Man Shopping

In my household, I do the grocery shopping. There are many reasons I do the grocery shopping.

I know what we have, what we're out of. I know what can go together to make meals. I know what I personally will and will not eat. And I know what The Dude, on a normal day, will and will not eat.

Being only two of us in our cozy little abode, I do not buy in bulk, but I do make sure the small details are taken care of. The Dude likes coffee and yogurt in the mornings. So I make sure I always have an extra bag of coffee in the cabinet, and at least 5 individual containers of yogurt each week for him to take to work.

I do not, however, generally keep raw meat or seafood on hand. Those who know me well know the face I made just thinking about it.

Normally this is not a problem. If I know I'm going to make a meatloaf, I buy the specific amout of meat and make it. Pot roast, tacos, same goes.

But this past weekend I went out of town. I was only gone for 25-and-a-half hours. Not so long, right?

Wrong.

The dude decided, on a football Saturday, on an empty stomach, to go grocery shopping.

I'm sure his thought process was FOOTBALL = MEAT!!! MAN WANT MEAT NOW!!!

Had I been there to run interference, a lot of this could have been avoided... *sigh*
(Get it? Run interference? Football? Yeah, yeah...)

I am glad the majority of his purchased perishables (i.e. chicken and shrimp) had been either cooked and consumed or frozen before I got home.

Here are a few pics of what awaited me:

Yes, that is FIVE packages of Snack Pack Tapioca pudding. Five. It was on sale.
















He doesn't drink DP at home. I don't drink it at all. He forgot.
















Three boxes of frozen waffles. I don't remember the last time he ate frozen waffles. But he got three different kinds, so it's cool, right?
















Just...gross.

Always Lock Your Medicine Cabinet

So I read this book the other day about a lady who faked her death to escape a sadistic abusive marriage.

Her husband had been married twice before, and each very rich wife had a "well planned" accident a year or two into the marriage.

So fake-dead chickie got a new name and moved to a new town. Before she met Jerk-Man, she had big degrees, was big smart and quite confident. Not so much now.

So in new town, she got a job as bookkeeper for The Family. You know, the one that runs the town, that "sticks together," where all the brothers marry perfectly in all the prequels and sequels, and the whole family gathers round to protect the new "weak one."

Well, Weak One goes to new job and meets new boss (aka part of The Family.) Weak One and New Boss fall in love, WO finally tells NB that Jerk-Man is still hunting her, NB teaches WO self defense. FBI and The Family work to protect not-so-much-longer-Weak One round-the-clock.

Thriller obviously wouldn't be thrilling if Jerk-Man didn't get past impenetrable line, so he and no-longer-Weak-One end up in her house. Alone. And Jerk-Man has oh-so-skillfully planned the perfect "accident." No one gets the best of Jerk-Man.

While waiting for JM to show his face in town, Weak One had problems sleeping, so her doctor had prescribed her Ambien. Not just any sleeping pill, but specifically Ambien.

So here's Jerk-Man's plan: He kidnapped no-longer Weak-One from the grocery store, takes her home (to where he has already snuck inside, opened a bottle of wine and drawn a bath.) He forces her to take three Ambien (of course she cheeks it) and down two glasses of wine immediately, then get in the bath. He then proceeds to tip another glass of vino down her throat.

With the Ambien slowly (and oh, so bitterly) dissolving in her mouth, she knows she has little time left to act, as she couldn't depend on the hints she gave to New Boss (aka Perfect Man aka Lover aka Love of Her Life) during the forced knife-to-the-throat "everything's great" phone call.

As no-longer-Weak-One drains the last of her wine, a sense of strength and will to live fills her and she swings out with her wine glass, knocking JM in the head, then stabbing him in the nose with the broken stem. As JM is screaming, she stumbles out of the tub and grabs the wine bottle, clubbing him on the head, once, twice, three times, until he finally slumps to the floor, unconscious.

Barely able to stand, terribly dizzy, she drags herself into the dining room to her purse and grips her cell phone to call Lover Boy. Barely able to speak, she mumbles, "Sleeping pills and lots of wine..." and then falls unconscious to the floor.

Blah blah blah, Lover Boy comes to the rescue, Jerk Man is arrested, charged with everything under the sun, and everyone else lives happily ever after.

Lover Boy was so glad to have given not-so-Weak-One back her inner-strength, and she saved herself, physically and emotionally. Knocked the ever-livin' snot out of Jerk-Man.

The only thing? I know how Ambien works. Your memory blacks out within 5 minutes of getting any in your system.

Too bad she didn't remember any of it. So much for female empowerment, huh?

Do It.

This is the funniest website I've come across in a long time.

Check. It. Out.

www.peopleofwalmart.com

Warning: Just...beware, okay?

All Hail The Big Lebowski?

I may be speaking blaspheme, but whenever I think about the movie The Big Lebowski, the only things that stand out to me are bowling, alcohol and man-boobs.

I just can't bow down to the man-boobs.

But hey, the dude abides.

Pretty in Pink

I asked Maggie if she would paint my toenails, but she either doesn't understand english, or she was just being snooty.

I'm betting on snooty.

A Few Funnies

This has been in a few store windows around Midland...who's in?!?!?!





And this one...I have no words.




This one is just hilarious and just so sad!

Sneakin' Up On Mags...

P.S. I think my semi-impersonation of the late great Mr. Irwin adds so much to the little film, don't you think?

Dream a Little Dream...

Ever since I was about, oh, 14, I have wanted to learn how to blow glass. Not just a passing, "Cool, dude!" but a deep burning.

And it has been simmering ever since. Every time I see a documentary, a studio, a piece of glass, I feel this certain tug in my gut. There are few things that make me feel like that...blowing glass...Ireland...travleing...Taco Bell...

Anyways, a few years ago, I had the pleasure to catch a documentary on Chihuly (if you haven't seen him in action, you're missing a masterpiece.) He was in Italy, and decided to blow these big (2-3 ft wide) colorful glass balls and just toss them into them into the canals in Venice.

Fascinating!

During the past decade, I have been able to learn a lot about art, mainly pottery. In the past few years, I have even been able to squeeze in some cool stuff about glass, mainly fusing.

But that's fusing, not blowing. And let's not get dirty here. This it art, people. Serious stuff.

The one person I have found in the past three years who taught glass blowing taught it when I didn't (really didn't) have the time or the money. When I ran into him last month, he no longer teaches his workshop. No time. *Expletive*

Small town Texas...sigh...

Anyhoo...back to Chihuly-hoo!

Last month I went to visit the parents in OKC. Great visit! We ate at the OKC Museum of Art on my last day there, on the way to the airport (great food, btw), when I happened to see that they have the most comprehensive collection of Chihuly glass in the world. And I missed it.

So I went back last week. To see Chihuly. And my parents (of course.)

It was incredible, to say the least. I knew it would be. I just didn't know it would be so overwhelming. And emotional, really.

Now I need to learn to blow glass. I walked into Chihuly's world. There is no turning back.

These only show a teeny tiny bit of the wonder, but here are a few of the many pictures I took on my walk through the exhibit...

Classic Screw Up

I wouldn't recommend the Snickers Dark chocolate. It wasn't nearly as good as the original. Didn't stop me from eating the entire thing, but not nearly as good.

Advice

If you haven't eaten anything all day, and it's 3 pm, I would not recommend starting with Funyuns and lemonade.

I'm just sayin'.

The "Other" Cat

I thought I'd share a video of Maggie's alter-ego. She comes out each night, usually around 11 or so. I wish I could get the initial head bop/swivel on camera to signify the transformation. I just never know quite when it's coming...

Enjoy!

byEmily, With Love

I have a very talented friend, a crafted artist. I have known her for 12 (!) years, and am proud to be her friend.



Her name is Emily. I call her Em. Or Eme. Dude. Sugarplum. Honey bunches of oats. But usually I stick with Em.



I thought I would highlight some of her work - they don't begin to scratch the surface of what she can do!

_______________________________________________

Handmade pure silver pendants (Great for Mommy necklaces!)

Hand-crocheted Granny Clutches with hand stitched yoyos (I love these!)

Handmade purse with hand stitched yoyos

Handmade purse with hand stitched flower

Home baked and hand-decorated Petit Fours

Home baked and hand-decorated Birthday cake

_______________________________________________

She can do anything and everything.

Everything is handmade. With love.

It can be personalized with colors, names, etc.

And the best part? It is quality work that is not overpriced. And she is the sweetest person ever. What more could you ask for?!

If you would like more information, send me an e-mail at maf97m@yahoo.com and I'll shoot you her info. Also, here is a link to her blog: http://emilyturner.blogspot.com.

P.S. Em, you are the most talented person I know, and have the biggest heart ever :) Love you! Mel

Love it. Seriously.

Now here is a great use of words!

"projectile vomit of emotion" *

Absolutely fantastic.


*S. Brockmann

Wink Wink

I can't wait for Christmas and stocking-time to come around! I'm running out of disposable razors...

Damn, It Feels Good To Be a Jetson

Some days, I enjoy the drawn out process of getting ready for the day...puttin' on some tunes , takin' a shower, fixin' my hair, playin' with makeup...

And some days, I wish I had a Jetsons conveyor belt transformer that turned you from pelt to svelte in 3.5 seconds. No brain function involved.

Lunch With a Side of What?

The dude and I had quite the interesting lunch today. We met at a chain Italian restaurant, used to be one of my favs.

To keep with anonymity, we’ll call it the Olive-a Arden-gay.

Best part of the lunch: Getting to see the dude. And then it just kamikazied from there.

Our Waitress Lady was a bit older, very nice. She delivered our salad and bread quickly, but right after the dude took his first bite of salad, he saw blue stuff all over the back of his fork. My best guess was crayon. Yummy. She apologizes and brings him a new set of silverware.

Great. La la la, on with the meal.

I’m not really feeling all that jazzy to begin with, so I tried one bite of salad (thankfully) and munched on a breadstick.

Waitress Lady brings the dude some more salad, and as he goes to mix it, I hear him go, “Whoa, whoa, hold up. Miss? We got us a hair in here.”

And what is the first thing she says? “Is it mine?”

Ok, first of all, there is a big-A two foot long nasty hair covered in dressing wrapped all around the salad tongs (no joke), so I don’t give a 3-dog dang whose hair it is.

Secondly, as I mentioned previously, our waitress was a bit older, so this has got to be the reason why she held the entire bowl up to the light - in front of all the other rapidly-losing-their-appetite diners - exclaiming she “just couldn’t see it!” The dude, being the dear that he is, was gracious enough to point it out.

So WL brings out a fresh bowl of salad, which the dude (what a champ) serves up (I passed.) He continues on with his raviolis, but I notice that, after a few bites, the salad is being ignored. I asked if everything was ok, and was told that he found another hair.

One of “those” hairs.

Gag.

Needless to say, our lunch was on the house (ya think?) and we probably won’t be going back to the good ol’ Olive-a Arden-gay anytime in the near future.

And I’m really glad I wasn’t in the mood for salad.

Melissa is Like...

This is hilarious! I think #8 is my favorite! And 10!!!

Here are the instructions:
1. Go to Google
2. Type in "(your name) is like" - make sure it is in quotation marks
3. Write down the first 10 things that come up.
_______________________________________________________

1. Melissa is like my second mother.
2. Melissa is like a fresh spring morn. Now that I don't see her everyday my life is empty.
3. I think Melissa is like a breath of fresh air…very natural, very real and an excellent dancer. (Ha ha ha!!!)
4. Melissa is like an institution...
5. Melissa's is like five minutes from my house so I am always going there for my burrito fix.
6. Melissa is like that. She always exudes the better possibilities in life, the good side of living and of course the moral. (Err, most of the time.)
7. Melissa is like my sis,we can talk about anything and mostly boyss:)lol.Melissa i love youu bestie (BFF 4eva, Lylas!!!!!)
8. Melissa is like Las Vegas, fun for a few days.
9. Melissa is like a fine wine, just peaking at the right time (in reference to her age, which is 29). (Hey, they're a poet and didn't know it!)
10. Melissa is like me and when we get upset we cry, not hurt someone. She is sweet, funny and loving. Yes she deserves to get jail time, but Murder?

Potential Job

I was looking at jobs tonight on CraigsList (which, by the way, I would not recommend), and saw this little diddy:

Job: Receptionist
One of the job duties: "Pick up the phone from time to time."

Maybe I'll apply. I think I could handle it...

Awful

I just made a horrible, terrible, tragic discovery about myself.

I realized tonight that I do not own The Man From Snowy River.

Not on DVD. Not even on VHS.

Do I not respect my film roots at all? I am so ashamed.

Dinner

I'm having a Pot Pie for dinner. It used to be a Chicken Pot Pie, but I picked all the chicken out.