It's A System & Only I Have The Decoder Ring

Hubby needed to "get out the door" this morning. Meaning, he needed to leave the house before eight o'clock. He's supposed to be at work by eight o'clock so you can see how the daily leaving the house at 8:15 is becoming a problem.

He is also in charge of getting our four year old, Stinkles, to the daycare.

If he leaves at 7:30, he can drop her off and still skate into the office at 8:10-ish. Which is better than the 8:45-ish he's been meandering in at. Seriously, at a little after eight, at least there are still people at the water cooler sipping on a cuppajoe and discussing last night's Olympics.

Anywho, so I thought he was done getting ready this morning, and I knew Stinkles was still in her nightie. I asked him to go bust a move on her while I finished getting ready.

"I'm still getting myself ready. I was out there [pause] parenting."

He had been trying to explain the difference between a reason and an excuse to our six year old who didn't want to get dressed because the shirt options presented both "made her cold." Which I totally don't get - they were both long sleeved cotton shirts. She wears this kind of stuff everyday and we've never heard the "cold" complaint before. She just didn't like the two shirts that happened to be clean so she was making an excuse not to get dressed.

Continuing his thoughts on "parenting", Hubby proceeded to dig himself a hole.

"You know this subject came up at the last guys night.

I was telling the guys how great it was that you were able to get home in time to babysit the kids so I could meet up with them. Ken (best buddy) pointed out that Barbie says, 'It's babysitting when it's other people's kids. When it's your own kids, it's called parenting.'

Then I said, 'That's woman talk. It's guys night so we're using guy talk. It's babysitting.'"

Why he felt the need to tell me all this, is beyond me.

Honestly, point values guys earn have a shorter half life than Uranium.

When guys earn points (flowers just because, emptying the dishwasher, a back rub, offering to get the kids out of the house, etc), they need to redeem them in short order. Otherwise, they disappear. The points they earn today have expired by tomorrow.

So basically, guys are walking around at ground zero for the better part of the day. It doesn't take much to lose points and dig a hole. And those negative points, they have a shelf life determinable only by the woman assigning the points.

And just so all you guys out there reading this know, there is no definitive point scale. It's all determined by the time of month, how egregious the offending action/statement is, and how many times you've dug the same hole.

He should have just stopped at, "I'm still getting myself ready."

Silver Lining:

1. Hubby regularly earns points by taking the kids out shopping with him and helping out around the house (when asked, of course - he is still a guy).


2. In the future, I think Hubby will live by the code, "What happens at guys night, stays at guys night." Lest he end up in the proverbial dog house over and over again because of testostorinic pride.

My Ding A Ling

My Ding A Ling, do you remember that song? What literary genius penned that?

Oh, wait. Through the magic of Mr. Google, it was. . .

CHUCK BERRY!

When I was a kid we had a cassette tape (jump into the way back machine). . .

I believe it was on a Halloween tape because the only other song I remember was Monster Mash - oooo, very scary.

You're "mashing" now aren't you? I can seeeeeee youuuuuuu.

Speaking of scary and being a kid, do you remember when you were too afraid to go into the dark basement? The whistling woods? The stony mountains of Kentucky?

Apparently, there is reason to be afraid of the Kentucky Appellation Mountains. There are nonhuman things that exist up there. Like Bigfoot, hookworm, distilleries.

From what I understand, to this day, you do not want your car to break down in the mountains of Kentucky for fear of getting shot. Those moon shiners are a bunch of paranoid folk. They think everyone who is not one of them (meaning one eye isn't pickin' on Venus, has all their teeth in the front, is clean-shaven, and doesn't smell like an outhouse) is thought to be the cops. Moonshiners have a long history of not liking the cops. Don't they know prohibition ended 76 years ago?

Thankfully, those distilleries existed way back when or my good friend Kitty probably wouldn't be around today. Her grandfather grew up in the mountains. They ran around seeking out the coolest hiding places in their bare feet, catching hookworm.

Ick!

To get rid of worms in the olden days, one would boil down some root to make crack candy. This had nothing to do with the drug, was very bitter, and the "perfect" cure for hookworm.

If it was so bitter, why was it called candy? If I didn't know it and someone gave me something bitter called, "candy," I would have avoided candy all my life. Maybe I'd have been thinner. Perhaps I should go catch me some hookworm.

STOP!

I'd much rather be over weight than to have nasty worms. I think having worms makes you a social pariah - that alone would have KILLED me!

So this "candy" killed the worms, but then they had to be expelled from their bodies. As if having worms wasn't gross enough, you had to sh*t out dead worms for about a week!

For all those years of seeking out the best hiding places, Kitty's grandfather thought he had found the perfect spot for his distillery. But alas, the cops caught up with him, and gave him a choice: go to jail or go to war. He chose war, met Kitty's grandmother in Italy, got married and the rest is history.

And history is passed down through the generations via stories. And who hasn't met an old person with stories to tell? Kitty's grandfather had a lot of stories of the Kentucky mountains. One of the favorites was about

BIGFOOT

I know most people don't think Bigfoot exists, but we have proof living right down the street from us.

I had no idea, but while we're playing Bunco, someone noticed skis by Ginny's the front door. I know it's chilly, but it isn't even close to ski season. And there is only the "King of the Mountain" sized hill in Pleasantville so down hill skiing isn't an option.

You'd be hard pressed to even try cross country skiing in Pleasantville. We live in one of those areas of the country that gets snow over night and is completely melted by mid morning. Anything greater than a dusting here causes the big city next door to go into a tailspin.

We're expecting an inch of snow?!?! Close the schools! Stop at the store for milk, eggs & bread! Bring in the firewood! Order up the National Guard!

Then when the "storm" passes to the south or north of us (which happens more often than not), there is just a little b*tching at the weather men. But as soon as they say there's another one coming, we go through the entire process again without question. The Boy Who Cried Wolf would have a field day here!

Anywho, turns out those weren't skis.

My friend's husband has the biggest feet I've ever seen. Well, I actually never seen his feet, but his shoes were by the front door.

Size 15

Where do you buy ginormous shoes like that?

And it's not like it was just a put on to fake people out. If he stuffed tissue paper into the toes, I'm sure Ginny would have noticed by now. You know what they say about the relationship between the size of a man's feet and well, other parts. There is no faking it. With feet that size, Ginny probably doesn't need to fake it either.

I wonder if "the signal" in their house is that Chuck Berry song.

My Ding-A-Ling, My Ding-A-Ling,
won't you play with My Ding-A-Ling
My Ding-A-Ling, My Ding-A-Ling,
won't you play with My Ding-A-Ling

Ginny's not a very big person. I don't know how she doesn't get ripped in two!

Seriously, did she marry the missing link?

I don't know. He doesn't seem that hairy. You know Bigfoot is always depicted as hairy.

I've never paid attention to that aspect and I guess I'll never know.

I'll never be able to look at anything but his gigantic feet from now on.

Silver Lining:

1. I'm very happy with the ding-a-ling I married.


2. Take that however you want :)

The Ham-ectomy

Wow, I’ve been MIA for a week! Nothing like work getting in the way of some good bloggin’ – darn it all to heck!

I’m reaching into the time machine today. I know, I know. I should have lots of goofy, recent stuff to spew about, but this one needs to be told – TODAY.

Twelv-ish years ago I bought a condo, worked full time, and was going to college. Turns out my job didn’t pay enough to afford both a mortgage and tuition. So what did I give up?

Nothing.

I got a part time job at Domino’s. Just pile one more thing on the heap; that would be the logic of a twenty something who apparently had a lot more energy than I do today.

The manager, Steve, hired me on the spot because I wore dressy clothes. Well, I suppose we got along ok too because the “interview” was more a “shoot-the-sh*t” session. He also understood I had a full-time job and college so I could only work a few hours a night, a few nights a week.

This was working really well until he found out my full time employer had a “use it or lose it” policy on vacation. I was basically forced to take a week of vacation. Which Steve interpreted as, “She doesn’t have to go into work the next day, and I need a closer this week so I can schedule Pollyanna to work until 11.”

My hourly rate was going to plummet from a nice $10 - $12 an hour to, like, $6 – Fan-fricking-tastic! For those that don’t know, delivering pizzas is a pretty good gig if you only work the dinner rush. I usually earned around $40 in tips/commissions for only four-ish hours of work PLUS minimum wage (which was only $4-something an hour at the time).

Don’t get me wrong, it is not “easy” money - pizza delivery drivers deserve those tips. As a driver you get your share of stiffs and creeps, and you (and your car) reek of pizza afterward. Not to mention the fact that you were too lazy to get up off your butt and drive somewhere to get your own pizza - give the driver a good tip!

Bottom line: having to work beyond the dinner rush meant there was a lot more standing around the store; thus, a lot less tips per hour to be earned.

Another benefit to working for a pizza delivery place is any mistakes become free dinner to the employees. One of my favorite foods is pizza. For me, this “benefit” was AWESOME!

So while I spent my “vacation” working late for Domino’s one night, a thin crust went thru the oven with peppers, ham & black olives on it. Who in their right mind orders that combo?

NO ONE!

That’s how this abomination of a pizza came to sit on the counter.

It was 10pm.

I was hungry.

Normally, at this time, I’d be at home.

On my couch.

Reading some boring economics text book.

Watching the news.

Eating ice cream right from the tub.

But not this night.

Nope, I was standing in a Domino’s looking at this nasty pizza with a grumble in my belly.

Slowly, I picked up a pizza cutter. An with all my pizza cutting deftness, I guided that pizza cutter around the ham and peppers so I ended up with just a jagged hunk slice of cheese and olives.
Popped that in my mouth and chewed and savored the yummy goodness.

The door flew open and Steve’s wife and brother came sauntering in. Thank goodness, they weren’t real customers.

1. I had a mouthful of pizza. I think employers frown on talking to customers with a mouth full of anything. Even if it does prove that the food is good enough for the employees to eat so it must be good enough for the general public. Never ever, ever, ever eat someplace where the employees won’t even eat the food. This should be common sense, but hey, it doesn’t hurt to say it.


2. I didn’t have to stop what I was doing. One tiny piece of pizza was not silencing that rumble.

Steve’s wife went back to the office to talk to him.

Steve’s brother stayed up front with me.

I’d never met him before.

He had kind, brown eyes.

He was dressed in dress pants, button-down shirt and a tie – not a suit, but nice.

He was a little shy, but a warm smile crept out.

He asked what I was doing with the pizza. By this point it looked like something out of a Salvador Dali painting.

I explained my aversion to ham and peppers.

He gently took the pizza cutter from my hand, carefully removed some of the ham, and cut me a generous slice of pizza - this came to be known as the "Ham-ectomy".

Ten years ago today we were married. Remembering this moment never fails to make me smile.

Silver lining:

1. He is still knows just what to do to make me laugh or, at the very least, smile.


2. His eyes glitter when he’s excited, darken when he’s concerned, and soften with love.


3. Some say if they could change some of their past decisions, they would. I would not. If I had done anything differently, I may not have needed that job at Domino’s. If I hadn’t needed that job, I may not have met the love of my life.

I'm Such a Dork

So I went to get coffee and catch up on the daily gossip. I was away from my desk for at least 15 minutes & wouldn't you know it, I came back to that obnoxious blinking light signaling I had a message.

First off, hardly anyone leaves me a message on my phone. If someone wants information from me, it usually comes in the form of an e-mail.

Secondly, I couldn't find a pad of paper.

I had difficulty finding a pad of paper, not because my desk was a mess. No, it was because I actually filed papers and cleaned most of my desk off yesterday. I was looking under the few folders & papers that were left and could find my blasted post-it pad. I finally looked in my desk drawer. Duh, I had actually put them all away in the cleaning process.

I'm ready for a really important message, but it was the hubby (didn't even need the post-it pad). He does have a tendency to say "um" a lot so there were several pauses in the message.

As soon as I heard his voice, I completely forgot that I had just logged in to the voice mail system. As he paused, I was saying, "Uh-huh, uh-huh" like he was actually on the phone. I even said "I love you" at the end. It wasn't until he didn't say it back I remembered that it was only a voice mail message.

I'm such a dork!!!

Silver Lining:
1. I'm going to say that this happened because I hadn't drank all my coffee yet, let alone given the caffeine any time to absorb.
2. You guys are the only ones who know how dork-ish I am.

Rotate This. . .

We’re going to a trivia event this weekend and the theme is “Let’s Go to the Movies.” Instead of going with a specific movie, we’re doing the Oscars.

Hubby wants to make a huge Oscar (cut out of luan) and put it on our rotating Christmas tree stand so it spins around. The problem? Our Christmas tree stand no longer rotates.

After picking his way through the Goodwill donation section, the luggage section, & the Sunday school supplies section, he finally arrived at the Christmas section of our basement. Fortunately, the stand was near the front of the Christmas pile so he was able to haul it out easily.

I had recently unpacked some boxes (we moved into our house a year and half ago & I still have boxes!) and found not one, but two cans of WD-40. Just in time, because Rob decided that was what the Christmas tree stand needed to get it rotating again.

Spray, spray, spray.

Plug in.

Turn on.

Motor running – no spinning.

Well, it must be hung up on something on the inside. There was a screw on the bottom, which he took out, but we still couldn’t get the “guts” cover off in order to inspect the “guts”.

We needed the mini pry bar!

To the basement, yet again. We looked over by the furnace, in the stack of unpacked boxes of workshop gizmos, and the top of the table saw (obviously gets a lot of use based on the amount of stuff on top of it – NOT).

No mini pry bar.

I finally looked in the tool chest. Low and behold, it was there. Who would have thunk it?

For some reason, prying off the bottom of the tree stand became my job. He sat on the couch and watched me.

I could get the pry bar between the top & bottom covers, but I could get it off. I needed more leverage. To the basement for the “Superbar”. I had seen this in the earlier search, so I knew exactly where it was.

So I’m jamming the crowbar under the lip of the bottom cover & pushing as hard as I can. Hubby got up off his butt and tried standing on one side of it to give me a little more leverage. Still no go on frickin’ that cover.

Now, he decided to point out that from the other side, looking down in the hole where the tree stump goes, you can see there is a machine screw in there. Not the head, but the bottom.

I figure, hey, the whole thing is plastic, I should be able to pound something down in there and strip it out. Guess what? I went to the basement again.

I came back with a HUGE long screw. I start banging around with my 2 oz hammer and that bolt isn’t moving. Once again, Hubby, my knight in shining armor, steps in to help. First, he sent me to the basement to “find a real hammer”, meaning the Craftsman heavy ass one.

He’s banging away and suddenly, leaps back with a “YOW! Son of a Bitch!” He had totally hammered full force on this thumb. He was in the kind of pain that travels up your arm so you can’t move it and you have difficulty breathing. This wasn’t funny – he was in serious pain.

After playing nursemaid for a bit, I started studying that stupid tree stand again. Hmmmm, there is a smaller cover embedded on the big bottom cover.

I started whacking away at that. ZING! The little cover went flying across the room. I’m lucky I didn’t shoot someone’s eye out.

WHAAAAAAAAAAH! The head of the screw!!!

Take that screw out and the whole thing opens like magic!

I took it apart very carefully. Not carefully enough because I knocked out the balls in the ball bearing ring. These were nasty. There was black goo all over them, but I put them back in, & lubricated all the moving parts.

Hubby had enough forethought to test the motor before putting it back together. We plugged it in, turned it on & voila – the motor ran smoothly.

I put that sucker back together – no less than a bazillion parts – and tried it out again. The damn thing wouldn’t turn!

We decided, the motor must not have enough power anymore to turn the weight of the tree stand, but Rob figures he can still use the motor and rig up a way to put the “Oscar” on top.

We’ll just see how this turns out.

Silver lining:

1. Good thing we tested this last night instead of waiting until Saturday.


2. The ball bearing goo stain on the carpet seems to have come out.


3. I’m getting a new Christmas tree stand so I’ll be back to “Lazy Ass” decorator by letting the tree rotate while putting on the gold beads & ornaments. God forbid, I have to walk around the tree a hundred times.

Goin' to the Courthouse, and We're Gonna Get Married . .

When I was pregnant with my eldest daughter, Cupie, I swelled up like a balloon. I looked more like a bloated sausage than a balloon, but that’s beside the point. I started wearing maternity shirts around four months. My fingers had already started to swell and my wedding ring no longer fit. I was self conscious about the fact that I was obviously pregnant, but now appeared to be unmarried.

I begged until Hubby finally agreed to go to Wal-Mart to buy me some sort of ring. I have a nickel allergy so I couldn't buy just anything; otherwise, I’d be swollen, red & itchy – a real pleasure to be around for sure. We stopped by the “fine” jewelry cases and looked at the plain gold bands. They had real gold bands in all sorts of sizes so I could pick one out right away & wear it as soon as we paid for it.

We had to ask a store clerk to help us because the rings were in a locked case. Of course, she had to stand there & pull out rings as we requested them. Oh, and we noticed later that Rob was not wearing his wedding ring at the time either.

Me: This one fits – it is fifteen dollars.

Hubby: OK, let’s pay and go home.

I shrugged my shoulders and set the ring down.

Hubby: What’s the matter? You seem disappointed.

Me: It would be nice to have something with a little sparkle. There are some nice ones over here.

We moved down a little bit – the clerk moved with us. By this time I had noticed Hubby’s ring was missing. I could totally read the look on the clerk’s face. It was to avoid these looks that I was buying the ring in the first place!!!

Me: This one is nice and it’s only thirty-five dollars.

Hubby: THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS!?!?!

The only thing that would have made it any worse is if we had blacked out a couple of teeth and stop bathing three days before walking into the store!


Silver lining:
1. I got a sparkly ring and no longer felt self-conscious
2. The second time around, I could care less what people thought. When my ring didn't fit, I didn't wear it. Live & learn.