Mom called today. "This is your Mom." Always. Like how many elderly German women call me? Okay, maybe two of my Mom's friends, but I know their voices equally well. "What are you doing?" she asks. "Contemplating my navel," I say. She laughs and I say, "No, really, I was just getting into the shower when I thought about my belly button and what could possibly be in it." She said, "There is nothing in your belly button." "Oh, ho! You may think that, but have you ever looked? It's really nasty, you should take a Q-tip to it." "I wash my stomach in the shower," says she. "Yeah, so do I, but all that soap doesn't rinse out sometimes," I told her.
I got to thinking about certain bathing rituals that I know about. A friend of mine has never washed his feet. True story, but his feet look great. How can that be? Another friend of mine uses a new towel every single day. Not in my house she doesn't, but isn't that strange? I couldn't do that much laundry and I really like doing laundry. The Mister calls it my favorite hobby. My Mom never uses soap on her face, just washes with a washcloth. She has beautiful skin. It's not right.
Well, that was exciting. It was wonderfully warm today and a new friend came by to see the beasty boys. We brushed them until it looked like we blew up several rabbits and took Trusty out in the cart. Lucky tagged along; no choice, as he was tied to the cart. It was really fun and I learned ton about harnessing and driving. I'm really looking forward to more rides with her, especially when we pick up Lucky's cart from the ranch.
No news on my winning the Peep contest. I don't know if they'll publish the picture in this Sunday's paper, but I know it was one of the best. Now....what to do with all the Western Peeps? They're on my shelf in all their sugary glory, slowly turning hard.
I shall occasionally inspect them for bugs and see what happens.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
In Which the Neighbor Proposes Murder
It was such a nice day on Monday that I decided to take advantage and do outdoorsy things that need attention (besides scoop poop, which is basically, same shit, different day).
The lucky dwarf spotted bison were attached to the alley fence to grazed peacefully and get a good brushing, DogGus happily snarled at all who passed and I got to work on the neighbors' blackberries. I love blackberries, yes, I do, but not the big scratches they leave on the truck's paint when I drive by. Also, there were some big scotch-broomy looking things that were out of control. I know they'll grow back, but at least for now the paint is safe.
So on with the gloves, safety glasses (I am Captain Safety, of course, which is the whole reason this blog was created. I digress.) and out come the lopping shears. I attacked the immediate neighbors patch of vines and the scotch-broomy thing. I start to go down the alley to the next backyard overgrowth when I see Herman the German outside (I think he is actually Dutch, but that doesn't rhyme). He is a neighbor that is kitty corner to our yard along the alley. He also has the infamous Cranky Franky that will just as soon bite you as look at you.
Great aside story about Herman; my friend and I were riding in the big arena one day and Herman trotted in on Franky doing his fancy dressage moves, which were actually very impressive. I hear a shout, just in time to see Herman on bucking Franky and up and over onto the sand he flies. Herman doesn't wear a helmet and evidently never will, so it was scary. I got Bombay over to block the arena entrance so the Crank wouldn't run out and Herman sheepishly got to his feet while Franky was trying to bite my friend and her horse. Since then, Herman made fun of our fancy helmets and has now taken to calling my little beasts, my "fashion accessories". Some may be insulted, but I think he is weird and he's trying to be funny (and is embarrassed at being seen bucked off). After all, he is in his 70's and rides like a madman, so you gotta respect that.
So I wave hello to Herman and he saunters over to say, "I see you are murdering the blackberries." "Yup, they scratch the paint on my truck," I reply. "You know, those blackberries have a mother and a father and haven't done anything wrong." I had never thought of that. I asked him if he liked blackberries. "Oh, yes, they are so good, I pick them every summer." I asked, "So, you like eating babies?" He stared at me and said, "My wife says I over think these things." I told him perhaps he does.
He still has a cool accent.
The lucky dwarf spotted bison were attached to the alley fence to grazed peacefully and get a good brushing, DogGus happily snarled at all who passed and I got to work on the neighbors' blackberries. I love blackberries, yes, I do, but not the big scratches they leave on the truck's paint when I drive by. Also, there were some big scotch-broomy looking things that were out of control. I know they'll grow back, but at least for now the paint is safe.
So on with the gloves, safety glasses (I am Captain Safety, of course, which is the whole reason this blog was created. I digress.) and out come the lopping shears. I attacked the immediate neighbors patch of vines and the scotch-broomy thing. I start to go down the alley to the next backyard overgrowth when I see Herman the German outside (I think he is actually Dutch, but that doesn't rhyme). He is a neighbor that is kitty corner to our yard along the alley. He also has the infamous Cranky Franky that will just as soon bite you as look at you.
Great aside story about Herman; my friend and I were riding in the big arena one day and Herman trotted in on Franky doing his fancy dressage moves, which were actually very impressive. I hear a shout, just in time to see Herman on bucking Franky and up and over onto the sand he flies. Herman doesn't wear a helmet and evidently never will, so it was scary. I got Bombay over to block the arena entrance so the Crank wouldn't run out and Herman sheepishly got to his feet while Franky was trying to bite my friend and her horse. Since then, Herman made fun of our fancy helmets and has now taken to calling my little beasts, my "fashion accessories". Some may be insulted, but I think he is weird and he's trying to be funny (and is embarrassed at being seen bucked off). After all, he is in his 70's and rides like a madman, so you gotta respect that.
So I wave hello to Herman and he saunters over to say, "I see you are murdering the blackberries." "Yup, they scratch the paint on my truck," I reply. "You know, those blackberries have a mother and a father and haven't done anything wrong." I had never thought of that. I asked him if he liked blackberries. "Oh, yes, they are so good, I pick them every summer." I asked, "So, you like eating babies?" He stared at me and said, "My wife says I over think these things." I told him perhaps he does.
He still has a cool accent.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
And You Are Rewarded, My Fine Peeps
But still, it's pretty cool......The PeepBR.
Friday, March 8, 2013
A Peepview of Sorts
Extreme clandestine operations in house of Ho. It involves the purchasing of Peeps, the curing of said Peeps and the construction of a top secret scene to rival all. I had no idea a glue gun could be such a useful tool!
That's all I can say for now, because the secret has yet to be revealed.
That's all I can say for now, because the secret has yet to be revealed.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Or What?
I love the dreams that wake me up laughing. I had one of those the other night and it still makes me laugh.
I was with my sister at the hospital while she was giving birth. Mind you, this was surprising to me as it happened in about two minutes on a table and she got up (fully clothed) and handed the baby off to a nurse and we walked out the door to go home. We were walking through some woods and she said, "Oh, I better call Mike" (her husband).
She hung up and I thought to ask, "Was it a boy or girl?" She said, "Boy" and I asked, "What is his name?" She said, "Orr". I said, "Ore? Like a mining function?" "No, Orr, O-R-R. Isn't that cool?"
I had to think about it. Different, I'll give you that. Then I started to think about what would happen in 2nd grade and how his name could be terrible. "So, is it short for anything?" No, it's just Orr." This is when it got good.
"What if he is constantly asked his full name? Like, so, Orr, what is your full name?" She paused on our hike and said, "Well, maybe we'll make it Gregorr." "Well that's not much better," I said. People will say, "Greg or what?" "You know, like Sphincter says what?" She said, "What?" and of course I laughed. But this is not what woke me up. No, it wasn't that clever phrase. She said, "It will just be Orr." I said, "Than I shall call him Eeyore." She got all mad and said, "No! His name will be Igor, that's what it will be." "Okay, okay," I muttered, but I thought that was much worse. A little hunchback boy for a nephew, cool.
It then occurred to me what the real issue would be and I had to tell her: "When he is in 1st grade, learning how to spell his name and he hands in his work, you do realize that he will be signing it with his first name and last initial, right? Like when I would put Heidi C. on the top of my papers. You gotta think about that. He will be mortified later to know that his name is Orr G."
That's what woke me up.
I was with my sister at the hospital while she was giving birth. Mind you, this was surprising to me as it happened in about two minutes on a table and she got up (fully clothed) and handed the baby off to a nurse and we walked out the door to go home. We were walking through some woods and she said, "Oh, I better call Mike" (her husband).
She hung up and I thought to ask, "Was it a boy or girl?" She said, "Boy" and I asked, "What is his name?" She said, "Orr". I said, "Ore? Like a mining function?" "No, Orr, O-R-R. Isn't that cool?"
I had to think about it. Different, I'll give you that. Then I started to think about what would happen in 2nd grade and how his name could be terrible. "So, is it short for anything?" No, it's just Orr." This is when it got good.
"What if he is constantly asked his full name? Like, so, Orr, what is your full name?" She paused on our hike and said, "Well, maybe we'll make it Gregorr." "Well that's not much better," I said. People will say, "Greg or what?" "You know, like Sphincter says what?" She said, "What?" and of course I laughed. But this is not what woke me up. No, it wasn't that clever phrase. She said, "It will just be Orr." I said, "Than I shall call him Eeyore." She got all mad and said, "No! His name will be Igor, that's what it will be." "Okay, okay," I muttered, but I thought that was much worse. A little hunchback boy for a nephew, cool.
It then occurred to me what the real issue would be and I had to tell her: "When he is in 1st grade, learning how to spell his name and he hands in his work, you do realize that he will be signing it with his first name and last initial, right? Like when I would put Heidi C. on the top of my papers. You gotta think about that. He will be mortified later to know that his name is Orr G."
That's what woke me up.
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