Here's what happened

I'm not a wine person. Everyone knows I have a weakness for orange juice laced with vodka. And now that they started putting fruity flavors in vodka a whole new world has opened up to me but I digress. Let me explain the wine bottle and the events that followed.
I was baking yesterday, applesauce cake. It's an old family recipe. Quite a few of our ancestors didn't bother to write their recipes down on a little recipe card, I suppose they just thought we would channel the ingredients and amount from the great beyond. My mom managed to get the 'Christmas Applesauce Cake' recipe from my grandma and most of it is clear. Except for the vague ingredient 'small glass of red wine'.
Year after year I make the said cake because mom gave up on it, she really doesn't like baking and throws rolling pins across the kitchen if she tries to make cut-out cookies. Every year I buy a bottle of cheap red wine with a screw off top. So you can imagine my surprise when I tore off the foil wrap on my cheap red wine and found a cork. The pursuit of a cork screw began.
One year the husband received a gift at work with a cork screw in it. It was in a lovely box and also had a bottle topper and a couple other things I have no idea what they are used for. I dusted off the box and grabbed the cork screw. There were several people in the house but I felt confident that I could screw that thing in the cork. Which I did. The problem, yes we finally got there, I couldn't pull the cork out. After about five minutes of swearing and being totally ignored by the people in the next room, I gave up.
I took the bottle to the husband and ask,
"Did I put this thing in right?"
Without speaking he took the bottle from me. I didn't want to give up the bottle because I knew he'd try to open it while sitting on my couch but it all happened so fast. While he inspected, I looked up at Boy #2 and Boy #3, who were putting up the Christmas tree and trying to get the amazing invention of a pre-lit Christmas tree to, you know, light up. That's when I heard the glass break.
"Give me the bottle before you spill cheap red wine on my couch."
"I have glass in my hand. There is a shard of glass in my hand. I need my glasses and a flashlight."
This is when the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse got up, grabbed his hand and took the shard of glass out before the husband could ask for a band aid.
"Give me the bottle before you spill cheap red wine on my couch."
I went back to the kitchen followed by the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse who told me,
"I'm a wine drinker now."
I responded,
"Really? Grandma and Aunt Erv are going to be so happy."
My mom and my sister-in-law are avid wine drinkers. That's why I took the picture of the mutilated cheap red wine bottle with a happy smiling snowman head, to ease their pain. So I asked the almost daughter-in-law slash nurse if she would like a glass of wine. I'm not going to dump the whole bottle into 'Christmas Applesauce Cake' it only needs a 'small glass of red wine', she said,
"Let me just taste it first."
As I turned to get a juice glass out of the cupboard I bumped into Boy #3 who asked,
"Can I have my very first taste of wine ever mom?"
We gave him a 'OMG you are only 20 years old' fake surprised look and I got two juice glasses. I poured them each a glass. They both decided they were wine connoisseurs, they held their juice glasses up and swished it around, brought them to their noses and smelled the wine, took a sip and spit the cheap red wine into my kitchen sink. My kitchen sink!
"Get the hell out of my kitchen. I'm stressed. Holiday stress has sunk in. Get your fathers credit card and order Sunday dinner, I'm not cooking for you people."

Secret Santa. It was my idea, so I'm in charge.

My family is doing a Secret (I will use that term loosely) Santa gift exchange this year. Mom and Dad, Erv and his family and my crew decided to pick names out of one of mom's bread baskets when we had a family dinner early in October.
The idea being that Christmas has basically become a gift card exchange. Pretty much we give each other a gift card and say,
"Go get yourself something nice."
My brilliant and economically sound idea was to just buy for one person, spend $50, write your name and at least three things you want and keep it secret. We all wrote from the same pad of paper and I made a rule to not put down gift cards.
Before we left the dinner table just about everyone knew who had who. My niece folded the corner of her piece of paper, I yelled out "I thought I said no gift cards." Erv looked at his paper and said,
"I don't know what any of this stuff is. Is this English?"
That was a give away that he picked Boy #3's name. The geek, and we are not sure what language he speaks. He has had to provide a picture and a two paragraph explanation of each item on his list to me since he was about twelve. I could tell Erv wanted to put his name back in the basket. I looked at Boy #2 and his girlfriend, they were showing each other the names they picked and then they looked at me. My dad is a stickler for rules and stuck to them saying he wasn't going to tell anyone who he had. He put his name in his pocket and avoided eye contact with mom. A tell tale sign that he picked her. Had he picked anyone else she would have been given the name because dad don't shop.
The Secret Santa drama continued for a few more minutes and then we did the dishes. Time will tell if my money saving, brilliant plan will work. I think everyone is happy to cut down on the Christmas present spending. The secret part blew out the window immediately which isn't a surprise because no one ever listens to me anyway. I'm still in charge though.

Here's how it happened.....the phenomenon

It all started in the garage. The husband and Boy #3 were cleaning in there. Yes I know, cleaning the garage, it's one of those jobs that is more like a punishment. But they were just cleaning it for the hell of it. That's what they tell me anyway. I know it's because they can't find stuff when they are reconstructing my house.
So you can imagine my surprise when I saw a bag of rock salt next to the front door. And when I took a look see in the garage I saw the sn, sn....I can't say it, shovels neatly stacked in the front corner. Three of them, one for each kid, that's how it works, don't let anyone tell you different.
In addition to this all of my sweaters are out of the cedar chest, washed, dried and hanging in my closet. We are prepared. This is very scary for our house full of procrastinators.
Usually the first time the steps are iced over this conversation ensues:
"Did we have any rock salt left over from last year?"
"Can't remember."
"Have you seen any half filled bags of rock salt down there?"
"Don't think so."
"Well the next time one of us is out we need to pick up a bag."
"K."
"Are you listening to me?"
"Huh?"
The first time the driveway needs to be shoveled this is the conversation I have with the shovelers, which has dwindled down to one this year:
"Are the shovels in the shed?"
"Can't we just buy a sn.....?"
"Shovels. Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"You have to find them and start shoveling. I'd help but I have a bad back. And when your father and I made a list of the Pros and Cons of having children, shoveling was like third on the list of Pros. Don't make me regret our decision, get out there."
And when it gets cold, I put off dragging my sweaters out of the cedar chest. So I wear my gray hoodie every single day of the week, people start to talk. The phenomenon is that we are, as far as we are concerned, prepared for the winter season. The only explanation for this is that we will have a very light winter. Your welcome Northeast Ohioans.
There is another plausible scenario and that is that while watching the squirrels scoop up and hide a bumper crop of acorns, more than I can ever remember falling in our yard, they, the squirrels, have sent us telepathic winter warnings while running back and forth across our roof.
Time will tell.

It was probably a bad idea

In 1995 the husband and I went to see the movie Outbreak. This was my idea because I had heard an interview and review of the movie on the radio and thought it would be a nice movie and dinner date. But it was not to be. The movie freaked me out, I let it mess with my head and afterward at dinner I couldn't even eat. All I could think about was getting home and locking all the doors while armed with a can of Lysol. Eventually I calmed down to my normal germaphobe state of mind and even made some jokes about global killing germs.

This past Thursday the husband was watching football and I had a head pounding sinus headache. So I tucked myself in bed and watched a movie. Guess what I watched? Contagion. Because I'm a moron. This movie didn't freak me out but I did wake up sick and have remained sick through the weekend and still today. 

Hurricane Sandy saw to it that it rained everyday of last week, by Wednesday the dog was bouncing off the walls. She needed a walk so I took her both Thursday and Friday morning, in the rain. Yes we, the sissy dog that is afraid of rain and me the one with newly formed germs swirling around in my veins, walked in the rain. This is about three or four bad ideas already right?
 
I called my doctors office this morning, that hates me, my doctor doesn't hate me, the witches in the office however do not care if I live or die. My doctor is apparently 'booked up solid' the whole week. Which translates into 'we can't squeeze you in because that would involve extra work for us, we know we are in the health care profession but you sick people kind of throw off our day and we have stuff to do.' I was told to go to urgent care.

"Insert a string of profanity laced sentences here."

So now I sit and wait for my possible strep throat to mutant into a global catastrophic event. I, the host, plan to vote tomorrow come hell or high water or bubonic plague. So everyone watch out, I'm going out in public tomorrow and taking my germs with me.

Elevator Conversations

How the conversation actually went:
I stepped into the elevator on my way to my doctors office and pushed floor 3.
"The third floor? All the way to the top? What's up there?"
The old man who had pushed floor 2 smiled as he asked me. I responded,
"Girl stuff."
The elevator mercifully opened and he quickly stepped on to floor 2 shaking his head.
Hey he asked. I answered without elaboration.

How the conversation went in my head while I sat in the waiting room:
I stepped into the elevator on my way to my doctors office and pushed floor 3.
"The third floor? All the way to the top? What's up there?"
The old man who had pushed floor 2 smiled as he asked me. I responded in wide eyed disbelief,
"You don't know?"
And in turn the old mans eyes widened and said,
"Uhh no."
"Seriously? You're not fooling around with me are you?"
"No."
I looked at him and explained,
"I'm going to get my GPS chip inserted into my brain. Didn't you get your information packet?"
"Huh?"
I rolled my eyes and continued,
"Everyone is suppose to get a GPS chip in their brain. That way if you ever get kidnapped they'll be able to find you, no matter where you are, they will always know. It's just minor outpatient brain surgery. Actually they put it in the brain stem. They only have to shave a little bit of your hair and that will grow back but you'll still be able to see the tattoo."
"Tattoo?"
"You don't know about that either? They tattoo 666 on the back of your head."
"Who?"
"The global government. It's in it's early stages but should be in effect by 2015. You really should get up to speed on this, if you miss the deadline they put an extra 6 back there."
"Huh?"
"Hey? You're not one of those right wing Christian nut jobs are you, that think you're going to disappear and your clothes, jewelry and dental work will be piled neatly were you stood?"
The elevator mercifully opened and he quickly stepped on to floor 2 shaking his head.

See what happens when my words bottle up in my head? That elevator conversation will stay in my head unless someone really deserves it, like the man at the Cleveland Clinic. If I should ever run into that smart ass again, I'll try to make him pee his pants.

Sometimes life turns you into a different direction

Due to certain tragic events in my family I have lost my funny bone. I have no idea how long it will last. But this will give me a chance to work on some serious stuff and my novel. I will be writing to keep myself busy and will stay alert on the dog walks. I'll take notes and keep an eye on the neighborhood.
Until then my friends.

A new character in the Kookamongaville cast

The garbage man has managed to take a reoccurring role in the neighborhood drama I've created in my head. He is a Friday character as Friday morning is garbage day. My observations have revealed he is a real go-getter.
We live on a corner lot and he parks his garbage truck on the street next to the side of my house. This area is part of mine and the dogs route, nice guy, I wave to him every Friday morning. I can't speak to him unless I yell because the garbage truck is loud. And I never engage in conversation with anyone in the morning so I'm certainly not going to yell, just a friendly wave.
I'm sure this all sounds normal to you so far and it does to me too. Let's get to why I have classified him as a Kookamongaville character. It's the go-getter part that leads to his kookamonga tendencies. Apparently he has a certain start time but arrives early. Why does he arrive early? Well he has to apply his sunscreen. And then he has to do some stretching. Swear to God, hand on the bible he looks like he's getting ready for a football game. Running in place, loosening up his neck and swinging his arms around. This garbage man takes his job seriously and for that I admire him but he still fits well in my neighborhood.
The pajama man gave me a hearty 'Good Morning" last week which makes me think that he probably has a few good years left in him. We haven't been able to get to his street this week because there is a new dog walker that keeps getting in my way. He started down the pajama mans street and with it being a culdesac I didn't want to get trapped with our dogs barking at each other. And I prefer my arms in their sockets.
The Russian woman has me slightly concerned. I've mentioned before that she slowly swims laps around the perimeter of the pool non-stop, but I also run into her about once a week on the morning walk. I don't know if all Russians are taught to march before they learn to walk and it's a hard habit to break once you've reached the free world but she is a marcher. And this week she caused my eyebrows to rise. Dressed in a blue dress with a magenta sweater, tennis shoes and socks, she was marching around my beloved, now closed, pools parking lot. Her arms bent at her elbows moving back and forth in unison. She had her big sunglasses on and a baseball cap slightly a skewed and resting on her shades. She said good morning in her thick Russian accent. I could barely see her face, she's up to something. I will continue to keep an eye on her and eventually work up the nerve to ask her to say, 'moose and squirrel'.
So the garbage man has a guest roll in the on going neighborhood mayhem. Welcome garbage man, you crazy bastard.

She's a smart dog

A couple weeks ago the condominium people behind my house placed two Pet Waste Stations in their little condo sanctuary. The dog and I walk back there most mornings and I took note every time we past them. I told the dog,
"You know I have to blog about these eventually, right?"
There are instructions with pictures as to how to dispose of dog poop. I've seen these Pet Waste Stations before so it isn't just the condo people that are assumed stupid, it's the whole world.
This morning we past the first one and I decided I couldn't pass by the next, I had to take a picture and it was going to be today. Taking pictures of Pet Waste Stations and all the other strange things I see in the world don't phase me anymore. If someone looks at me weird I just tell them
"I'm a blogger."
They look at me with uncertainty and then look away. So I got my phone ready, because it takes me a while to find the right buttons to take a picture, especially when I only have one hand free.

With the phone in camera mode I started to center the Pet Waste Station in the view finder when I noticed the dog. I could not believe what I was seeing and could not believe that I got a picture of it. She was taking the Pet Waste Station seriously. So the picture is a little out of focus because I was laughing, to myself I didn't let her see.
I now have first hand experience with Pet Waste Stations and I can tell you that it's great to have some where to quickly dispose of a bag of poop. I do have one complaint. The bags that are provided are similar to those in the produce section at the grocery store and we all know how hard it is to open them. I'm still going to bring my own bag on our walks.
 

How much does a taser cost?

The early morning dog walking routine isn't working the way I had envisioned. I thought it would be the bright and sunny start of my day. The dog and I would stroll through the neighborhood, I would clear my head and ponder the day ahead of me. Instead terror lurks around every corner.

There are only certain streets we can walk on, the rest have been deemed unsafe. Because those streets have loose dogs. What can get your heart racing faster than a Chinese Badminton Olympian hell bent on loosing? A loose dog running out from behind it's house and heading straight for you. I've ruled out carrying pepper spray because it might get my dog too, so now I want a taser. Do you have to go to a special school to carry a taser? Do I have to get a permit? I'll look into it before I start tasering loose dogs. But taser them I will, if permitted.

Also I have to be ever vigilant for the fear of running into a bunny or a deer. They may seem harmless to you but the deer cross the street and never look both ways. Therefore crossing our path and putting the dog into hunt and kill mode. Same with the bunnies, if the dog sees one before I do, I will be caught off guard and she will literally take off after it and if she could, take my arm with her.

Then last week there was a new development on the pajama mans street. We save that street for the end of the week because it has the most promise for mayhem. It's definitely not a street for a Monday morning when I think I'm going to think of something brilliant to write. It's more of a Friday street, when I'm thinking of my grocery list. We made it past the pajama mans house without incident. Up ahead a few houses as we were walking the dogs ears perked up, she slowed her pace to cautious steps and she looked at it, and so did I.
Unable to make out anything but a silhouette, we saw an ominous form sitting near a mailbox. I could see what had to be pointed ears, they twitched first the right then the left and they were too for away from each other to be a cat. Unless it was a cougar, but the rest of the body did not fit a cougars physique. So I came to the conclusion it was some unknown species that escaped from a secret government facility and we slowly turned around, headed home looking over my shoulder every 10 seconds as we walked. The creature made no move. 
We made it home safely that day. But I feel that I should be armed with more than my cell phone and a plastic poop bag for our walks. How much do tasers cost and can I get them on eBay?

It's time to talk about what goes on in the bathroom?

I beg to differ. I don't think there's ever going to be a time to discuss, with total strangers, what goes on in the bathroom. But apparently toilet paper commercials do think it's time. I don't need to see cartoon bears with toilet paper pieces stuck to their butts. How do we even know if they use toilet paper. I highly doubt it, especially since we are not even sure if a bear actually does $h!t in the woods.
Is the toilet paper commercial subliminally using the saying, 'Does a bear $h!t in the woods?' By using bears in the woods in their commercials? You would have to admit that is a little clever. But a momma bear holding up a pair of underoos to inspect....
STOP!
Bring back Mr. Whipple.
He brought dignity to toilet paper commercials and never actually let on what toilet paper was for because we all knew. Just tell us it's 2-ply and soft, that's all we need to know. Listen to me toilet paper companies and listen good. I will not buy your toilet paper if you refer to railroad tracks, ever.

I figured out the Olympics

I figured out their crazy commercial system they have going on. No one had to explain it to me although it's probably common knowledge. I'd sit down to watch TV and of course nothing is on except the Olympics, so I decide to watch. Switching to the Olympic channel there is a commercial on and then another. I think I sat through 27 commercials before I saw an Olympic event.
Okay, alright, here we go, I'm watching the 2012 Olympics. I took a sip of my Pepsi and reclined in my chair. We were in the track and field area and I was hoping I'd get to see some big guys throwing stuff. But no they were getting ready to show us a race, the 100 yard dash. That's what I call it because I refuse to conform to the metric system like the rest of the world and I'm rock solid on this issue because math is hard.
Obviously the object of the 100 yard dash is to win in the least amount of seconds and milli-seconds as possible. The race is really, really fast so I ask myself, 'what will they show us next?'
A commercial.
A commercial? Hey! I just watched 238 commercials, 15 seconds of the Olympics and you're going to show me more commercials? I don't think so. I debated whether I wanted to get out the LOST DVD's, all 6 seasons, I've been saving them for a rainy day. It would be fun to watch from the beginning now that I know the secrets of the smoke monster. The problem is it just won't rain. I ended up on FaceBook.
I tried watching again a few days later, Men's Volleyball, I wrote about it here. We, the husband and I tried to figure out, well I express some interest in the game, the husband had his finger on the remotes 'change the channel' button. I realized as the game progressed there were no commercials.
Doh!
The network has to get so many commercials in during the airing of the Olympics. So race, commercial, race, commercial, vault, commercial, balance beam, commercial and then an entire game of volleyball. See how that works? I guess it makes sense but I'm not going to sit through 549 commercials unless Jesus is giving a speech.

I sat on a bee

There are a few childhood trauma's I can think of that have stayed with me throughout the years. Getting lost is one because I got lost when I was a kid and the whole neighborhood was looking for me. They found me.
The dramatic incident that still freaks me out to this very day is when I stepped on a bee's nest. It is all somewhat of a blur, I just remember running in my red cowgirl boots. I had seen the cartoons, so I knew a funnel shaped cloud of angry bees was right behind me. There was a bee in my boot but I kept running towards the safety of my house. I'm sure I was screaming and I have no idea what happened to the kids I was playing with. I scared the crap out of my parents and grama as I reached the door, letting in a couple bees with me. 
Bees freak me out. Not so much seeing them, I can swish them away with my hands, that doesn't bother me. But getting stung is another story. Perhaps it's because it's such a shock that the memory comes flying back to the front of my brain. Out of no where instant pain. A violation of my space, the bastards.
Friday the husband, Boy #3 and I went to pick out flooring for the renovation of Boy #3's downstairs bedroom. He's been waiting for this room for years but had to wait for his two older brothers to move out. The joy on his face as being the last bird in the nest is bright enough to light up the deep dark depths of a coal mine. Back to me. We used two cars to load up this stuff so of course my doors were open for a while. Once loaded, I jumped in my car like I always do and I felt a pinch on my thigh, not my butt. It intensified and I freaked out as the husband and Boy #3 watched.
Their brows furrowed as I stood in the parking lot holding the back of my thigh, crying and swiping away invisible bees that I was sure were swarming around me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
That's all I got from them until I told them I sat on a bee. The husband tried to look concerned and Boy #3 checked the inside of my car. He told me it was clear and said,
"Get home and take some Benedryl, I'll be right behind you."
One of the longest 7 mile trips I ever drove. I drive a stick so there's a lot of movement involved in driving. I could feel the bees venom seeping into my veins. I didn't even know if the stinger was out. The last time I got stung I couldn't take the stinger out, the husband had to do it. So I cried some more.
By the time I got home I was convinced I was going to loose my leg. The boy was right behind me just like he said he would be. But I had to wait for the husband, who adheres to the speed limit, to inspect what I was sure to be a gaping wound on the back of my leg.
"I don't see a stinger."
"Are you sure?"
"It's just red and swelling. Did you take Benedryl?"
"Yes."
He smiled a little, he knew I'd be whacked out on the couch soon.
"Put some baking soda on it and calm down."
He left me there and couldn't help thinking about that day my mom took my red cowgirl boot off and a bee flew out. I clinged to her as my grama chased the bee with a rolled up newspaper. She smacked the crap out of it, knowing I wouldn't relax unless I knew it was dead. And then they both, my mom and my grama fussed over me, covering me in baking soda goop. I guess part of my paranoia is knowing I have to take care of myself. I guess I miss being a little girl running around in red cowgirl boots.

A head clearing, light hearted stroll

First of all somebody tell this dog that our early morning walks are suppose to be head clearing, light hearted strolls. Yesterday she took off after another bunny, whereby yanking my arm almost out of it's socket yet again. This time I wasn't able to hold on and the dog became perplexed. Maybe it was the words coming out of my mouth so early in the morning or she really loves me and would rather stay with me then kill. It's hard to say but she didn't make me chase her through the neighborhood and for that I'm grateful. I do fear though, the next bunny we encounter may be when she finally rips off my arm.
And I thought my neighbors and I had an unspoken early morning, dog walking schedule, apparently not. The 9:30 walker was right in front of my house at my scheduled time of 7:30 and all hell broke loose. The dog has her favorites in the development, like her boyfriend next door. He escapes regularly to visit her and pee on our bushes. I think it's a sign of affection when he hikes his leg up and leaves her something to remember him by.
But he was part of the mayhem outside my door this morning. An unscheduled dog walker with one of my dogs arch rivals, in front of my house and an escapee trying to impress her by boldly jumping up the steps to wiz on my flower pots. She didn't know what to do, caught between emotions and all. On one paw she had to bark to defend her territory, she couldn't show weakness but I could tell she really wanted to take a whiff of those flower pots.
This is all happening and I'm barely awake. We waited on the steps for the unscheduled one to pass by and the barking from both sides ended. Then we herded Romeo back to his yard, secured him inside his fence and continued what we started, a head clearing, light hearted stroll.

I'm probabaly not going to let this end of the world thing go anytime soon.

I've figured out what's going on with this drought. It's all part of the events that lead up to the end of the world. If you will notice your lawn and the affect the drought has had on it, you'll smack yourself in the head and say, "Doh" too.
The lack of rain and the drying up of our lawns has made the earth start to recede from the edges of the sidewalks, driveways and streets. Some parts of earth are starting to form cracks, the jagged ones you see on TV. Obviously this is the start of the earth breaking up and swallowing mailboxes first, then cars, houses and finally large buildings. The 'step on a crack and break your mothers back' saying from when we were kids takes on a whole new scary meaning here. Stay away from the cracks!
I'm not sure where the Zombies fit into the earth swallowing everyone up, perhaps they will be roaming the earth before it is destroyed and fall in the cracks with the rest of you. And if you were wondering in case of Rapture, yes you can have my fries.

A Chapter from the Poolside Chronicles

"You should probably put on sunscreen."
And she didn't even take her nose out of her book. Get right on out of here. I heard this mom tell her kids at the pool and it warmed my heart. Those of you who read my blog regularly know I have pool/sunscreen issues. Here is a link to my rant last year about this time.
It just makes way too much sense to put the sunscreen on the children before you get to the pool especially the really young ones that can't do it themselves. But once they develop some motor skills they should be able to handle sunscreen. And this mom understands it. She told them once and if they chose to listen or not, so be it, burn kid I have to finish this chapter.
What we have here is a mom willing to let go just a little bit and let her children take on responsibility. She's not a helicopter mom, a hoverer of offspring. It's refreshing to see a mom indifferent to whether her kids gets sunburn. And I'm guessing her kids are quick learners because they took her advice and used the sunscreen. Or she rules with an iron fist and they are scared of her. Either way she totally gets my need for some peace while poolside.

Garage Sale Hell

Well now my tan is uneven. Two days of sitting in my driveway with no shade, selling my wares has ruined all my hard work at the pool. I'm not basking in the glorious sun while poolside. I'm sweltering amongst my tables of household item, tools, old fish tanks and a Sega Video Council with 6 games for one low price of ten bucks. What a hoot. Somebody pinch me I think I've died and gone to heaven. But why is it so hot here? Huh. I must be in Garage Sale hell. 
Yes, that would be the way to describe it. I guess I shouldn't complain we've made $5.50 so far today. I can buy a Venti Mocha at Starbucks with that kind of cash and leave a tip. The glass is half full.
By popping up that Garage Sale sign I've also left myself vulnerable to the kookamonga neighbors. I'm a sitting duck. We just had a lady here that instead of parking her car on the side of the road, which is Garage Sale protocol, she decided to pull into the driveway. Normally a car fits in a driveway, it's what they are for. But as I said earlier we have tables full of crap on each side. She thought, well maybe she didn't really put much thought into browsing while still in her car. She just did it. And she drove into our fish tank. Doh. This is a Garage Sale without a drive-thru. I don't know what she's use to in her own little world but I'm pretty sure my Home Owner Association forbids drive-thru windows.
Shortly after that woman a couple stopped by to shop and they spoke in another language while discussing the items on one of the tables. If you stop by my Garage Sale speak English the whole time you are here not just when you want to know if I'll take 10 cents for something that is priced 25 cents. And what do you want that pocket knife for anyway, you know they aren't going to let you on a plane with it.
Garage Sales make me cranky.

When Deer Attack

They don't do that do they? Just the other day my mom asked me if I see any deer out on mine and the dogs morning walks.
"No mom, never see any in the morning. They walk the streets at night but stay in the woods during the day."
And when I say they walk the streets at night, I mean it. If I'm out on a bike ride at dusk Deer Crossing takes on a whole new meaning. Several times I've had to slam on my brakes because deer have decided to run across the road. And they don't look both ways.
You can imagine my surprise when out on our walk this morning I saw a deer. I cursed, really bad words because I know the dog doesn't like the deer. I've been paying attention more during our walks ever since the bunny chasing incident. But I do have my daydreaming to think about, it's an important part of my morning.
Every time I've turned a corner this summer a new threat arises. The kookamonga list is growing and I'm constantly on guard. So again I'll ask, if a dog gets close to a deer and starts barking does the deer run in fear or attack? If I survive a deer attack imagine the blog post I'll get from that.

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The neighborhood is slowly spiraling out of control

I don't think anyone has notice the subtle yet alarming signs that the neighborhood is loosing its grip on reality. Either they do not have the astute sense of awareness that I do or I need to get out more. I've lived in this development for 19 years, have been poolside every summer and never have a couple of ducks landed in a crowded pool for a swim.

I took my face out of the book I'm reading to help make me a more better writer and saw the second one land. Since I see old men walking down the road in pajamas, people carrying canoes on the sidewalk, mailboxes being slaughtered and my neighbors partying in their boat that is still parked in the driveway, swimming with ducks shouldn't surprise me. But like a good blogger I got up and said,

"Well I better take a picture of this."

They are hard to see because I couldn't see the screen on my phone. I had to crop out my fingers and I circled them in red but for some reason the red circle is not showing up. But that's them by the second black line in the pool and yes that's a kid underwater swimming towards them but he's not in a pool of blood it's the blur of one of my fingers.

 

The dog's trying to kill me

"The dog's trying to kill me."
These are the first words the husband hears when he wakes up this morning. From me in the shower as he enters the bathroom. Because something as serious as this can be said before coffee. Not much can be said before someone rolls out of bed and hasn't even approached the coffee maker but the dog is trying to kill me. I saw no problem in breaking protocol. He responded,
"Okay."
He knows that I know that he knows I'm going to tell him what happened no matter what he said so he kept it simple. I knew the dog was outside of the bathroom door listening but didn't care. I began to tell him about my morning.
Forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to rouse me from my slumber the dog jumped up on the bed. This woke up me and my bladder. I laid there thinking that maybe I could just fall back to sleep. The dog found a comfortable spot, half of my pillow, and waited for the alarm while I drifted off. Unfortunately someone dared walk past our house, ears perked, low growl, the dog took off to the living room using my stomach as her jumping point. I've never been punched in the stomach before but I kind of have the gist of what it might feel like now. I then had to get up to pee.
I didn't fall back to sleep but I was pissed so I made the dog wait until my radio went off. This is her cue to start the "we're going on a walk" dance. Our walks are a time for me to put my day together, think out loud with the dog as my sounding board. She doesn't listen to me because she has to sniff everything. But at least it looks like I'm talking to someone, not just wandering the neighborhood talking to myself. We have a few different routes we take in the morning and this morning we went off the beaten path, because that's the way we roll, and walked around the tennis court, by the pool and the woods.
I had my walking flip flops on because its June and I won't put a sock on until sometime in September maybe. We rounded the corner and she saw it before I did. A bunny. They must be an easy prey because to really likes to chase them with vengeance. She caught one a few weeks ago and now has the taste for bunny blood coursing through her veins. I, on the other hand, have no desire to chase bunnies.
What started out as a lack of communication ended up with my arm yanked so hard from the leash that my feet flew out from under me. I landed on my left side and was dragged about a foot on the moist, from the early morning dew, grass. I don't know how I managed to keep hold of the leash as the dog continued to yank trying to get into the woods to hunt her some wabbits.
After the initial shock, I regained my senses and stood up. That was a good sign, being able to stand. I got the dog under control and away from the woods. Also a good sign, I could walk. I ruled out the emergency room on our way home. Everything on my left side hurts but I don't think I have a torn rotator cuff or will need Tommy John surgery.
At some point during the retelling of my morning the husband had snuck out of the bathroom and I was in the shower talking to myself. When I walked out he asked,
"So are you okay?"
"No. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Sure."
"Okay, just let me go Spray and Wash the grass stains on my jeans and hoodie and I'll be right back."
As the day goes by the left side of me becomes sore and stiff. You just don't fall down like that and bounce back after a certain age. So far the dog and I have been getting along, we are just staying out of each others way. But I am avoiding going near the steps.

FaceBook, What's for dinner?

I'm cranky today.
Swear to God, hand on the bible, if one more person on FaceBook posts what they are having for dinner I'm unfriending them. Unless they are one of my CastleVille neighbors, then I have to put up with it because I need five more people to recruit for the crew in my Royal Manor. But the rest of you......
I really don't give a flying rats ass what someone is having for dinner. It's all they post, 
"Chicken and mashed potato's with a salad tonight yummy."
That is the extent of their post. Who the hell cares? Bring me a plate and then maybe I'll click the like button. But if that's all you have to write just stop yourself and go eat. And yes Mr. Spell Check I am quite aware the word unfriending perplexes you but in the FaceBook community it is an empty threat used often.
I'm really glad I got that off my chest, it's been bothering me for some time. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go amerce myself in the wonderfully aggravating world of Search Engine Optimization. Yes I am building a website and would like it to been seen not just sit in cyberspace. It isn't launched yet but I will shamelessly plug in now, www.tapettreasures.com.
And if anyone is interested as what I plan for dinner tonight, it will be Ho Ho's and Pepsi, yummy.