I’ve been MIA on my blog. Call it a case of not-having-much-to-say or not-finding-the-time, but I’m back now. So you can stop worrying and cancel the APB regarding my whereabouts.
My family and I spent 2 weeks out of town, road-tripping east and then south for a week in Florida. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Stay tuned.
Unsubscribing from emails is a lengthy, complex process. Well, it seems that way anyway. What takes so long for those companies to take me off their list? You can’t tell me that once I click that magical “unsubscribe” button, those unwanted subscription emails cannot be immediately halted? Scoff. Give me a break (and my inbox one as well).
Instead, I have to continue with a chaotic inbox for another month or longer, while, what?, the IT department sorts out the printed requests, alphabetizes them, scours them for bizarre personal email names, and then when they have had their laugh, they’ll approve my unsubscribing request? Note: my email name is very generic, nothing like candybarmama@xmail.com or anything of the ilk.
What’s worse? I did this! 1% off? Sign me up! Goat handbook? Sign me up! Roller Derby Association? Sign me up!
Those topics and discounts seemed grand at the time, but now?! I’m drowning in unwanted emails. Unsubscribe me, dammit! (cough) Please. I’m whisper-begging.
A while back I posted about an upcoming trip to Superior Wisconsin; a birthday jaunt where my twin sister and I were going to celebrate another year alive and well. The apogee (such a fun word meaning climax, peak, or the highest point – add it to your vocab and enjoy) would be reliving our 8th-grade versions of rollerskating at a legit rink (not my particle-board barn floor) called World of Wheels. Well, we did it.
We planned our birthday trip around Friday night adult skating. We figured that was the safest time for us to lace up 5-pound skates and wobble around the rink; no kids to run over or into. We were right.
What we, umm I, was wrong about was building up my confidence.
The DJ/semi-professional skater had a sign-up sheet for song requests. Meatloaf signed up and within the hour his vampire video and song were played. I skated and sang while my sister, who was on a break, watched, laughed, and inwardly (and outwardly) cringed at my antics.
At about the fifteenth or sixteenth time around, I had made the adjustments like a pro. My legs were slightly bent to make for better skating and my left foot took the lead on turns while my right foot completed slight wiggles to assist. My confidence was soaring, my hair was flowing breezily behind me, and my eyes weren’t trained on my skates. I was feeling so alive! So 8th-grader-like!
If our DJ had actual records, this next moment would have been a giant screech of music coming to a halt. Much like my body did. Hard impact.
No one can say for sure if my skates were faulty or if my wheels collided or if I was pushed. Well, we can actually eliminate being pushed, can’t we. That seems far-fetched at a skating rink.
What we know for certain is the sound my body made when it hit the floor, the position my body was in for a good twenty seconds before I “popped” up, and the amount of laughter that ensued after I went down. Besides my sister, one person asked if I was okay. As soon as Alicia said, “yes, she’s fine”, he burst into laughter. And it was funny; I was laughing, partly because falling is always funny, but more because I was so embarrassed. My god, roll me off the floor into a corner, please!
Instead, I drug myself up and off the rink, found a bench away from prying eyes, and nursed my wounds.
Bruise on my left knee, bruise and a giant skin burn on my right knee, and let’s not forget, a bruised ego. One giant bruise, COMING THROUGH PEOPLE!
We sat for a good ten minutes, laughing and reliving the “Fall heard and seen by all” and then resumed skating like nothing had happened. I mean, come on, Meatloaf would have gotten back on the horse in the name of love.
I don’t have any pictures of my wounds, but I do have one that encompasses how awesome this place was. The only video I shot was after my crash to the floor, and it was of Alicia, unscathed and upright. Not worth adding to the post – she would vote “nay” on that addition.
It definitely was a memorable event for our yearly trip. No guarantees we will carve out time for this on our next birthday party, but who knows? I’ve got skates here and time to practice my skills.
I still have one question though. What the hell wouldn’t Meatloaf do for love?
A turtle’s spine is straight up the center of its shell. Therefore, their shell is literally their backbone.
So when you drive over them, you’re pulling up to the oldest highrise in America, with its glittering, flickering letters spelling out A S S H O L E, the air thick with distaste, and the cloying smell of douchebag.
Don’t be a jerk, if you want to break a back, yo mama’s, step on the sidewalk cracks like everyone else.
Yelling “Let ‘er rip, tater chip” to your youngest son during a baseball game, while he is up to bat, is, once again, frowned upon.
Apparently, one should stick to “You got this!” and “Keep your eye on the ball!”, and “Good eye!”.
Frankly, baseball can be a pretty boring sport to watch, so sprucing it up with other choice phrases seems appropriate, but alas, I was wrong.
P.S. I’m the assistant coach, third base coach, statistician (bookkeeper), and dug-out mom. Personally, I feel with those credentials and my pay (nothing), I should be able to throw in (pun intended) a dash of delight here and there. No?
You know when the gnats and bugs are eating you alive, or at least torturing you with their incessant kamikaze attacks, flying into your nose and mouth, when you are trying to live some semblance of life outdoors? There is a lovely, cheap, homemade solution.
No longer does one need to keep their arm stretched in the air (like you just don’t care!) to attract the gnats, nor do they need to slap and swat, cover their face with clothing, or rattle off expletives like they are a sailor in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
No sirree Bob! Grab yourself a spray bottle, add in some vanilla (used for baking) along with water (it’s called diluting), and spray away.
Keep that bottle handy, spray everything you have, and begin your outdoor adventure.
Side note: I do not know if this remedy will keep away June bugs, but if it is July or August, or any other month but June, they won’t be out anyway.
And now you know.
Yesterday I spruced up a wicker rocker. It had been painted black a summer or two ago, been sat in and rocked a million times, was stored in the barn during winter, and now looked disheveled and half dead.
It needed a fresh paint job, but first, it needed a bath to get off the dirt, cat puke, and cobwebs.
The hose was handy, so I turned it on full blast and situated the chair a good 15 feet from the porch. The hose is one of those space saver kinds that shrinks when it is empty and expands when the water is on, which still doesn’t give you a strong blast and top speed, but we only needed to have some force to clean off the chair so it was going to have to do. I get busy and what do you know? Here comes a child. Apparently, a child cannot resist the sound of water coming out of a hose. She probably heard the squeak of the water spigot being turned on. “Can I do it?”
Ugh, there goes the job! The 10 minutes I’d take will now be at least 20 minutes, and someone will get wet. No doubt about that.
I let her, because A) she was helping! and if I turned her away, another offer from her would be slim to none, and 2) I knew she would have fun.
So I turn the hose over to her, she focuses on the chair, and is getting it relatively clean. Impressive. I see her focus the stream on the seat of the rocker and yell, “You’re taking the paint off!”. She stops and turns around and says, “There is cat puke there!”. “Oh,” I say. Thwarted. And then I felt like Wayne and Garth and said, with Garth’s twisted mouth, “Spray on”.
Once she was done cleaning the chair and it was sitting in the sunlight to dry, she morphed into a kid again. She checked to see how far the water could go if she had her thumb covering half the opening (pretty far!), she checked to see if the dog was waterproof (he is not), and she checked to see if she could see a rainbow in the mist (she could).
I finally had to huff and trudge to the spigot and end her fun. My god, how had I gotten so damn wet!? The water petered out and so did her smile. It was over. I had a clean chair, she had her fun and we all know that will NOT be the last time she gets her hands on the hose.
I’m a strong believer in water being really fun, especially from a hose, ONLY if you are the person holding that hose. The power you have! Don’t want to get wet? Let me see how close I can get the spray to you. There is a bike sitting close by? Let me wash the whole thing because I saw a speck on the seat. Don’t mind the giant splatter coming back at you or others!
She’s a kid, I get it! Eventually, I’ll learn to hand the hose over and get the hell out of dodge. And throw a towel out for her when she is done. And thank the good Lord we don’t have city water, AKA a giant bill. But when the well runs dry…nah, I won’t let it get that far, but in the meantime, spray on, little girl, spray on.
As soon as the chair was dry, I got out the spray cans and got to work painting the chair black (again) and finishing it with a clear coat. Every shake of the can, with that dang ball clicking and clacking in there, was an announcement to her, and I was hoping the tv volume was up too high for her to hear it. The hose is one thing, but spray paint? Ab-so-lute-ly not. I’m kind, not dumb.
I got through the task of spray painting the chair with no helpers, and while I’m writing this, I’m rocking in that chair, and each creak I hear is a reminder of the help she offered, the fun she had, and the relief I felt when I finished the project…solo.
She’s sleeping now, early-ish still, but when she wakes, she will notice there is a pile of dirt and wood forms ready for cement. She will get excited at the prospect of another project and will want to help. This time, I’m not in charge, but I’ll have to tell her to take it easy on the crew. This’ll be fun to watch.
Recently my debit card was closed because of fraud. This has happened a time or two before, and, well, let my bank inform you of the matter.
I can’t even believe it, but the threat seems legit. “Above-average number of fraud cases”? What is average?! Then they tell me there are “many things” I can be doing to “safeguard” my card. They listed 4. I wonder which nuggets of wisdom they left out.
My favorite is the third bullet point. “Protect your PIN number”. Dammit, I gotta quit blurting out that 4 digit number! I mean, COME ON! In reality, I don’t even know the dang thing! I was so baffled by this letter that I threw it away. After I told my friend about the impending ex-communication if there was another fraud case, we laughed and talked about framing it. I got home today and dug in the nearly full garbage can and pulled it out. Hence, the discolored and wet areas. Gross.
I get that fraud is bad, but I’m not understanding how it’s my fault. Perhaps they need to up their fraud control!
So now I’m on the search for a new bank. I need to have a backup plan in case my money gets booted to the curb and my card gets cut up.
Flushing the toilet multiple times after you go #2 is preferred over leaving your skids in the bowl. No one needs to see that.
Either way, we know you pooped. We all do. Be a super-flusher. Do the right thing.
I think the company I work for is the LAST facility in Minnesota to doff masks for good. It’s been a long time coming and while our faces were still covered by blue paper masks, our neighboring peers’ faces were full of smiles. They had been mask-less for at least three weeks before us!
Even though it took us longer to get to this point, I’ll relish not having to rebreathe my own air for 8 hours a day, and not having mascne (acne from the mask) or extra oils clogging my pores. Gross.
Some patients can’t help themselves and comment stupid crap, such as, “Ugh, I can’t breath in this thing. How do you do it?” and “You know **** (the other hospital in our area) doesn’t have to wear them anymore. When are you guys gonna get rid of them?” Well, A) we don’t have a choice and when you don’t have a choice, you become accustomed to the situation, and B) we follow the CDC and MDH and blah blah blah.
What one really wants to reply to these folks is not even close to kind words but one must remain professional (insert finger wag).
May 1st, May Day, is going to be a wonderful historical day for our Health Care workers. We have been wearing masks for 3 years! THREE YEARS! The days of Covid, masks, and extra PPE, along with fear and anxiety, seem like such a surreal period of our lives. I’m glad it’s over.
Monday I’m going to be seeing full faces and wondering who the heck are they!? I probably will need several seconds for my brain to make the connection.
I’ve gotten so good at reading people by their eyes only, which is a good skill set to have, but now I’ll have to reign in my facial expressions. They’ve been hidden for such a long time, and now they’ll be in the open. Yikes. I am very worried about that. I love using my face to express myself for all types of emotions, and honestly, most expressions are automatic and out of my control!
Welp, I’ll keep an empty box by my desk for my belongings just in case my face gets me into trouble. If that happens, will you be a reference for me?
Hoss & Weasel 