I’ve been inexcusably MIA. Not just here, either. I’ve been pretty much absent from the internet. Since I spend all day working on the computer, that’s really saying something! Working a lot of hours + a trip from MI to SD, and you have a tired little blogger. I’ll try to do mo’betta soon. In the meantime, Big Howdy to all my peeps!

The Thinker

I’m trying to think of a good post. Really, I am!

Yesterday, while I tried on shorts in the local small town store. (It seems GV is no longer overpriced for the dumb rich folk.) Right there in the dressing room, in front of God and ev…well, in front of God and the mirror, anyway–Gloria Vanderbilt lied and said I was a size 12.

The Culprit

The heifer.

Since I’ve been a 16 for quite some time now, I think not. I’d like to pretend Gloria is just being kind, but I secretly suspect the old gal’s on crack. It can happen to the bored elite, you know.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been lied to by a fashionista, either. Liz Claiborne lives in HappyLand, where everyone is  petite.

I’m not kidding.

And so, dear friends, this missive comes to you with a warning. Don’t. Trust. Retailers. Because really, where will it end? Abercrombie sweatshirts with tags that say “You’re so smart to pay double what this sweatshirt is actually worth! Buy, sheep, BUY!”  ?  Designer jeans with “Damn your butt looks good!” printed on the inside?  ‘Tis Madness. MADNESS!

I will not take the cheap shot, I will NOT take the cheap shot!

Fisher the cat loves to cuddle around tree trunks. He rubs up against them, purring like crazy. As soon as the sap begins to run, our long haired feline becomes a matted MESS. Sometimes we can wash/comb it out, other times the poor boy gets shaved. Today was a clipper sort of day.

First off, Fisher doesn’t like the car. He yowled and growled all the way to the vet’s office. Next, they gave him shots. He was NOT amused.

And then out came the clippers, and he knew exactly what was coming. I wasn’t holding him down. I wasn’t about to shave him. I didn’t give him shots and I didn’t put sap in his fur in the FIRST place! Yet I was the one he hissed at. Repeatedly. Now there’s gratitude for ya.

 

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

I love to mow the lawn. I love tools, actually, and what is a lawn mower if not a ginormous motorized tool? I love the power, the efficiency and the ability to be dangerous to any stubborn greenery that DARES cross my path.

Seriously, turn me loose in your lawn and I’ll mow that sucker right now.

The problem, which is really no problem whatsoever, is that my husband sees no discernible method to my mowing pattern. In his eyes, I’m randomly driving like a crazy person. For some odd reason, this irritates him.

I DO have a pattern. Yes I do! And it makes perfect sense. I mow in squares.

This is not an odd thing to do. It’s not like I mow in octagons or isosceles triangles. Yet somehow my husband does not ‘get’ my multi-sized, multi-directional squares that fit no grid known to man. If I start the process I have to finish because even though I could come back 3 days later and know precisely where I left off, my husband is hopelessly lost, wandering the the yard and murmuring obscenities under his breath.

Do you mow in a particular pattern? Are you one of those people who go the full length of their yards, leaving fancy long lines the neighbors all envy? Do you mow around all the trees, and then carefully finish the rest? Do you wander yonder, mowing over the ‘big stuff’ or just say “Screw It!” and let it grow?

Do tell. Especially if you mow in odd little squares.  ;0)

HOORAH! Woot-Woot-Woot!  Yesterday I happily boxed up Satan’s Minions our chickens for transport to their new home! (Oh allllll riiiiight. So I didn’t really help. I supervised, didn’t I?)

Begone, winged beasts! Oh pestilent poultry! Fowl land mine leavers most foul!  I command you to LEAVE THIS PLACE!  *Walks the yard holding a cross at arms length, swinging an incense orb in her other hand.

I. am. so. HAPPY!

For those just tuning in, I have a real thing about chickens. Their beady eyes, flappy wings and terrifyingly bold nature freak me OUT. Me noooo likey. I’ll spare the regular readers, but do a search for “evil chickens” in here and you’ll have reading material up the yazoo.

I was especially happy to see them leave after I spooked them by accident –with a plastic bag of all things– and one of them flew up in my face and hit me hard enough to bend my glasses. In. My. Face. In-my-FACE.

IN MY FACE!!!

*Waves goodbye while giddily breathing into a paper bag.

On the carpet. Hunched over, looking green and ready to do that thing that dogs do. On the carpet. On. The. CARPET!

Survival Mode!

I sprinted to the front door in my jammies calling, “DexterDexterDEXTER..!” in a blind panic, tripping on a toy, stubbing my toe on a door frame and mowing over the cat along the way.

But we MADE IT.  All manner of awfulness occurred outside. Can I get an Amen?

Why do sick dogs aim for the carpet?

Why do dogs chew up their toys and gag on small pieces?

Why do bloggers disappear into oblivion for a month and then announce their return with stories of Dog Yutz?

I cannot explain these things. But. I’ve gotten a TON of work finished in the past few weeks, so now I get to play on my blogs again. Yaaaayyyy!

Missed ya.

For the third and final try… (This post has disappeared twice on me. Shall we go for a third strike?)

So much to do, so little time. Unfortunately the blogs need to take a breather while I get some things accomplished around here. Wish me luck! ;0]

Any theologian can tell you the signs are there. Profound weather changes, sin running rampant, and Pat Boone singing Metallica.

What are you looking at, Punk?

‘Tis madness!

My first encounter with this version of Enter Sandman was as some guy’s ringtone. I honestly thought it was new because I’d never heard it before. (Pretty sure I would have remembered this little baby.)

How have I missed this little gem for so long? Has my head been firmly planted in the sand? Or elsewhere? I just can’t imagine how this one flew under my radar. Enjoy!

*Applauds Mr. Boone for sheer attitude.

Only my husband would wear this tee shirt to an elementary school Parent/Child fun night.

Since my hubby bears a vague resemblance to Chuck Norris, I cringe just a little more than usual.

Anybody else have a spouse with a cheeky sense of humor?