On September 9th, we had an amazing thunderstorm. Thunderstorms are my total favorite. They don't scare me in the slightest and I simply find them fascinating. Farrah and I watched from the porch and it was incredible. Strike after beautiful strike followed by a bellowing boom. Sometimes when I watch the storms we get out here, I'm quite vocal about my amazement with them and of course, my neighbors come out to see what all the commotion is about. Unfortunately, sometimes I let out a "Holy SHIT!!" when it is a wicked forked bolt. This time of year, we can get them several days in a row. Well, Saturday was the night that went throughout all of Wenatchee, East Wenatchee, and behind us toward Cashmere. It lasted for hours and hours. Sunday, Farrah and I did some chores, took advantage of it being Sunday and didn't even bother to look around at what was the beginning of a nightmare.
Monday morning, I read the weather report and that is how I help determine what Farrah and I will be wearing for the day. It's super cool in the mornings and then hot in the afternoons. We also judge what could be awaiting us by checking out the sky before we leave to see what types of clouds are in the sky. Puffy innocent clouds? Sheet clouds that could create wind? Dark balls of clouds which could be more lightening? So on and so forth. Farrah said, "Mommy, those look like storm clouds. They're pretty dark." I wasn't looking in her direction and said, "What are you talking about? There's only cute puffy clouds out here." "No." Then she pointed me towards what she was seeing. An all too familiar site that I'd seen out here before. Brown clouds.
Brown clouds mean smoke...and a lot of it. Hmm, well I figured we'd see where it was coming from. We drove and the closer we got to Farrah's school the more smoke we saw and we started to see fire. This was freaking us both out. However, to put Farrah at ease I pointed out that the fire wasn't heading down the hill toward her school, but rather over the other side. The day went on and the wind picked up...toward Farrah's school. By the time I picked her up, I saw that the fire had crept down the hill more and close to a house. Mind you, when I say "hill", it's more like a small mountain really up close. Apparently, when I picked her up, Farrah had been very upset and scared about the fires. However, her fear wasn't that the fires were getting closer and bigger, but whether or not I was okay. She's awesome. She worried about me while I worried about her.
Well, it has been weeks since the fires in Central Washington broke out and it hasn't improved. In fact, it has gotten worse. The worst part about the fires is the smoke. Wenatchee has 300 days of no rain...in Washington State. It is why many people have packed up and headed over here. It's not as depressingly grey as it is towards the coast. Now, however, the skies have been covered in a thick fog of smoke everywhere we go. I got a little emotional one day watching kids walk home from school covering their faces with their shirts because it was so hard to breathe. I hated seeing that. Everywhere I went I saw what I thought were little white bugs flying around when in fact, it was ash. We've been breathing in what we can see...so who knows what we've been breathing in that we can't? Air quality having a range between 0 (perfect) to 500 (hazardous)---we're at 500+. I've heard that they can't even give an accurate number of how bad it truly is because it's really beyond the 500 mark. And it took almost a WEEK for anyone to give us any type of information as to what that even meant. Supposedly, it is worse than breathing in Mount St. Helens ash when it blew, one week is worse than breathing in L.A.'s smog for a year, and it's as bad if not worse than being a lifetime smoker. Smokers take a drag of their cigarette and then breathe in oxygen. We are all simply breathing in toxins with every breath we take.
Farrah's school finally got cancelled on Friday and Monday. We were pretty much hunkering down in the house because if we even opened the door once, it was like getting punched in the face with campfire smoke. We had to sleep in the living room with the humidifier going and fans blowing the air in the house we already had all around. Even if it got hot outside, it was best to turn off the AC. Eventually, I couldn't take it and had to turn it on and hope I set it right for recirculating air. Ugh. I hadn't even noticed how lethargic I was. I had't noticed the mucous-yness in my throat. I hadn't noticed that I constantly felt like I was breathing through two cotton balls. And I hadn't noticed that my voice started to sound like a 70 year old smoker's. But I did notice the massive migraine I got that knocked me on my ass for almost 2 days. Finally, I decided we needed to get out of town. I'd called Farrah's teacher and she was shocked that we hadn't left for a little reprieve since they'd started. Well, no. There were several times that I did go out and see how bad the smoke was and found that I didn't smell it anymore. I still couldn't see much further than 100 feet past my back yard when I can normally see the valley and all of Wenatchee, but the air smelled better. I would take in deep breaths, oblivious to the fact that: just because I couldn't smell it, didn't mean it wasn't there. I couldn't smell it because I was used to it.
Farrah and I packed as fast as we could because it was getting late and driving over the pass at night is dangerous but I wasn't about to spend another night there. That's when it's the worst. We bailed and as soon as we crossed the pass through a haze of what looked like fog, but was smoke, I rolled down the windows and it smelled sweet. It smelt like pine! It was the craziest smell! It was fresh and healthy air. So, we've been on the West side to clear up our lungs...for now. At some point, we need to go back. That's my home and my stuff and Farrah's school. But now I'm hearing from Mike that it's back to very hazardous levels and the particles that they're measuring out there are so fine that it will be impossible to cough them out. They'll be stuck in our lungs. What would the long term effects be?And, we're not even sure if they measure carbon monoxide. What a freakin' nightmare.
However, to put a kinda funny spin on it... the night of the thunderstorm, Farrah and I pretended like we were shooting our arms out and causing the lightening strikes. We do silly stuff like that...because I have a 5 year old. There were so many bolts it was easy to pretend that one of us made one of the bolts strike. Well, 2 days ago Farrah quietly told me she was concerned that it was one of her bolts of lightening that started the fires. I told her it was possible. And her response was, "My bad."
What?!!
Friday, September 28, 2012
A Lil' Dilemma
So, I got a tattoo over a year ago on my wrist that says, "Who Cares" because it is a motto I have lived by for a very long time. It began sometime around 2001, when I wasn't going to be able to make my car payment on time (mind you...it was going to be like a day or two late). I called Mike from work in tears telling him about my problem. I NEVER went to Mike for money. Ever. And I didn't then either. He and I were very independent with our money and I clearly didn't make what he made at the time. We didn't even share a checking account until we'd been married for a couple of years and that's after we'd been together for 7!
But, I digress.
I was working in escrow at the time and in my little office crying about paying a bill on time and he had to pull himself away to comfort me with these words, "Who cares?" I was shocked. Who cares? I did. But then he added, "If you don't pay it today, are they coming to take the car? No. Are they going to break your legs? No. Are you going to die? No. Is it the end of the world? No. So...who cares?"
I've held onto that moment and those words for a very long time. I've used them when I've felt like my world was falling apart and others had the joy of shitting on it in the process. I've used those words when I've thought all was lost, and I found myself. I've used those words even against the man who shared them with me in the first place in order for me to find peace in a moment. But they are words that forever mean something to me and they are words that Mike has shared time and time again in moments when I've needed to hear them the most throughout our 15 years together and 10 years of marriage. I have, since, changed the phrase to "Don't give a shit" on my mirror included in a long list of positive affirmations. Not as pretty, but very effective.
But, I digress...again.
Here's my problem. My tattoo...kinda looks like shit. The ink didn't take in the word "who", so it looks faded and well...like shit. I'd like to get it fixed, but the irony is what I'm fixing. If I were to share this with a tattoo artist to fix, the hilarity that would follow would be a tad uncomfortable. But "who cares," right? My tattoo looks like it is in need of a touch up, but "who cares." I'm not happy with how it turned out, but "who cares?"
Shit.
I guess I do. The irony is thick with this problem and I'm conflicted because I truly have lived a pretty hard freaking life by these words and how can I even think about fixing it? But "who cares" that I want my "who cares" tattoo fixed? Ugh. See? Not sure what to do.
But, I digress.
I was working in escrow at the time and in my little office crying about paying a bill on time and he had to pull himself away to comfort me with these words, "Who cares?" I was shocked. Who cares? I did. But then he added, "If you don't pay it today, are they coming to take the car? No. Are they going to break your legs? No. Are you going to die? No. Is it the end of the world? No. So...who cares?"
I've held onto that moment and those words for a very long time. I've used them when I've felt like my world was falling apart and others had the joy of shitting on it in the process. I've used those words when I've thought all was lost, and I found myself. I've used those words even against the man who shared them with me in the first place in order for me to find peace in a moment. But they are words that forever mean something to me and they are words that Mike has shared time and time again in moments when I've needed to hear them the most throughout our 15 years together and 10 years of marriage. I have, since, changed the phrase to "Don't give a shit" on my mirror included in a long list of positive affirmations. Not as pretty, but very effective.
But, I digress...again.
Here's my problem. My tattoo...kinda looks like shit. The ink didn't take in the word "who", so it looks faded and well...like shit. I'd like to get it fixed, but the irony is what I'm fixing. If I were to share this with a tattoo artist to fix, the hilarity that would follow would be a tad uncomfortable. But "who cares," right? My tattoo looks like it is in need of a touch up, but "who cares." I'm not happy with how it turned out, but "who cares?"
Shit.
I guess I do. The irony is thick with this problem and I'm conflicted because I truly have lived a pretty hard freaking life by these words and how can I even think about fixing it? But "who cares" that I want my "who cares" tattoo fixed? Ugh. See? Not sure what to do.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Salad Debacle Part Deux
Had to write about this one because it was (at least for me) too funny not to. Recently, at my favorite little place I go every weekday, I've ordered a mixed green salad rather than the Caesar salad that failed miserably. Every time I order the mixed green, I'm asked, "Would you like them to mix it with the dressing?"
"Yes, please."
But what I receive is a side of Balsamic Vinaigrette. Why? I've ordered it three times, been asked the same question three times, and three times...they refuse to toss my salad.
Why won't they toss the salad? They have all the tools in the kitchen to toss the salad and yet, they just won't do it.
So, we all know what that means. I have to end up tossing my own salad. This is a very difficult and awkward task as I do not have the right equipment to do it.
Also, I'm usually surrounded by some of my things so I have to bend to the side to toss my salad.
Okay...do you get what I'm doing here? My mind went right to the gutter this afternoon when I had a conversation with Mike about why the cafe wouldn't toss my salad and BAM! Blog-story.
Dumb...but I told myself I'd write about it. Mission accomplished.
"Yes, please."
But what I receive is a side of Balsamic Vinaigrette. Why? I've ordered it three times, been asked the same question three times, and three times...they refuse to toss my salad.
Why won't they toss the salad? They have all the tools in the kitchen to toss the salad and yet, they just won't do it.
So, we all know what that means. I have to end up tossing my own salad. This is a very difficult and awkward task as I do not have the right equipment to do it.
Also, I'm usually surrounded by some of my things so I have to bend to the side to toss my salad.
Okay...do you get what I'm doing here? My mind went right to the gutter this afternoon when I had a conversation with Mike about why the cafe wouldn't toss my salad and BAM! Blog-story.
Dumb...but I told myself I'd write about it. Mission accomplished.
Saturday, September 08, 2012
Potter Curiosity
Seen the movies a zillion times, and yet I'm puzzled with the very last scene of the very last movie. Spoiler Alert: I'm going to Spoil the ending here.
This is a complaint I have with the final scene of the last movie because it simply struck me as odd that when it shows Hermoine, Ron, and Harry & his wife at the end...they kinda all look like shit. I mean, the kids are dressed okay, but everyone else seems to have completely phoned it in. Dark circles under eyes, shabby clothing, dirty shoes, crappy coats, and weirdly unkempt hair. And their noses. All their noses are bigger - quite noticeably. Is mine that much bigger than it was when I was 17? Holy shit, I hope not!
Here's where my confusion and disappointment comes in:
Harry, Hermoine, and Ron were all responsible for KILLING VOLDERMORT. I guess that's kind of a big deal, right? Like if a few children got past security and killed Hitler or some other evil example like that...they might be considered heroes, right? But then why, why do they look like they work at the DMV? I would imagine that Hermoine would hold some sort of position in politics. Harry would probably be taken care of for the rest of his life as a sort of "thank you" from THE WORLD. And Ron, well, he'd be equally praised for just being super rad. Harry's wife...meh. But, she did marry "the boy that wouldn't die, who died, an then didn't die again".
So what does someone have to do to get commended? For Christ's sake, freakin' Malfoy at the end of the movie is looking all suave and fancy-pants, but he was a douche bag his whole time growing up and tried to MURDER people. He may not have been a fan of the potential murdering, but still...douche. His whole family followed the big 'ol bad guy, and he gets to show up at the train station looking all awesome sending his son off and barely nods any type of acknowledgement to Harry. "Yeah, you're welcome for saving your freakin' life. You're welcome. I could've let you burn to a crisp in that fire and watched you cry like a little girl, but no, saved your life so you could have a son and your super hot wife." said Harry, in my version of the ending.
I don't know if others feel the same as me about this movie or not because I think I've watched 100 marathons of the movies. Great background noise. So, now I have a stupid opinion that doesn't even matter, and yet here I am typing about it...because for some reason...it does to me.
One more thing, when all his dead friends and family come to greet him before he goes off to confront Voldermort and voluntarily die, where the hell is Fred? He'd been very close friends with Harry for years and wasn't part of the "send-off" party. Why? He should've been there. He should've been there.
Oh, why do I watch these movies so many times to formulate a non important subject to write about? What has become of my life?
Oh well, better stop typing so I can go back to my marathon...again.
Pffffft.
This is a complaint I have with the final scene of the last movie because it simply struck me as odd that when it shows Hermoine, Ron, and Harry & his wife at the end...they kinda all look like shit. I mean, the kids are dressed okay, but everyone else seems to have completely phoned it in. Dark circles under eyes, shabby clothing, dirty shoes, crappy coats, and weirdly unkempt hair. And their noses. All their noses are bigger - quite noticeably. Is mine that much bigger than it was when I was 17? Holy shit, I hope not!
Here's where my confusion and disappointment comes in:
Harry, Hermoine, and Ron were all responsible for KILLING VOLDERMORT. I guess that's kind of a big deal, right? Like if a few children got past security and killed Hitler or some other evil example like that...they might be considered heroes, right? But then why, why do they look like they work at the DMV? I would imagine that Hermoine would hold some sort of position in politics. Harry would probably be taken care of for the rest of his life as a sort of "thank you" from THE WORLD. And Ron, well, he'd be equally praised for just being super rad. Harry's wife...meh. But, she did marry "the boy that wouldn't die, who died, an then didn't die again".
So what does someone have to do to get commended? For Christ's sake, freakin' Malfoy at the end of the movie is looking all suave and fancy-pants, but he was a douche bag his whole time growing up and tried to MURDER people. He may not have been a fan of the potential murdering, but still...douche. His whole family followed the big 'ol bad guy, and he gets to show up at the train station looking all awesome sending his son off and barely nods any type of acknowledgement to Harry. "Yeah, you're welcome for saving your freakin' life. You're welcome. I could've let you burn to a crisp in that fire and watched you cry like a little girl, but no, saved your life so you could have a son and your super hot wife." said Harry, in my version of the ending.
I don't know if others feel the same as me about this movie or not because I think I've watched 100 marathons of the movies. Great background noise. So, now I have a stupid opinion that doesn't even matter, and yet here I am typing about it...because for some reason...it does to me.
One more thing, when all his dead friends and family come to greet him before he goes off to confront Voldermort and voluntarily die, where the hell is Fred? He'd been very close friends with Harry for years and wasn't part of the "send-off" party. Why? He should've been there. He should've been there.
Oh, why do I watch these movies so many times to formulate a non important subject to write about? What has become of my life?
Oh well, better stop typing so I can go back to my marathon...again.
Pffffft.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Charmin Softness
Farrah: "Mommy, why are there bears in a commercial for toilet paper?"
Me: "Because Charmin toilet paper is made out of bears."
Farrah: "Whhhhat?!!
Me: "Yeah. Bear fur is really soft, so the company at Charmin thought it would be a good idea to make super soft toilet paper out of bear fur. That way it doesn't hurt if you wipe more than once."
Farrah: "I don't like that."
Me: "I know honey. Me neither. That's why we don't buy Charmin because I don't believe in bear-fur toilet paper. We'll keep using the stuff made out of trees."
Farrah: "Whhhhat?!"
Me: "Because Charmin toilet paper is made out of bears."
Farrah: "Whhhhat?!!
Me: "Yeah. Bear fur is really soft, so the company at Charmin thought it would be a good idea to make super soft toilet paper out of bear fur. That way it doesn't hurt if you wipe more than once."
Farrah: "I don't like that."
Me: "I know honey. Me neither. That's why we don't buy Charmin because I don't believe in bear-fur toilet paper. We'll keep using the stuff made out of trees."
Farrah: "Whhhhat?!"
Monday, August 20, 2012
Grandma Kathy
I am a Grandma today! Alex and Joanie had their daughter, Reese Elizabeth Moody. I couldn't be happier to have such a beautiful little addition to our Moody family. Farrah is super excited to be an Auntie! How cool will it be for Reese to come over and play? She'll have someone to play with (other than me and Mike). Farrah has been practicing holding her doll just right so she will know how to hold Reese. Mike and I went to the hospital tonight to meet our Granddaughter and she's gorgeous. She and Farrah have matching toes! Mike was beaming with pride. GrandpaMoo. ; ) Alex and Joanie, I'm so proud of you two and I love you both to death! Thank you so much for bringing Reese into such a big family that is full of a lot of love. Your daughter is going to grow up to be such a happy little person with such great parents. Welcome to the family Reese! You're already loved so much.
Little Miss Reese Elizabeth Moody
Proud GrandpaMOO
Special moment between my husband, my stepson, and my granddaughter. Love you all.
One tough mama! You did such an amazing job, Joanie. I love you and can't wait to see you in action. You're going to be a wonderful mother. Alex and you will make it look easy.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Fifty Shades of GREAT
Yes, I read the books. All three of them. Beginning to end. And truthfully, I was entertained. Once you get through all the screwing (which I totally don't mind reading about...who doesn't?), the story is fun. It isn't a favorite of mine, but if a book can make my eyes water a little, big points to the author.
I am a total nerd, but I kind of have to be for the path and journey I'm on. So, I'll read anything at this time that might spark some extra imagination for me. Plus, reading exercises my brain. Shit, I must be a genius by now! (Kidding)
I read the first book and yawned from time to time when there were too many (is it possible, yes) "sex scenes" because every book I read gets down and dirty. Reeeeal dirty. Nowadays, that is what the public wants. OBVIOUSLY, by the massive positive outcry for this book that so many have expressed. But I'd finished a lot of other books recently and decided to go back and read Book 1 again. Okay. It wasn't boring as much as I just wanted to focus on the character development. Once I got that, I started to really enjoy it. Then I bought book 2. Read it. Then book 3. Finished.
It's fun. It's flirty. It's rags to riches. It's naughty (I mean down right constant CONSTANT f*cking; sometimes it simply gets to the point that you skim through the screwing so you can get back to the story), but like I said...I was entertained. KUDOS to the author for doing something that she'd always wanted to do, take on such a risqué topic (and in three books nonetheless), and making so many women out there HAPPY that someone could appeal to what women want.
Side note: I noticed at the grocery store yesterday where all the Fifty Shades of Grey books are, below them are about 4 other books that are all about sex. Clearly, Pandora's sex box (hee hee) has been opened. Thank you writers! You're so scandalous.
I only have 3 favorite authors who's style is very much like mine and I've been lucky enough to have discovered them. Every author has a different style, different way to tell a story, and a different way to keep readers intrigued. There are some that get published and I'm like, "what?" But, again, there is something for everyone. And a story teller for everyone. I've read some really awful stuff, but I'll admit that Fifty Shades will not go on my shelf in the "Do Not Ever Read Ever Again Even If You're Sick Or Broke And Can't Afford Any More Books" section.
Honestly, I think a BIG part of me enjoyed reading this because the author chased a dream and succeeded immensely! How can one not be inspired by that? So, while reading these books that had some serious effed up (but not at all horrible) parts to it...it made it even so much better knowing I was reading something that someone decided it was time to make a change and do something she'd always wanted to do.
I might start reading them again. Like I said, I'm a nerd. And...we'll call it "research". ; )
I am a total nerd, but I kind of have to be for the path and journey I'm on. So, I'll read anything at this time that might spark some extra imagination for me. Plus, reading exercises my brain. Shit, I must be a genius by now! (Kidding)
I read the first book and yawned from time to time when there were too many (is it possible, yes) "sex scenes" because every book I read gets down and dirty. Reeeeal dirty. Nowadays, that is what the public wants. OBVIOUSLY, by the massive positive outcry for this book that so many have expressed. But I'd finished a lot of other books recently and decided to go back and read Book 1 again. Okay. It wasn't boring as much as I just wanted to focus on the character development. Once I got that, I started to really enjoy it. Then I bought book 2. Read it. Then book 3. Finished.
It's fun. It's flirty. It's rags to riches. It's naughty (I mean down right constant CONSTANT f*cking; sometimes it simply gets to the point that you skim through the screwing so you can get back to the story), but like I said...I was entertained. KUDOS to the author for doing something that she'd always wanted to do, take on such a risqué topic (and in three books nonetheless), and making so many women out there HAPPY that someone could appeal to what women want.
Side note: I noticed at the grocery store yesterday where all the Fifty Shades of Grey books are, below them are about 4 other books that are all about sex. Clearly, Pandora's sex box (hee hee) has been opened. Thank you writers! You're so scandalous.
I only have 3 favorite authors who's style is very much like mine and I've been lucky enough to have discovered them. Every author has a different style, different way to tell a story, and a different way to keep readers intrigued. There are some that get published and I'm like, "what?" But, again, there is something for everyone. And a story teller for everyone. I've read some really awful stuff, but I'll admit that Fifty Shades will not go on my shelf in the "Do Not Ever Read Ever Again Even If You're Sick Or Broke And Can't Afford Any More Books" section.
Honestly, I think a BIG part of me enjoyed reading this because the author chased a dream and succeeded immensely! How can one not be inspired by that? So, while reading these books that had some serious effed up (but not at all horrible) parts to it...it made it even so much better knowing I was reading something that someone decided it was time to make a change and do something she'd always wanted to do.
I might start reading them again. Like I said, I'm a nerd. And...we'll call it "research". ; )
Monday, August 13, 2012
Awwwwwwwww YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH
We bought a pool! It's been about 100 degrees everyday this summer and will continue probably until the end of September. It's HOT!!! Sometimes it's too hot to open the door and step outside for more than 10 seconds. I have literally stepped out and turned right back around to go into my wonderfully air conditioned house. However, we've been missing out on enjoying the sunshine because we can't even sunbathe for more than one hour to half an hour even with the sprinkler giving us a little break from the angry sun.
So we made the decision....
Time for a pool that was more than the blow-up pool that only goes up to our calves. Can't quite afford the in-ground pool just yet, so we went another direction.
Jealous?
You should be, because it's hotter than hell over here and we actually get to enjoy some sunshine and not get crispy!
Friday, August 03, 2012
Moves Like Jagger...
Nope, I still have not seen "Magic Mike" but I have every intention to see it. Nah, this is about my Friday-Night-Life. It's not as fantastic as you'd think but I think it's pretty freakin' fun. Sometimes I get a wild hair and plug my phone into the Bose stereo in the kitchen and blast the hell out of it. And I dance. Dance like a maniac. In slippers. Nothing sexier than that. So, tonight started with "Moves Like Jagger" and danced like I was in a club for Farrah. Probably not appropriate, but who cares? She won't judge me. When she was done eating dinner, she actually joined in the fun and I was quite impressed with her skills. Skills she learned from watching...me. Then one of her favorites, "Video Killed the Radio Star." I had to chalk it up to my cardio for the day because it's damn hot out here even with the AC, but still a sweaty mess. But TOTALLY worth it! Mind you, as soon as I find a club I can shake what I workout so hard on, I'm grabbing a friend and going out dammit! Because honestly, dancing in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, kick my slippers off and finish my moves in socks...not hot. But sometimes...it is. ; )-
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Smiley
This is a dumb, but "feel good" post. My cheeks are hurting from smiling so much and laughing so hard, and what a great way to go to bed? Why? Because for the past year, I have deprived myself of watching the Daily Show. AppleTV and Hulu decided to go out for some cocktails, go dancing and hook- up and it looks like I now have the joy of watching one of my very favorite shows. So I've watched three episodes and enjoyed several scream-laugh moments all to myself and grinning ear to ear from the moment a show would start until the credits rolled. Ahhh...back to some normalness for me that I thoroughly enjoy. Thank you AppleTV and Hulu for being smart and sharing your love of each other with the rest of us. I heart you.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Bisque-gusting
I thought of this title and figured it was so rad I might not even have to tell the story associated with it. But then you'd be left hanging and wondering, "Kathy. What was so bisque-gusting?" Oh, I'll share. Warning though, it is one of those stories that suck and aren't funny or really even interesting. I just like my title because it's so damn clever.
Here's the lame story... I live near a Fred Meyer and the other day Farrah and I needed to make a quick stop for various crap and I wanted to get back home for the opening ceremonies for the Olympics. While there, I eyeballed the soup section where they sell their "selected" soups. Easy. No effort. The perfect dinner. I grabbed the Lobster Bisque with Sherry. Mmmm...sounds interesting. Why the Lobster Bisque? When I was 18, my parents took me out to dinner for my birthday and I'd had Lobster Bisque. It was wonderful. Being the silly person that I am, I assumed Fred Meyer had the same quality of soup as the 5 star restaurant I'd been to. Of course, I expected the same damn soup. I cooked it, sat down to watch a cheesy movie, and could feel my face contort.
It was pretty terrible. And yet, I continued to eat it. I don't know why sometimes I do this. Maybe I think of starving people and I feel guilty if I don't finish. Maybe my tastebuds will adjust and miraculously the taste will improve. Maybe I know I spent a good hard earned 5 dollars on this crap that could have just as easily gone to the coffee shop I go to everyday for a mocha. I just kept eating it. What makes it so effed up was I could actually pinpoint what the flavor was that I was tasting.
Bile.
Somehow, Fred Meyer had found a way to make Bile Soup and call it Lobster Bisque. LIARS! You know when you are running around and you kinda over do it and a little up-chuck burns your throat. That's bile. That taste...is Fred Meyer's Lobster Bisque with Sherry.
Ultimately...I threw in the towel and made myself something else to eat.
It was worth having a bowl of bile just to come up with the title of this blog entry.
The soup was Bisque-gusting. Get it?
Here's the lame story... I live near a Fred Meyer and the other day Farrah and I needed to make a quick stop for various crap and I wanted to get back home for the opening ceremonies for the Olympics. While there, I eyeballed the soup section where they sell their "selected" soups. Easy. No effort. The perfect dinner. I grabbed the Lobster Bisque with Sherry. Mmmm...sounds interesting. Why the Lobster Bisque? When I was 18, my parents took me out to dinner for my birthday and I'd had Lobster Bisque. It was wonderful. Being the silly person that I am, I assumed Fred Meyer had the same quality of soup as the 5 star restaurant I'd been to. Of course, I expected the same damn soup. I cooked it, sat down to watch a cheesy movie, and could feel my face contort.
It was pretty terrible. And yet, I continued to eat it. I don't know why sometimes I do this. Maybe I think of starving people and I feel guilty if I don't finish. Maybe my tastebuds will adjust and miraculously the taste will improve. Maybe I know I spent a good hard earned 5 dollars on this crap that could have just as easily gone to the coffee shop I go to everyday for a mocha. I just kept eating it. What makes it so effed up was I could actually pinpoint what the flavor was that I was tasting.
Bile.
Somehow, Fred Meyer had found a way to make Bile Soup and call it Lobster Bisque. LIARS! You know when you are running around and you kinda over do it and a little up-chuck burns your throat. That's bile. That taste...is Fred Meyer's Lobster Bisque with Sherry.
Ultimately...I threw in the towel and made myself something else to eat.
It was worth having a bowl of bile just to come up with the title of this blog entry.
The soup was Bisque-gusting. Get it?
Monday, July 16, 2012
Salad Debacle
I ordered lunch today and chose the Caesar salad as I have before, with chicken. When the girl put the plate down in front of me, I started to chuckle. "So...am I suppose to cut the romaine?" The romaine lettuce was cut in long sheets about 8-9 inches long and had strips of chicken and drizzled dressing over the top. She quickly brought over a butter knife for me and I had to shake my head. I let her know that I hate being a complainer, but there was no way that I was going to be able to "chop" the lettuce as it should have been in the first place with a butter knife nor on the size of plate that had been given to me. I told her I just wanted lunch but didn't want to work so hard to get the food into my mouth. She said this was how it had always been. Not true. I had the same salad and loved it last week. The romaine was chopped in bite size pieces in a large bowl with bite size grilled chicken. She told me she would take it back to the back and have them cut up the lettuce for me. Grrrreat. We all know what kind of risk we take when we send something back.
She took it and and brought back what looked like the chef had taken the knife through the whole thing one time because a single piece of lettuce was the size of my face and placed in a small bowl. When she brought it, I thanked her for trying and let her know I'll still have to cut it and I just didn't want to make a mess. So what happened? Every time I cut a piece of the romaine, 2 pieces would fall onto the table. This happened about 3 times until I had a small pile of my lunch ON the table and not one bite yet in my mouth. Eff. This.
I signaled for someone else who looked like they were more in a management position and told him to just take it back. He looked at it and said, "Why is it in such a small bowl? Did you get the long strips of romaine?" Ugh. He looked at the mess in front of me and I said I hate to be the person to send something back, but this was stupid. He took it back with no qualms and returned to me a normal Caesar salad.
Here's the thing...
I learned in Culinary Arts that the food you made needed to be beautiful, delicious, but also practical to eat. This was someone trying something way too artsy and impossible to eat, and therefore not fun to enjoy. For the price I paid for my salad, I shouldn't have been expected to do all the freakin' work. That's how it felt: Here's a bunch of leaves of romaine lettuce, a few strips of chicken, some giant croutons, and a lot of drizzled dressing. Good luck not getting it all over your shirt and thanks for the money to do my job for me.
Anyway, not ordering that again. That's not artsy...that's lazy. No matter how pretty the presentation looks, I should still be able to eat the damn thing.
Fail.
She took it and and brought back what looked like the chef had taken the knife through the whole thing one time because a single piece of lettuce was the size of my face and placed in a small bowl. When she brought it, I thanked her for trying and let her know I'll still have to cut it and I just didn't want to make a mess. So what happened? Every time I cut a piece of the romaine, 2 pieces would fall onto the table. This happened about 3 times until I had a small pile of my lunch ON the table and not one bite yet in my mouth. Eff. This.
I signaled for someone else who looked like they were more in a management position and told him to just take it back. He looked at it and said, "Why is it in such a small bowl? Did you get the long strips of romaine?" Ugh. He looked at the mess in front of me and I said I hate to be the person to send something back, but this was stupid. He took it back with no qualms and returned to me a normal Caesar salad.
Here's the thing...
I learned in Culinary Arts that the food you made needed to be beautiful, delicious, but also practical to eat. This was someone trying something way too artsy and impossible to eat, and therefore not fun to enjoy. For the price I paid for my salad, I shouldn't have been expected to do all the freakin' work. That's how it felt: Here's a bunch of leaves of romaine lettuce, a few strips of chicken, some giant croutons, and a lot of drizzled dressing. Good luck not getting it all over your shirt and thanks for the money to do my job for me.
Anyway, not ordering that again. That's not artsy...that's lazy. No matter how pretty the presentation looks, I should still be able to eat the damn thing.
Fail.
Monday, July 09, 2012
Hand Shaker
I can't be positive that I haven't already posted about this subject matter at some point or not...but if I have, it must be because it's important. When meeting someone for the first time, I think people should take some time to evaluate how they intend to shake the other person's hand. First, don't have a pussy hand shake. ESPECIALLY if you're a guy. Nothing makes me have less faith in whatever you're going to be like when I feel like I need to bow down and kiss your hand like a gentleman. Because I'm not a gentleman. I'm a 100 pound woman who shouldn't have a stronger hand shake than you. Also, don't be a sweaty mess. Hell, be honest and even tell me as you're wiping the sweat off onto your pants that your hands are all sweaty before you touch my hand. I don't mind. I mind, however, suddenly having a hand that I now have to wipe on my pants. Thanks. Finally, there are the guys that have to either prove their masculinity by trying to break my bones in our friendly greeting. What is wrong with these people??! I just met some guy who works out at my gym and he introduced himself to me by squeezing my hand and fingers together to the point of almost cracking something. BE CAREFUL!!! I'm delicate! Also, it makes me super angry when my hand is being gripped by a stranger and I feel like I'm already in an abusive relationship with them before I can share what my name is. When guys do that to each other, it is positively rude. It's almost a sign of pea-cocking without actually having to puff out the chest. It's like a game of "who's got the stronger handshake". Well, asses, to take you seriously in any type of greeting when shaking hands, your handshake must be firm and serious but never painful. You're just a jerk at that point whether you realize it or not. How about you practice shaking hands with your mother or 90 year old grandmother? Or try with a homeless man who's lost everything. Would you be such a jerk that you would grab that man's hand and squeeze what's left of his pride out of his hand, or would you shake it like you are truly glad to meet him?
In any case, this obviously just happened. I should've said, "Hey jackass! Nice to meet you, but how about I take a hammer and slam it down on your hand and see if that enhances this greeting. You'd hate me about as much as I'm hating you right now." But, I'm not that way so I let him get away with it unfortunately and he will shake someone else's hand violently and they will suffer...and I honestly don't think he is even aware that his handshake is a total put off. Next time I see him I'll just waive. Protecting myself. Geez, sweaty-hands-McGee just came up and said hello and now my right hand with it's delicate bones and tendons are also covered in someone else's sweat. Gross.
In any case, this obviously just happened. I should've said, "Hey jackass! Nice to meet you, but how about I take a hammer and slam it down on your hand and see if that enhances this greeting. You'd hate me about as much as I'm hating you right now." But, I'm not that way so I let him get away with it unfortunately and he will shake someone else's hand violently and they will suffer...and I honestly don't think he is even aware that his handshake is a total put off. Next time I see him I'll just waive. Protecting myself. Geez, sweaty-hands-McGee just came up and said hello and now my right hand with it's delicate bones and tendons are also covered in someone else's sweat. Gross.
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Ssssssssssnake
For the past few days, my garage has been a stinky stinky smelly gross...place. Couldn't think of another word there. Well, I've been wondering what the hell I dumped in the garbage to make the whole place smell like death. Did I roast a chicken like a month ago and suddenly decide to throw it away now? Did I decide to thaw out some trout that we caught while camping and just keep it in the garbage can for the past 2 weeks? Did I change a shitty diaper and wrap it up in another shitty diaper and not remember doing it? Why, god, why did it smell so bad? I sprayed all of my recycle cans as well as the garbage can down with a ridiculous amount of Lysol hoping that it would ward off the stench until garbage day. Yesterday, Farrah and I were walking through the garage to head for the mailbox and low and behold...the smelly problem made itself known. Somehow, a gardner snake had slithered its way into our garage and miraculously got its whole midsection smushed, like something drove over it. I don't know how it would have been driven over and then drug its sorry snake ass back into my garage to live out its final hours, but something along those lines happened. After the discovery had been made, Farrah and I had the heeby-geebies all the way to the mailbox and back.
How the hell was I going to get the evil dead out of my garage? Every time I visualized any means to do it...I'd wiggle around as if a mouse just dove down my shirt. But it would have to happen eventually. Now that I knew what the source of the stink was coming from, my gag reflexes were working overtime whenever I walked out there.
So, once I picked Farrah up from Summer Camp/Summer School, I made the critical decision. It had to be done. Today. But like hell if I was doing it alone! Farrah was going to have to be my side kick in this matter whether she wanted to be or not! I grabbed a shovel and moved certain obstacles out of the way to do what I had to do. I knew if I watched what I was doing, I'd probably freak out. So, I decided to use the shovel and angled it for the thrust to scoop up what I could with my head turned the other direction (I could tell part of the snake was "stuck" to the ground). Once I felt the weight shift onto the shovel's head and I looked, I screamed like the goddamn thing woke up and I started to run from the dead snake. This wasn't just a dead snake. It had some sort of bulge that I had assumed was it's guts being pushed all together because on the other end, it's eyeballs were pushed out of its face. I know. Gross. But it wasn't its guts. No. The bulge was a silly massive amount of maggots withering around having the time of their life while I watched in horror. How on Earth was I going to scoop this thing up which still had a foot of tail that needed to be taken along with the rest of its dead body? I gave the snow shovel a small glance, then said screw it. I couldn't be a total pussy about this, so no to the snow shovel. I gave my shovel one more push and made sure I had the whole damn snake while I ran with it. Then came Farrah's role in the whole ordeal:
"MOMMY!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!!!"
Well, that was out of the question because, of course, they would have heard her giving me directions on where to discard the carcass. So I opted for some rocks near a bush in the open where I prayed some other nasty ass animal might find it appealing and eat it. Or even better, have the upcoming 90+ degree weather completely dry that thing out.
In the meantime, the area in which the snake had met its unfortunate death and stuck a little to the garage floor, I had sprayed down with kitchen bleach cleaner. That wasn't enough for me because there were about 10 maggots still crawling around in the poison. So I went for the gusto and poured about 1-2 cups of bleach on the whole area. The damn things were swimming in it. Farrah was freaking out because "it wasn't working!!!" I let her know to just give it time. They would not survive. Payback for the poor snake. The poor, disgusting, smelly, rotten, decaying, maggot infested snake that chose my freakin' garage.
I hope it goes to hell.
How the hell was I going to get the evil dead out of my garage? Every time I visualized any means to do it...I'd wiggle around as if a mouse just dove down my shirt. But it would have to happen eventually. Now that I knew what the source of the stink was coming from, my gag reflexes were working overtime whenever I walked out there.
So, once I picked Farrah up from Summer Camp/Summer School, I made the critical decision. It had to be done. Today. But like hell if I was doing it alone! Farrah was going to have to be my side kick in this matter whether she wanted to be or not! I grabbed a shovel and moved certain obstacles out of the way to do what I had to do. I knew if I watched what I was doing, I'd probably freak out. So, I decided to use the shovel and angled it for the thrust to scoop up what I could with my head turned the other direction (I could tell part of the snake was "stuck" to the ground). Once I felt the weight shift onto the shovel's head and I looked, I screamed like the goddamn thing woke up and I started to run from the dead snake. This wasn't just a dead snake. It had some sort of bulge that I had assumed was it's guts being pushed all together because on the other end, it's eyeballs were pushed out of its face. I know. Gross. But it wasn't its guts. No. The bulge was a silly massive amount of maggots withering around having the time of their life while I watched in horror. How on Earth was I going to scoop this thing up which still had a foot of tail that needed to be taken along with the rest of its dead body? I gave the snow shovel a small glance, then said screw it. I couldn't be a total pussy about this, so no to the snow shovel. I gave my shovel one more push and made sure I had the whole damn snake while I ran with it. Then came Farrah's role in the whole ordeal:
"MOMMY!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!!!"
Well, that was out of the question because, of course, they would have heard her giving me directions on where to discard the carcass. So I opted for some rocks near a bush in the open where I prayed some other nasty ass animal might find it appealing and eat it. Or even better, have the upcoming 90+ degree weather completely dry that thing out.
In the meantime, the area in which the snake had met its unfortunate death and stuck a little to the garage floor, I had sprayed down with kitchen bleach cleaner. That wasn't enough for me because there were about 10 maggots still crawling around in the poison. So I went for the gusto and poured about 1-2 cups of bleach on the whole area. The damn things were swimming in it. Farrah was freaking out because "it wasn't working!!!" I let her know to just give it time. They would not survive. Payback for the poor snake. The poor, disgusting, smelly, rotten, decaying, maggot infested snake that chose my freakin' garage.
I hope it goes to hell.
Look at the eyes! Sick.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
15 Years Today
15 years ago today, I had my first date with Mike Moody. I had been looking forward to an evening with him and scared as hell, too. It was on a Sunday. We went to the Ponderosa Tavern even though I was only 20 at the time and he was 30. He told the bartender not to give me a hard time for not having my ID on me because I was going to be "the next Mrs. Moody". He even had the courage to tell me he told her that and asked me if that bothered me. I remember smiling at him, blushing, and admitting that it didn't bother me at all. We shared a pitcher of beer (probably Bud Light) and talked all night. Mike was razzed by a bunch of his friends about our date and we came to find that we had several mutual friends, too. That made things easy so that there wasn't a whole lot of awkwardness in meeting everyone. His sister was there too. We stayed until we felt we'd talked all that we could for the night before a work day (plus we'd been getting to know each other for the past two days always up until 6AM - this just happened to be our "official" date). When we arrived at his house, he walked me to my car and we both said that we had a great time and we'd like to see each other again. Then Mike said, "Would it be alright if I kissed you?" Melt. Of course. It was gentle and passionate and absolutely forever unforgettable.
Ironically, I had been reading a book last night when one of the main characters said the same exact thing...I smiled and started to cry. When Mike and I were together that first night, everything about it was fun, exciting, new, and romantic. For crying out loud, what he said to me 15 years ago, just so happened to be in a book that's 3 years old!
Happy Anniversary Mr. Michael Moody
Love Always,
Mrs. Michael Moody
Ironically, I had been reading a book last night when one of the main characters said the same exact thing...I smiled and started to cry. When Mike and I were together that first night, everything about it was fun, exciting, new, and romantic. For crying out loud, what he said to me 15 years ago, just so happened to be in a book that's 3 years old!
Happy Anniversary Mr. Michael Moody
Love Always,
Mrs. Michael Moody
Friday, June 29, 2012
Graduation 2012
On the 20th of June, Miss Farrah Raquelle Moody graduated from the Kinder-Ready program at her school. It was held at a park on a perfectly beautiful day. Farrah had her dress all picked out for the day which actually started in the morning at a different park where there was a bouncy house, face painting and oh god, a clown. All the kids got pop cycles, Farrah and I sat on our picnic blanket in the back of the group (can't be too close to clowns), and when it was finally time to do the balloon tricks, L-Bow the clown walked back to give Farrah the poodle, while the rest of the kids whined about it. Lucky.
Anyway, we got her all ready and I even did her hair the same way I did for her first day of school. Mike was in charge of picking up some flowers, but I had to give the list of what not to buy that could make me non-functional due to stupid flower allergies. They turned out awesome. They even put glitter on the flowers!
Well, we (parents) were in charge of bringing assigned pot-luck dishes for the post grad picnic. This is a very healthy school so pretty much everything was green. I thought long and hard about what healthy salad I could bring since that was my task, and I decided to go for unhealthy instead. I made two LARGE dishes of Caesar salad with lots of cheese and croutons. I know this post is about Farrah's graduation, but sorry, I'm giving myself a BIG pat on the back for picking something that went in a hurry. It was almost like a relief to many when we opened our two containers of sauciness , cheesiness, croutony, and some Romaine lettucey goodness. Are any of those words?
Anyway, the kids all sat in a line in alphabetical order and Miss Becky began to speak and immediately began to cry, which of course made the rest of us get teary eyed. She just loves the kids so much and the teachers with all her heart. After her speech, the diplomas were handed out to each child, along with a photo of their class, and a rose. After their name was called and they gathered their things, it was announced what they wanted to be when they grew up. Audrey, Farrah's best friend, wants to be a podiatrist. What? Then there were two heart surgeons-to-be, firemen, police officer, and other things that made me think I definitely had Farrah at the right school. Everyone was so ambitious! Then Farrah's turn, "Farrah Raquelle Moody! Farrah wants to be a cooker and a singer when she grows up!" Of course I cheered for our little girl. She knew she wanted to be a chef before she ever even knew that's what I went to school for. And singing? That's just a given in our musical family.
We got lots of pictures and couldn't help beam with pride with the awesomeness that is our Farrah. The three of us stayed until the very end. I remember Glen, Audrey's dad look a little confused and asked Audrey if she knew what a podiatrist is (because this seemed to be a surprise to him and Cheryl) and Audrey said no. Then he explained what it was, and then she said, "Oh yeah. That's what I want to be!" So kudos to Audrey!
Farrah, I can't say how proud I am of you and have it mean as much as I feel it. You have lovely penmanship, you can do math, you love science and are intrigued with planets and dinosaurs. You are incredibly good at art and you tell me all the time, "But mommy, I'm only 5 years old and I don't know much stuff. I need you to tell me everything!" I will do my best and I am doing my best. You are so bright and knowledgable at such a young age, I can hardly fathom what wonderful adult you will become because at 5, you're one of the very best people I know. Your intuition is very uncanny and your desire to see everyone around you happy is a characteristic that at your age is not learned, but simply ingrained into your soul. I love you so much. You are what I want to be when I grow up! ; )
Anyway, we got her all ready and I even did her hair the same way I did for her first day of school. Mike was in charge of picking up some flowers, but I had to give the list of what not to buy that could make me non-functional due to stupid flower allergies. They turned out awesome. They even put glitter on the flowers!
Well, we (parents) were in charge of bringing assigned pot-luck dishes for the post grad picnic. This is a very healthy school so pretty much everything was green. I thought long and hard about what healthy salad I could bring since that was my task, and I decided to go for unhealthy instead. I made two LARGE dishes of Caesar salad with lots of cheese and croutons. I know this post is about Farrah's graduation, but sorry, I'm giving myself a BIG pat on the back for picking something that went in a hurry. It was almost like a relief to many when we opened our two containers of sauciness , cheesiness, croutony, and some Romaine lettucey goodness. Are any of those words?
Anyway, the kids all sat in a line in alphabetical order and Miss Becky began to speak and immediately began to cry, which of course made the rest of us get teary eyed. She just loves the kids so much and the teachers with all her heart. After her speech, the diplomas were handed out to each child, along with a photo of their class, and a rose. After their name was called and they gathered their things, it was announced what they wanted to be when they grew up. Audrey, Farrah's best friend, wants to be a podiatrist. What? Then there were two heart surgeons-to-be, firemen, police officer, and other things that made me think I definitely had Farrah at the right school. Everyone was so ambitious! Then Farrah's turn, "Farrah Raquelle Moody! Farrah wants to be a cooker and a singer when she grows up!" Of course I cheered for our little girl. She knew she wanted to be a chef before she ever even knew that's what I went to school for. And singing? That's just a given in our musical family.
We got lots of pictures and couldn't help beam with pride with the awesomeness that is our Farrah. The three of us stayed until the very end. I remember Glen, Audrey's dad look a little confused and asked Audrey if she knew what a podiatrist is (because this seemed to be a surprise to him and Cheryl) and Audrey said no. Then he explained what it was, and then she said, "Oh yeah. That's what I want to be!" So kudos to Audrey!
Farrah, I can't say how proud I am of you and have it mean as much as I feel it. You have lovely penmanship, you can do math, you love science and are intrigued with planets and dinosaurs. You are incredibly good at art and you tell me all the time, "But mommy, I'm only 5 years old and I don't know much stuff. I need you to tell me everything!" I will do my best and I am doing my best. You are so bright and knowledgable at such a young age, I can hardly fathom what wonderful adult you will become because at 5, you're one of the very best people I know. Your intuition is very uncanny and your desire to see everyone around you happy is a characteristic that at your age is not learned, but simply ingrained into your soul. I love you so much. You are what I want to be when I grow up! ; )
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Winter Coat
This isn't about the one hanging in my closet. I'm wondering if we, as humans, have "winter coats" like other animals. Both Farrah and I have experienced an excessive amount of "shedding" lately and quite frankly, my vacuum can't keep up. Thank god we have a lot of hair, some we can spare. We moved from an area where the climate was at a consistently uncomfortable temperature except for 2 months (maybe 3 if we were lucky) out of the year. Yes, like normal people I'd comb my hair and expect a strand here and there. No big deal. But holy geez! This is out of freakin' control!! I've been in 10 degree weather throughout the winter and in some windy and crazy snow storms on this side of the mountains. Chilly! Now, it's going to be 90 tomorrow. I'm hoping desperately that Farrah and I are dropping what I can only imagine that can be a winter coat due to the harsh change in temperatures. I also hope this stops soon because I'm sick of finding strands in every towel I grab and every pair of socks I own. They're like magnets. I have to constantly pull an invisible hair off of my right elbow at least twice a day. I always get it, but it drives me nuts! Anyway, weird post, I know, but this hair madness must end soon.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The Most Entertaining Travel Experience
About a week ago, I went to CA for business with Mike. The trip itself was awesome and successful. We met some great people and look forward to building some amazing relationships with them all, let alone doing business with them.
But what I'm writing about has absolutely nothing to do with that. My lil' story begins at the airport on our way back to Seattle. We were in a pretty long line for Alaska Airlines and it was moving very slowly. Mike had me stay in line while he went to one of the kiosks to check us in and get our tickets. While he did that, I watched the men on the other side of his kiosk, using theirs. They were older men who had been standing there from the moment we walked through the door, got in line, Mike got us checked in, and got back in line. They were there until we made it towards the front of the line and their wives in front of us began to panic. At the moment that it looked like we were getting close, the counter ladies started to make announcements for anyone who was there for the 7AM flight to come to the front of the line. Ummm....what? One by one, people behind us started to make their way in front of us and I remember thinking, what the hell?? We were there on time and when the airlines tell us to be there: 2 hours before flight's departure. These people were an hour late and their plane was loading. I remember when that had happened to us. And we weren't moved to the front of the line. In fact we were told: too freakin' bad and we'd have to wait until an airline had an opening for us. OUR flight hadn't even started to board yet and we were still considered to late. But I guess Alaska Airlines treats people different. Once all the tardies made their way away from the front counter and on their way to security, there was one more person that I noticed. A little old lady who held a paper that looked like it was printed from Expedia.com in her hands. She walked up to an Alaska Airlines person and said, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." They proceeded to scoot her up to the front of the line. Again, the rest of us were just waiting patiently for our turn that was actually 20 minutes ago. I simply watched, entertained. I had to mentally scold myself that she was just a little old lady that "didn't know what she was doing." Yeah right.
She knew.
She knew.
She was another 8AM passenger along with the rest of us. And off she went to security while the rest of us sweaty and tired people waited to flagged down for our turn. We got checked in finally and we were on our way to security at the John Wayne airport. Worst - Security - Ever. Long ass lines in a tiny airport with SO many security personel. While we waited in line, there was a man to our left who was in super panic mode while he spoke quite loudly in his cell phone, "I DON'T KNOW HONEY!! I'VE BEEN HERE WAITING FOR YOU!! I'M PROBABLY GOING TO MISS MY FUCKING FLIGHT BECAUSE I'M SURE NONE OF THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME ARE GOING TO LET ME GO AHEAD OF THEM. - Oh, thank you." Yes, we let him in front of us. Then a couple of VIP fliers walked in front of us. I couldn't help but smile and laugh then say, "Should I say no cuts-ees to them? Because that was weird." These two guys didn't even acknowledge that we were standing there and then they were suddenly in front of us. How do you not realize you walked in front of two people let alone a whole line and not feel a little shitty about it?
So, we waited in this stupid long line that seemed to go on forever. I made sure all my lip gloss and hand sanitizer was set aside so my purse wouldn't get searched again. The yelling-cell-phone-man was still freaking out and swearing and sweating and pacing in his little space of nothingness. He kept sighing really loud. He made sure EVERYONE around him knew he was pressed for time. We got it! Someone even signaled that he go ahead to the next line that looked like it was moving faster, but no, security lady said, "These ladies were first. You'll have to wait." "FUCK!!!" And my reaction? Laughter, of course. How was it not funny to see this poor guy get nothing but bad luck. I turned to Mike and said, "Would it be terrible of me to wish that they pull him aside to get patted down? Oh please, god, make him get searched."
I said this and knew...I had just doomed us.
My evil lil' wish backfired onto us. But mostly because the John Wayne airport sucks. I watched as some poor man was patted down and searched right in front of everyone without any privacy. It pissed me off to see that. Although I wished it on the yelling-cell-phone-man, this poor soul was being touched and prodded with everyone's noses pressed up against the glass wondering if he had a bomb hidden up his ass. I think not.
The back fire for us that I clearly made happen because Karma is a bitch, but c'mon, was when we finally got to the ramp that pulled our crap through the Xray. When it got to my box, the guy sat there staring at my shit. He looked around trying to find some help, called for help in his walkie-talkie, and waited.
And waited.
And...waited.
Someone finally showed up to help with my purse. "Oh, ma'am, you're not supposed to put anything on top of your lap top so it has to go through again." Awesome. So my stuff went to the back of the line to go through again while I stood there in shame. Then Mike's came through. "WE'VE GOT ANOTHER WITH SHOES ON THE LAPTOP!!!" Oh my god, this was getting too rad for words although I'm writing several. Back to the beginning Mike's stuff went. Because his SHOES were sitting on top of his computer. VERY dangerous!!!
We made it through and not angry but a little entertained.
Time to load our plane...computers went down. Of course they did. And the lady who was checking us in while writing our tickets down on paper, was the same lady that made us sit there with our daughter in shame only a month or so ago after Disneyland because she wasn't 2 years old, but in a stroller. Usually, the rules are "passengers who need assistance and those with children." Both, thank you. Strollers need special treatment at the base of where you get loaded.
Okay, finally the best part...
The little old lady who cut in front of all of us was sitting in front of us along with 2 other VERY old people. I thought it was a great fitting for them. I had a gal crying next to me for the majority of the trip and I constantly felt like hugging her, but that could've been weird. But back to the older people... Mike pointed something out to me that he felt I just had to see. He pointed out that the man sitting in the middle of the two woman was reading a Kindle in big font. The font was SO big it only held 6-9 words to the screen. AND Mike was able to tell me that the man was reading about anti-abortion on the NY Times. I was laughing so hard, I thought I might scream. It was too freaking funny and I just couldn't stop. In fact, I wrote a note to myself that I would be writing about it, so here I am. Probably not funny in the slightest to anyone reading this, but picture the font at a size 50...not kidding. It was so big. I wasn't sure who out of that group was driving, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn't him.
But what I'm writing about has absolutely nothing to do with that. My lil' story begins at the airport on our way back to Seattle. We were in a pretty long line for Alaska Airlines and it was moving very slowly. Mike had me stay in line while he went to one of the kiosks to check us in and get our tickets. While he did that, I watched the men on the other side of his kiosk, using theirs. They were older men who had been standing there from the moment we walked through the door, got in line, Mike got us checked in, and got back in line. They were there until we made it towards the front of the line and their wives in front of us began to panic. At the moment that it looked like we were getting close, the counter ladies started to make announcements for anyone who was there for the 7AM flight to come to the front of the line. Ummm....what? One by one, people behind us started to make their way in front of us and I remember thinking, what the hell?? We were there on time and when the airlines tell us to be there: 2 hours before flight's departure. These people were an hour late and their plane was loading. I remember when that had happened to us. And we weren't moved to the front of the line. In fact we were told: too freakin' bad and we'd have to wait until an airline had an opening for us. OUR flight hadn't even started to board yet and we were still considered to late. But I guess Alaska Airlines treats people different. Once all the tardies made their way away from the front counter and on their way to security, there was one more person that I noticed. A little old lady who held a paper that looked like it was printed from Expedia.com in her hands. She walked up to an Alaska Airlines person and said, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do." They proceeded to scoot her up to the front of the line. Again, the rest of us were just waiting patiently for our turn that was actually 20 minutes ago. I simply watched, entertained. I had to mentally scold myself that she was just a little old lady that "didn't know what she was doing." Yeah right.
She knew.
She knew.
She was another 8AM passenger along with the rest of us. And off she went to security while the rest of us sweaty and tired people waited to flagged down for our turn. We got checked in finally and we were on our way to security at the John Wayne airport. Worst - Security - Ever. Long ass lines in a tiny airport with SO many security personel. While we waited in line, there was a man to our left who was in super panic mode while he spoke quite loudly in his cell phone, "I DON'T KNOW HONEY!! I'VE BEEN HERE WAITING FOR YOU!! I'M PROBABLY GOING TO MISS MY FUCKING FLIGHT BECAUSE I'M SURE NONE OF THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME ARE GOING TO LET ME GO AHEAD OF THEM. - Oh, thank you." Yes, we let him in front of us. Then a couple of VIP fliers walked in front of us. I couldn't help but smile and laugh then say, "Should I say no cuts-ees to them? Because that was weird." These two guys didn't even acknowledge that we were standing there and then they were suddenly in front of us. How do you not realize you walked in front of two people let alone a whole line and not feel a little shitty about it?
So, we waited in this stupid long line that seemed to go on forever. I made sure all my lip gloss and hand sanitizer was set aside so my purse wouldn't get searched again. The yelling-cell-phone-man was still freaking out and swearing and sweating and pacing in his little space of nothingness. He kept sighing really loud. He made sure EVERYONE around him knew he was pressed for time. We got it! Someone even signaled that he go ahead to the next line that looked like it was moving faster, but no, security lady said, "These ladies were first. You'll have to wait." "FUCK!!!" And my reaction? Laughter, of course. How was it not funny to see this poor guy get nothing but bad luck. I turned to Mike and said, "Would it be terrible of me to wish that they pull him aside to get patted down? Oh please, god, make him get searched."
I said this and knew...I had just doomed us.
My evil lil' wish backfired onto us. But mostly because the John Wayne airport sucks. I watched as some poor man was patted down and searched right in front of everyone without any privacy. It pissed me off to see that. Although I wished it on the yelling-cell-phone-man, this poor soul was being touched and prodded with everyone's noses pressed up against the glass wondering if he had a bomb hidden up his ass. I think not.
The back fire for us that I clearly made happen because Karma is a bitch, but c'mon, was when we finally got to the ramp that pulled our crap through the Xray. When it got to my box, the guy sat there staring at my shit. He looked around trying to find some help, called for help in his walkie-talkie, and waited.
And waited.
And...waited.
Someone finally showed up to help with my purse. "Oh, ma'am, you're not supposed to put anything on top of your lap top so it has to go through again." Awesome. So my stuff went to the back of the line to go through again while I stood there in shame. Then Mike's came through. "WE'VE GOT ANOTHER WITH SHOES ON THE LAPTOP!!!" Oh my god, this was getting too rad for words although I'm writing several. Back to the beginning Mike's stuff went. Because his SHOES were sitting on top of his computer. VERY dangerous!!!
We made it through and not angry but a little entertained.
Time to load our plane...computers went down. Of course they did. And the lady who was checking us in while writing our tickets down on paper, was the same lady that made us sit there with our daughter in shame only a month or so ago after Disneyland because she wasn't 2 years old, but in a stroller. Usually, the rules are "passengers who need assistance and those with children." Both, thank you. Strollers need special treatment at the base of where you get loaded.
Okay, finally the best part...
The little old lady who cut in front of all of us was sitting in front of us along with 2 other VERY old people. I thought it was a great fitting for them. I had a gal crying next to me for the majority of the trip and I constantly felt like hugging her, but that could've been weird. But back to the older people... Mike pointed something out to me that he felt I just had to see. He pointed out that the man sitting in the middle of the two woman was reading a Kindle in big font. The font was SO big it only held 6-9 words to the screen. AND Mike was able to tell me that the man was reading about anti-abortion on the NY Times. I was laughing so hard, I thought I might scream. It was too freaking funny and I just couldn't stop. In fact, I wrote a note to myself that I would be writing about it, so here I am. Probably not funny in the slightest to anyone reading this, but picture the font at a size 50...not kidding. It was so big. I wasn't sure who out of that group was driving, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn't him.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Pukes
I felt it necessary to write about this because of the magical word that came from this boring story. I had Farrah sleep with me one night after she had an excellent week at school. A little reward, if you will. We sometimes watch movies together or she'll watch her own while I read. Well, since it was a sleep-in day for us, we woke up at an unreasonable hour. We both woke up at the same time and she looked disheveled and puffy eyed. I could taste my ass breath and knew the greasy mess of a mop on top of my head was plastered to my skull. I did that gross lip smacking thing that you do when you first wake up while looking at her. She mimicked my action and spoke, "Good morning, mama." Oh LORD!
Me: "Farrah, your breath smells as bad as mine tastes. Gross."
Farrah: "Yeah, gross."
Me: "We're both gross and smell like poop."
Farrah: "We're pooo..ah...pukes!"
Me: (Scream laughing) "Yes! Yes we are pukes!!!"
The word "pukes" is now frequently used in our vocabulary to describe ourselves when we are what others like to call a "hot mess". Let's be honest with ourselves. Hot mess? Really? No. Think about it. When you haven't showered, you passed out in whatever sweatpants and teeshirt concoction you've thrown together to fall in bed in, you can still find a piece of almond in between your teeth from your midnight snacking adventure and you look like you've been punched in both eyes because you like to rub your eyes with your fists when you first wake up and smear any leftover waterproof mascara...you are NOT a hot mess. You are gross. You are a puke.
Puke.
Keep in mind...this word can be used to describe just about anyone and anything just like the term "hot mess." It's more honest. Like this, "Oh my lord, did you see that girl? That outfit and that hair? What a puke." Caddy girls like to think they're being cute and kind when saying "hot mess" when in fact they're just ass holes like everyone else who is talking shit. So keep it real folks. Call it like it is. The word will catch on and Farrah and I will be the ones who revolutionize it. Just watch. So try not to act like a PUKE or look like a PUKE and we won't tell anyone. In the meantime, we'll practice the word on ourselves.
P.S. I took a half-ass shower today, so I will proclaim myself as being a puke today. And I will wear the word with pride until I wash it off tonight or whenever the hell I feel like it.
Me: "Farrah, your breath smells as bad as mine tastes. Gross."
Farrah: "Yeah, gross."
Me: "We're both gross and smell like poop."
Farrah: "We're pooo..ah...pukes!"
Me: (Scream laughing) "Yes! Yes we are pukes!!!"
The word "pukes" is now frequently used in our vocabulary to describe ourselves when we are what others like to call a "hot mess". Let's be honest with ourselves. Hot mess? Really? No. Think about it. When you haven't showered, you passed out in whatever sweatpants and teeshirt concoction you've thrown together to fall in bed in, you can still find a piece of almond in between your teeth from your midnight snacking adventure and you look like you've been punched in both eyes because you like to rub your eyes with your fists when you first wake up and smear any leftover waterproof mascara...you are NOT a hot mess. You are gross. You are a puke.
Puke.
Keep in mind...this word can be used to describe just about anyone and anything just like the term "hot mess." It's more honest. Like this, "Oh my lord, did you see that girl? That outfit and that hair? What a puke." Caddy girls like to think they're being cute and kind when saying "hot mess" when in fact they're just ass holes like everyone else who is talking shit. So keep it real folks. Call it like it is. The word will catch on and Farrah and I will be the ones who revolutionize it. Just watch. So try not to act like a PUKE or look like a PUKE and we won't tell anyone. In the meantime, we'll practice the word on ourselves.
P.S. I took a half-ass shower today, so I will proclaim myself as being a puke today. And I will wear the word with pride until I wash it off tonight or whenever the hell I feel like it.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
Bio-terrorism
Farrah is funny. Very funny. But at times she can take her humor to a place that crosses an invisible line. A few weeks ago Farrah was talking to me and then turned to me and whispered that she needed to tell me something. She slowly walked over to me and came up to my right ear and full on SNEEZED (for real). My kid sneezed...in my face...on purpose. I laughed so hard and so did Farrah and so did Mike, but at the same time I knew somewhere in that moment I needed to teach her a lesson. But what lesson can you teach a 5 year old when you are scream laughing from the fact that your kid is clever enough to come up with something so funny and sneaky? It took me a bit to calm down and let her know this wasn't okay. Obviously, chuckling through the whole reprimand didn't help plead my case of seriousness. I went through the whole thing that it was "rude", "gross", "not nice", etc. Blah, blah, freakin' blah. Whatever. It was funny. However...I didn't want her to do this again.
Well, two days ago she was looking at me and walking up to me slowly then WACHOO! in my face!!! Again, I had to try even harder this time to keep my laughter locked up and try a different approach with her. (Mind you, so you don't think my kid is a total ass, her sneezes were mostly just loud but little to no snot or spittle hit me - but how does she sneak up like that without that awkward twisted look on her face like normal people get right before the explosive sneeze?). I ended up telling her that what she just did was against the law. I told her if she ever jokingly spit on me (she makes spit bubbles then laughs and might get a little on me) or sneezed at me on purpose, I'd call the cops and she'd go to jail. Her laughter dwindled away and sadness and fear replaced her smile. In fact, she started to get a little teary. "Why would you call the cops on me mommy?!!" "Because what you are doing could be considered biochemical warfare against me. What if you sneezed sickness on me? That is against the law and I will have to do my duty and turn you in if you do it again." "But mommy, I don't want to go to jail. You love me!" "Of course I love you and I don't want you to go to jail, but you'll avoid jail time or cops coming if you stop sneezing in my face." "BUT MOMMY!!! WHAT IF I CAN'T HELP IT?!!" "You know when a sneeze is coming on, so turn away from me or anyone else...or we'll have to get the authorities involved." "Okay Mama."
Yeah, I won that one. Very cleverly I might add.
Another comical moment from Farrah was last night after playing a round of UNO. She's very good, mind you. She beat me...again. But it was her victory celebration that was SO funny and not something I'd expect a 5 year old little girl (except for mine) to do. She turned around, poked her butt towards my face, said "CH! CH! Pkew! Pkew!" Those are supposed to be the sounds of her cocking a gun and blasting it at me. While she did the "pkew pkew" she popped her butt out like she was firing the "gun" at me. She's terrible and awesome at the same time.
Well, two days ago she was looking at me and walking up to me slowly then WACHOO! in my face!!! Again, I had to try even harder this time to keep my laughter locked up and try a different approach with her. (Mind you, so you don't think my kid is a total ass, her sneezes were mostly just loud but little to no snot or spittle hit me - but how does she sneak up like that without that awkward twisted look on her face like normal people get right before the explosive sneeze?). I ended up telling her that what she just did was against the law. I told her if she ever jokingly spit on me (she makes spit bubbles then laughs and might get a little on me) or sneezed at me on purpose, I'd call the cops and she'd go to jail. Her laughter dwindled away and sadness and fear replaced her smile. In fact, she started to get a little teary. "Why would you call the cops on me mommy?!!" "Because what you are doing could be considered biochemical warfare against me. What if you sneezed sickness on me? That is against the law and I will have to do my duty and turn you in if you do it again." "But mommy, I don't want to go to jail. You love me!" "Of course I love you and I don't want you to go to jail, but you'll avoid jail time or cops coming if you stop sneezing in my face." "BUT MOMMY!!! WHAT IF I CAN'T HELP IT?!!" "You know when a sneeze is coming on, so turn away from me or anyone else...or we'll have to get the authorities involved." "Okay Mama."
Yeah, I won that one. Very cleverly I might add.
Another comical moment from Farrah was last night after playing a round of UNO. She's very good, mind you. She beat me...again. But it was her victory celebration that was SO funny and not something I'd expect a 5 year old little girl (except for mine) to do. She turned around, poked her butt towards my face, said "CH! CH! Pkew! Pkew!" Those are supposed to be the sounds of her cocking a gun and blasting it at me. While she did the "pkew pkew" she popped her butt out like she was firing the "gun" at me. She's terrible and awesome at the same time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)