Ok, so last night was fun on a few different levels.
The Business of Being Born was actually a cool movie - I thought it was incredibly thought provoking. I know it's old news, but it really is amazing how much of the world is run by money, profit, etc. Wow. If I ever had a kid, I'd probably go with a midwife.
We also saw a lot of boobs and vaginas. Which would normally thrill my husband to bits, but these were birthing boobs and vaginas. So it was not so much of a turn-on for him. Or maybe it was. But I don't want to know about that particular fetish...
When I got home from work last night with my lovely Byerly's fresh caught Norwegian salmon filets (ha ha), I ran a load of laundry down to the laundry room. As I was walking back up the stairs, I saw a boxelder bug. Now, for most people, this would not be a cause for concern. But for me, it was. I should probably fill you in on the back story here.
Last Saturday, my husband was mowing the lawn. Our windows were open, and I heard him shut off the lawn mower. I got up and looked out the window, and saw him inspecting one of the trees in our backyard. Then he started the lawnmower up again, and finished the yard. I thought nothing of it. When he came in the house, the following conversation took place:
Hubby: Hey - do we have fire ants in Minnesota?
Me: What? Fire ants? I don't think so.
Hubby: Maybe you should google it.
Me: I don't have to google it. There are no fire ants this far north.
Hubby: Well, you have to come see something. Put a bra and some shoes on.
Me: Is this "something" possibly fire ant-related? I don't want to go see "something."
Hubby: And make sure your shoes are close-toed, just in case. No flip-flops.
Ok, so I slap on a bra (I like to let the girls loose on the weekends), and throw on a pair of crappy old tennis shoes. We head out to the backyard and I can see from quite some distance away that my littlest maple tree is bleeding. Huh. Isn't this something you would call the Vatican about? My tree is weeping bloody tears? Anyway, as we get closer, I see that every square inch of the surface of that tree is covered in bugs. Little red bugs. And they are all over the ground. I swear to God, there were thousands of them. I swiftly removed myself from the bug-infested out-of-doors, and went upstairs to google whatever the hell those things were. We quickly ascertained that they were, in fact, baby boxelder bugs. And we needed to murder them. Because if we didn't kill them now, they would get bigger and move into my house for the winter. And even though you might not see the boxelder bugs in your house (or in your attic, or in your siding, etc), you would definitely smell them when they died. Especially if all 15,000 of them moved in. So we decided we'd run sometime in the next day or two and get some bug spray or whatever kills these things.
Fast forward to last night. Boxelder bugs had been forgotten. We bought bug spray at Target a couple of nights ago, but never got around to using it. We got caught up in the rat race of life, man. Anyway, I saw a boxelder bug on the way up the stairs, and then I saw two more in the dining room. Huh. So when my husband got home from work, we decided it was time to kill them. So we read the directions, and hooked the hose up to some kind of nozzle-y thing on the bottle, etc. We walk to the back of the house, and the tree that had previously been covered in bugs was now standing there, bug free. Mocking us. Where the hell did all the bugs go? Then we turned to face the back of our house.
Oh. There they are. Oh, and look - it seems as though they've multiplied! Goody.
We couldn't figure out if the spray was safe to use on siding, but we sprayed the hell out of it anyway. I was expecting to hear hissing sounds coming from each individual bug, as it writhed in pain and agony. But nothing happened. They stopped moving while they were being sprayed, but as soon as the water went away, they carried on as usual. Very anti-climactic.
So tonight when I get home, I'm heading out to the backyard to (hopefully) see the bloody carnage. If not, I've decided it's my husband's problem. I can't possibly be bothered with pest control. Not when I have SO MUCH going on. I mean, this little bug-killing episode last night cut into like half an hour I could have spent doing laundry or cleaning or cooking dinner or whatever it is that good little wives do for their husbands.
Really it just cut into primo wine-drinking time. And damn it, I likes my wine-drinking time!
Anyhoo, after we sprayed our bug farm, I made delicious salmon and salad for dinner and then we watched boobs and vaginas and placentas and amniotic fluid spurts. T'was the perfect end to a perfect evening.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Also...
WTF is wrong with Martha Stewart? These are just way too f-ing weird...
http://www.marthastewart.com/photogallery/baby-costumes?&lpgStart=1¤tslide=1¤tChapter=1#ms-global-breadcrumbs
http://www.marthastewart.com/photogallery/baby-costumes?&lpgStart=1¤tslide=1¤tChapter=1#ms-global-breadcrumbs
Grossing Him Out Is Fun
So my husband and I have Netflix, and I really enjoy torturing him with bad movies. A little background: we are a childless married couple who are in and/or nearing their 30's. We do not have the personality types required to enjoy watching a bunch of craptacular kids movies. We are not the people who go see "Up" as soon as it hits the theaters. We haven't seen any of the new kids movies. No Madagascar, no Cars, no Shrek 8.
So it's HILARIOUS to me when we get our new Netflix films and we cuddle up on the couch and pop it in the DVD player and suddenly you hear the theme song to "My Little Ponies." And I'm talking about the REAL "My Little Ponies", not some lame-ass "updated" version. Please take a moment to educate yourselves on the difference between the two types of children's entertainment. Go ahead - I'll wait.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QP_rIAkb_v8&feature=PlayList&p=8BE808ED30468C3D&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=50
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZpurerF2HM
Ok, do you get it now? See how lame and weiner-y they make the new "updated" kids shows? WTF?
But I digress. Back to me torturing my husband for fun. So tonight's going to be extra special. I rented "The Business of Being Born", the documentary flick starring Ricki Lake and her vagina. I can't wait. I'll fill eveyone in on it tomorrow. It should be pretty damned funny. I'm still trying to decide what to serve for dinner, which we will be enjoying while we watch the movie. Ha. Hahah. Any thoughts?
So it's HILARIOUS to me when we get our new Netflix films and we cuddle up on the couch and pop it in the DVD player and suddenly you hear the theme song to "My Little Ponies." And I'm talking about the REAL "My Little Ponies", not some lame-ass "updated" version. Please take a moment to educate yourselves on the difference between the two types of children's entertainment. Go ahead - I'll wait.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QP_rIAkb_v8&feature=PlayList&p=8BE808ED30468C3D&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=50
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ZpurerF2HM
Ok, do you get it now? See how lame and weiner-y they make the new "updated" kids shows? WTF?
But I digress. Back to me torturing my husband for fun. So tonight's going to be extra special. I rented "The Business of Being Born", the documentary flick starring Ricki Lake and her vagina. I can't wait. I'll fill eveyone in on it tomorrow. It should be pretty damned funny. I'm still trying to decide what to serve for dinner, which we will be enjoying while we watch the movie. Ha. Hahah. Any thoughts?
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
I'm a Helpful Person
I like helping people. So here are a few more public service announcements for the masses.
1) If anyone uses Clear Care contact lens solution, please believe it when the packaging tells you NOT TO GET IT IN YOUR EYES. They aren't kidding. I learned this the hard way yesterday morning. I had put my contacts in, but my right contact was bugging me. It was cloudy and weird, so I took it out to rinse it off. I mistakenly grabbed the Clear Care contact solution instead of my "regular" stuff. I rinsed off the lens, and put it back in my eye.
Oh, the pain.
Here's an excerpt from their website:
"Never rinse lenses with Clear Care prior to inserting lenses into your eyes. Clear Care is a powerful cleaning and disinfecting solution that will burn and sting your eyes unless neutralized properly. If you want to rinse lenses, use a sterile saline solution."
Let me put it this way: has anyone out there ever gotten sulphuric acid in their eyeball? No? Well, why don't you give Clear Care a try - I'm sure it's pretty much the same feeling. Of course, when you have acid eating through your cornea, your automatic reaction is to tightly shut your eye. In fact, your automated response to shut your eye is so strong, you really can't even pry it open with your own two hands, as much as you might want to. I tried for a good 30 seconds to pry my eye open, but it just wasn't working. (This was accompanied by stomping on the bathroom floor, running into the living room, falling on the floor and twitching around dramatically, whooping and hissing like a lunatic, and running back to the bathroom. Oh, and lots of cussing.) I was just about to follow through with my decision to just pluck my eyeball out of my head, when my eye cooperated with me and opened just enough to get the damned contact out. OMG. OMG. OMG it hurt. When the whole episode was over, I had mascara-tears all over my face, my eye was nearly swollen shut, and the white part of my eye was approximately the color of cherry jello.
So that's just a little helpful tip for you all.
2) When you get pulled over for going 72 in a 55, just be honest, and you won't get a ticket.
I got pulled over this morning on the way to work, in a city that is notorious for pulling folks over for the most petty infractions. There's like 1 cop to every 15 people in this city. Which should make you feel safe, but instead it just makes you feel harrassed. Plus, there is like NO crime there, so the cops really don't have much to do. (And yes, perhaps the low crime rate has some connection to the high police coverage, but whatever.) These cops just sit outside the grocery store and wait for someone to drive by with a broken tail light, or a tire that's a little low on air, or any drivers that appear to be under the age of 25. Then they pull you over and wait for "backup." Then two more cop cars show up, and they all converge on the poor sap that got pulled over. They all ask you different questions at the same time, which gets you all flustered, and then they ask why you're so nervous. Then you have to get out of the car while they run your license and stuff, because "you're so nervous you're making us nervous. Do you have something to be nervous about?" Whatever, dude. Just run my stupid frickin' license so I can get to work.
So anyway, I was driving to work today, keeping up with traffic (meaning I was speeding), when I saw a cop parked up the road, tagging people. I slowed down to the speed limit and drove past him. I thought I was in the clear. Nope. The guy swung out, put his lights on, and pulled me over. Me. There were 27 other people driving the same speed, but of course, he chooses me. So he walks up to my car and asks for my license and proof of insurance.
Cop: Do you know why I pulled you over?
Me: No.
Cop: Really? I clocked you doing 72 mph.
Me: Huh. I don't doubt that.
Cop: Do you know what the speed limit is on this road?
Me: Yes, it's 55.
Cop: So I pulled you over for speeding.
Me: Yeah, that makes sense.
Then, of course, I couldn't find any current proof of insurance in my wallet. I have proof of insurance dating back to 1998 in my wallet, but nothing current. Of course.
Cop: Did you have your seatbelt on the whole time, or did you just put it on when I pulled you over?
Me: I had it on the whole time.
Cop: You sure?
Me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure, since I never leave home without it.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm super weird about seatbelts. I always make people wear their seatbelts in my car. Mostly because if I got in an accident and my passenger went through the windshield, it would be really messy to clean up.
He took my license back to his car and did whatever cops do in their cars. It took like 10 minutes. I think he was taking an extra long time just to annoy me.
He finally came back and said he would let me go with a warning because I was honest. Honest about what, I'm not sure. Must have been the "Yeah, I probably was speeding" comment. Or maybe it was the fact that I complimented his shiny car when he gave me my license back. It was very shiny.
Anyway, there's your public service announcements for the day. Use them wisely.
1) If anyone uses Clear Care contact lens solution, please believe it when the packaging tells you NOT TO GET IT IN YOUR EYES. They aren't kidding. I learned this the hard way yesterday morning. I had put my contacts in, but my right contact was bugging me. It was cloudy and weird, so I took it out to rinse it off. I mistakenly grabbed the Clear Care contact solution instead of my "regular" stuff. I rinsed off the lens, and put it back in my eye.
Oh, the pain.
Here's an excerpt from their website:
"Never rinse lenses with Clear Care prior to inserting lenses into your eyes. Clear Care is a powerful cleaning and disinfecting solution that will burn and sting your eyes unless neutralized properly. If you want to rinse lenses, use a sterile saline solution."
Let me put it this way: has anyone out there ever gotten sulphuric acid in their eyeball? No? Well, why don't you give Clear Care a try - I'm sure it's pretty much the same feeling. Of course, when you have acid eating through your cornea, your automatic reaction is to tightly shut your eye. In fact, your automated response to shut your eye is so strong, you really can't even pry it open with your own two hands, as much as you might want to. I tried for a good 30 seconds to pry my eye open, but it just wasn't working. (This was accompanied by stomping on the bathroom floor, running into the living room, falling on the floor and twitching around dramatically, whooping and hissing like a lunatic, and running back to the bathroom. Oh, and lots of cussing.) I was just about to follow through with my decision to just pluck my eyeball out of my head, when my eye cooperated with me and opened just enough to get the damned contact out. OMG. OMG. OMG it hurt. When the whole episode was over, I had mascara-tears all over my face, my eye was nearly swollen shut, and the white part of my eye was approximately the color of cherry jello.
So that's just a little helpful tip for you all.
2) When you get pulled over for going 72 in a 55, just be honest, and you won't get a ticket.
I got pulled over this morning on the way to work, in a city that is notorious for pulling folks over for the most petty infractions. There's like 1 cop to every 15 people in this city. Which should make you feel safe, but instead it just makes you feel harrassed. Plus, there is like NO crime there, so the cops really don't have much to do. (And yes, perhaps the low crime rate has some connection to the high police coverage, but whatever.) These cops just sit outside the grocery store and wait for someone to drive by with a broken tail light, or a tire that's a little low on air, or any drivers that appear to be under the age of 25. Then they pull you over and wait for "backup." Then two more cop cars show up, and they all converge on the poor sap that got pulled over. They all ask you different questions at the same time, which gets you all flustered, and then they ask why you're so nervous. Then you have to get out of the car while they run your license and stuff, because "you're so nervous you're making us nervous. Do you have something to be nervous about?" Whatever, dude. Just run my stupid frickin' license so I can get to work.
So anyway, I was driving to work today, keeping up with traffic (meaning I was speeding), when I saw a cop parked up the road, tagging people. I slowed down to the speed limit and drove past him. I thought I was in the clear. Nope. The guy swung out, put his lights on, and pulled me over. Me. There were 27 other people driving the same speed, but of course, he chooses me. So he walks up to my car and asks for my license and proof of insurance.
Cop: Do you know why I pulled you over?
Me: No.
Cop: Really? I clocked you doing 72 mph.
Me: Huh. I don't doubt that.
Cop: Do you know what the speed limit is on this road?
Me: Yes, it's 55.
Cop: So I pulled you over for speeding.
Me: Yeah, that makes sense.
Then, of course, I couldn't find any current proof of insurance in my wallet. I have proof of insurance dating back to 1998 in my wallet, but nothing current. Of course.
Cop: Did you have your seatbelt on the whole time, or did you just put it on when I pulled you over?
Me: I had it on the whole time.
Cop: You sure?
Me: Yeah, I'm pretty sure, since I never leave home without it.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm super weird about seatbelts. I always make people wear their seatbelts in my car. Mostly because if I got in an accident and my passenger went through the windshield, it would be really messy to clean up.
He took my license back to his car and did whatever cops do in their cars. It took like 10 minutes. I think he was taking an extra long time just to annoy me.
He finally came back and said he would let me go with a warning because I was honest. Honest about what, I'm not sure. Must have been the "Yeah, I probably was speeding" comment. Or maybe it was the fact that I complimented his shiny car when he gave me my license back. It was very shiny.
Anyway, there's your public service announcements for the day. Use them wisely.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Interesting Nutrition Fact of the Day
Guess how much fiber an adult is supposed to consume per day?
25 - 30 grams
Guess how much fiber I ate last night for dinner?
55 - 70 grams
Guess what happens when you eat a lot of fiber?
You shit your brains out.
Guess what my day has been like so far?
Just a little public service announcement. You're welcome.
25 - 30 grams
Guess how much fiber I ate last night for dinner?
55 - 70 grams
Guess what happens when you eat a lot of fiber?
You shit your brains out.
Guess what my day has been like so far?
Just a little public service announcement. You're welcome.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Gobblers
Here is some additional content, as requested (ever so politely, might I add) by my sole follower. Nay, FAN. That's right, bitches, I have a fan.
Ok, so I am not a nature enthusiast. At all. It's dirty and germy. Too many bugs. Too much sunshine. Too many hazards. It's just downright dangerous. Therefore, I don't spend a lot of time in the out-of-doors. This, I believe, is the reason that I was unaware of the existence of the wild turkey until recently.
My first encounter with a wild turkey was last fall. I was at work, in a ground-level conference room with several large windows. I was bored out of my skull, so I thought I'd kill some time looking out the window and daydreaming about winning the lottery or some such thing. That's when I saw it: the ugliest bird I had ever seen in my whole life. (Aside from the one-legged female Mallard that lives in our backyard and appears to be the "crazy cat lady" of her species. But that's another story.) Anyhoo, there was a whole gaggle (flock? group? gang?) of these ugly-ass turkeys running around in front of the building. They freaked me out, with all their ugliness. I thought they might be a sign of Armageddon or some sort of demon spawn. I interrupted the meeting to have the following conversation:
Me: OMG, what the hell are those things?!?!
Co-Worker: Those are turkeys.
Me: OMG, did they fall off a truck or something?!?
CW: What?
Me: Did they fall off a truck? Where did they come from?
CW: Probably the woods.
Me: Shut up. Turkeys don't live in woods. They live on farms. Or something.
CW: Are you serious?
Me: Are you?
CW: Dude, those are wild turkeys. They live in the woods.
Me: Can you eat them?
CW: Probably.
Me: What do they eat in the woods?
CW: I don't know - probably berries or something.
Me: They're so ugly. They probably eat their young.
At this point, one of the turkeys began to jump up (very awkwardly) into the lower branches of a tree, in an attempt to grab one of the few remaining leaves.
Me: Yeah, their young, and leaves. I'll bet if they ate cranberries they'd taste better at Thanksgiving.
So this morning, on my drive in, I saw another gaggle of these freakish birds. They looked downright crazed. They were partially blocking the entrance to my parking lot, so I had to wait for the damn things to move. (Even though they are super ugly, I can't just run them down. I'm an animal lover, some might say. Especially when they're on my plate and covered in gravy.) So these crazed (and probably rabid) birds notice that I'm slowly inching my way toward them, trying to entice them to move along. Now, I haven't googled this or anything, so I'm not sure if this is a factual statement about wild turkeys as a whole, or if this just applied to the evil turkeys I met this morning, but: Turkeys will try to kill you if you invade their personal bubble. Literally kill you. These things went mental. The sound of dull pecking thuds on the front quarterpanel of my car. The flapping of hundreds, nay thousands, of ugly turkey wings. The weird squawky-clicky sound the leader of the pack was making, egging on the rest of the gaggle. Like the William Wallace of the Turkey Kingdom. I'll admit that I don't speak ugly turkey gobble, but I'm pretty sure he was saying "Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!" Or something to that effect. I finally edged my way into the parking lot, found a spot, turned off my car, and slowly raised my eyes to my rear-view mirror. Were they standing there, waiting for me to exit my vehicle? Would they peck my eyes out? Would it hurt, or would they make it quick? Damn, why am I wearing heels? I can't run in heels!
Turns out, they couldn't care less about me or my car. They'd moved on. They'd already forgotten about the attack. WTF? Maybe they were all male turkeys. Like the rage-a-holic kind that totally freak out on something and then move on and act like nothing happened. Because if they were chick turkeys, they would have held a grudge, plotted some sort of revenge strategy, and full-on assaulted me when I got out of my car. Not enough to kill me, but just enough to mess me up and make me "think" next time.
Turkeys are scary.
Ok, so I am not a nature enthusiast. At all. It's dirty and germy. Too many bugs. Too much sunshine. Too many hazards. It's just downright dangerous. Therefore, I don't spend a lot of time in the out-of-doors. This, I believe, is the reason that I was unaware of the existence of the wild turkey until recently.
My first encounter with a wild turkey was last fall. I was at work, in a ground-level conference room with several large windows. I was bored out of my skull, so I thought I'd kill some time looking out the window and daydreaming about winning the lottery or some such thing. That's when I saw it: the ugliest bird I had ever seen in my whole life. (Aside from the one-legged female Mallard that lives in our backyard and appears to be the "crazy cat lady" of her species. But that's another story.) Anyhoo, there was a whole gaggle (flock? group? gang?) of these ugly-ass turkeys running around in front of the building. They freaked me out, with all their ugliness. I thought they might be a sign of Armageddon or some sort of demon spawn. I interrupted the meeting to have the following conversation:
Me: OMG, what the hell are those things?!?!
Co-Worker: Those are turkeys.
Me: OMG, did they fall off a truck or something?!?
CW: What?
Me: Did they fall off a truck? Where did they come from?
CW: Probably the woods.
Me: Shut up. Turkeys don't live in woods. They live on farms. Or something.
CW: Are you serious?
Me: Are you?
CW: Dude, those are wild turkeys. They live in the woods.
Me: Can you eat them?
CW: Probably.
Me: What do they eat in the woods?
CW: I don't know - probably berries or something.
Me: They're so ugly. They probably eat their young.
At this point, one of the turkeys began to jump up (very awkwardly) into the lower branches of a tree, in an attempt to grab one of the few remaining leaves.
Me: Yeah, their young, and leaves. I'll bet if they ate cranberries they'd taste better at Thanksgiving.
So this morning, on my drive in, I saw another gaggle of these freakish birds. They looked downright crazed. They were partially blocking the entrance to my parking lot, so I had to wait for the damn things to move. (Even though they are super ugly, I can't just run them down. I'm an animal lover, some might say. Especially when they're on my plate and covered in gravy.) So these crazed (and probably rabid) birds notice that I'm slowly inching my way toward them, trying to entice them to move along. Now, I haven't googled this or anything, so I'm not sure if this is a factual statement about wild turkeys as a whole, or if this just applied to the evil turkeys I met this morning, but: Turkeys will try to kill you if you invade their personal bubble. Literally kill you. These things went mental. The sound of dull pecking thuds on the front quarterpanel of my car. The flapping of hundreds, nay thousands, of ugly turkey wings. The weird squawky-clicky sound the leader of the pack was making, egging on the rest of the gaggle. Like the William Wallace of the Turkey Kingdom. I'll admit that I don't speak ugly turkey gobble, but I'm pretty sure he was saying "Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!" Or something to that effect. I finally edged my way into the parking lot, found a spot, turned off my car, and slowly raised my eyes to my rear-view mirror. Were they standing there, waiting for me to exit my vehicle? Would they peck my eyes out? Would it hurt, or would they make it quick? Damn, why am I wearing heels? I can't run in heels!
Turns out, they couldn't care less about me or my car. They'd moved on. They'd already forgotten about the attack. WTF? Maybe they were all male turkeys. Like the rage-a-holic kind that totally freak out on something and then move on and act like nothing happened. Because if they were chick turkeys, they would have held a grudge, plotted some sort of revenge strategy, and full-on assaulted me when I got out of my car. Not enough to kill me, but just enough to mess me up and make me "think" next time.
Turkeys are scary.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Welcome to my blog...
...The place where I will chronicle all of the mundane, stupid, random things I encounter throughout the day. Yes, I am that self-important. Yes, you DO care that I just had a VegOut sandwich from Einstein Bagels. And that I just got out of a super boring meeting, just like hundreds of thousands of other people around the world. And that I couldn't think of anything clever for my URL address so I just wrote "Frozen Tampon Popsicle" because I like that scene from South Park Bigger, Badder and Uncut.
Oh, you care, people. You care...
Oh, you care, people. You care...
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