this might seem like sarcasm but I mean it.

Saturday afternoon tractor pulls. Need I say more? Yes? One dollar hot dogs. I know! It's a hot time in the cool city.

I am hesitant to note it here, but I am a sucker for small town country activities. A good watermelon festival, Plow Days...You know I love me some lumber jack competitions. Rodeos? Hell yeah. Monster trucks. You know it. So you can imagine the 'tractor pull' intrigued me.

So when do they start racing? There's racing right? How fast do they go? Where's the other racer? I don't understand. What exactly are you saying? There's NO racing? As in ZERO speed racing? Wait, why are they mashing down the loose mud? This is becoming extremely boring...

No fire? No burning? No overturning? No revving? No racing? No mud flying? They just sit on a lawn mower and pull some weight? This is the complete opposite of watching grass grow. Now that is a fun activity.

It's a tractor you say? No, that is a lawn mower. The thing mashing down the dirt, that is a tractor. Gosh, you think these country folk would at least know that.

I don't know, have you guys ever considered racing them? I mean some fast track action. Maybe a little healthy competition between tracpetitors. I can't help but noticing we are the only spectators. Maybe a couple Buds with the dollar dogs?

Really? They aren't going to race? Not even a little bit? Sheesh.



What In Damnation?

It was bound to happen eventually. But can we PLEASE keep this between us!?! So blue, it's true, I passed over into the forbidden zone today. After a decade of strength, today I found weakness. Chalk it up to geography. It wasn't my fault I tell you...I needed tampons.

$165 later I was allowed to leave the Evil Empire. It's a bargain, as they say, if you think about it. I am rarely released from the Giant at under $125 and I walked away with a 40 pound bag of dog chow. I didn't quite appreciate that this is really the size of 2 dogs.

And if you don't mind you could tell the Girl they have a bin, a rather large bin, of movies for $5. Movies you've heard of. Movies you want to see. Now I know this isn't $3...it's damn near twice the price, I can hear her saying it. But it's a movie title you might loan out. You may even watch it again yourself. You'll more than double the value just by getting it here rather than Big Lots.

Okay so, back to my shopping extravagursion....it hasn't changed much. It's just as amazing as I remember it all those years ago. Don't get me wrong, I still don't believe in the monster it became, but damn, the deals can blind you...yes, I know.... I still don't think you should buy an engagement ring there, you know, if you're shopping.

I got hardware items, feminine hygiene, dental, camping supplies, pet items, craft stuff, things that are STILL in the car! I'm telling you, if I had just discovered this joint I'd die just telling you about it. But sadly it wasn't my first time, and worse yet, it won't be my last. Those days are over, for so many reasons.

But really, you could spend the day in there! All damn day. If you couldn't afford AC...they give that shit away for free! Go on, pack a lunch, no don't, you can get one there. Just go. Shop. Walk. People gwak. Get your eyes checked. Yeah, they got that. You don't HAVE to support the Evil Empire, but I dare you not to buy something. In fact it's like a Pringle, I dare you to just buy ONE thing.



Bare Naked Ladies

Haha. It's not what you think. The group, not the the exotic male fantasy. But let's watch my Hit statistics soar on this post!

If I had 1,000,000 we would absolutely still eat Kraft dinners. We are both cheap that way. The girl would prefer to call it frugal, but let's be honest cheap is as cheap does.

And I would like to state for the record, some things are worth the price. Take pillows for example. She scoffs at me because I will pay $80 for one pillow. I'm not gonna lie, it wasn't easy, but I don't spend more time in the day in any single other place; it should be comfortable.

She on the other hand would rather spend 12.99 on a pillow. And then buy 5 pillows. This is great if there's the possibility of a sleep over or orgy breaking out, but at our age I suspect neither one is highly likely. One good quality pillow should suffice.

So what happens apparently is she gets to pile four pillows on top of each other  in an effort to create one usable pillow while I get the one  flattened extra one, which by the way, is not unlike sleeping on the bare naked mattress.

Now she will read this and say' "HEY, you make me sound like ________________." (I'm not sure how she will fill in the blank this time) She will then follow that proudly with, "And I did NOT spend $12.99 on any pillow! I bought them at the Dollar Store."

Baby, if you can spend $80 on a bike seat the least you can do is spend as much on a pillow. Wait, what am I saying I bought the bike seat too.

Hi Sweetie, I love you.

Life Slows

This is for Her; of course it's a recurring theme, like carp.

                                      This is a ditty 'bout how the grass grows

                                      Tough and random, not careful laid rows

                                      Bluegrass, fescue, whichever you chose

                                      Dew clinging loosely, licks at my toes

                                      A wafting spring scent, whenever she mows

                                      A soft summer playground for jays and the crows

                                      Midnight snack for the bunnies and does

                                      Natural stage for backyard shows

                                      A scrapbook filled with young superbowl throws

                                      The subject for many a poet and prose

                                      Listen real careful, you can hear as wind blows

                                      Catching your tears in the midst of your woes

                                      A mat for meditation...your heartbeat slows

                                      Supporting young love even as they propose

                                      Flashback of all the highs and the lows

                                      I believe that's how the story goes,

                                      But I'm not really sure anyone knows.

                                                                                                                yv