The Miraculous Ceiling Fan
Have you ever heard of Godwin's Law? Basically, it states that all forms of internet debate will eventually deteriorate into referencing Hilter and Nazi Germany. I have my own theory, The Confused Dildo's Supposition, which asseverates that any person talking about their relationship with their significant other will eventually focus on flatulence.
It's a reality that is grim, but one we must all face. The bright side of this is that farts are always funny.
My Little Honey (tm) is a wonderful man and I love him dearly. He is a brilliant urban planner, an incredibly talented musician and a wonderful father. He is also a stinky farter. His farts are just plain ridiculous.
A few months ago, I was so thrilled when he read that having too much soy in your diet could be unhealthy, for up to this point the man's snack of choice was edamame. I don't want to rain on my Little Honey's (tm) parade, but there was nothing worse than being in the same room with him after he downed a bowl of soybeans. It probably smells better living next door to a paper plant than being in the room with him..... I would rather not clean the litterbox for three days than having to smell him after soybeans. It's wretched and he is so proud, proving that for some, their farts can do no wrong. One day after the Little Honey blasted some air biscuits while watching the Bengals game, the neighbor came over, exclaimed "smells like toots in here", and hastily left.
They are that bad.
Last night, as I lay in bed dozing off to sleep with the cool night breeze coming in through the window, I could smell the wonderful scents of nature; lilacs, grass, pine, fresh rain. I conceded to the fragrant air as it began to carry me away from the doldrums of everyday life and transcend me into dreamland. I was floating on a white, puffy cloud until a hot, spoiled egg, with an under note of onion, gas creeped into my subconscious and violently hurled me back into reality. The Little Honey was busy creating a dutch oven that could overpower small children and it was starting to leak out from underneath the sheets in an effort to bring evil and darkness onto the Earth.
This gas smelled like the ugly, olive green that people used to decorate their kitchens with in the 1970's. This gas was staining the bed and with every move I made to escape it, it clobbered me back into submission. The Little Honey (tm) tried to play possum, a feat he failed miserably, as he lay there giggling like an idiot. When I started to gasp, choke, and complain he declared that he would fix this awful situation he created and jumped up to right the wrongs of his ways............. In other words, he turned on the ceiling fan.
A ceiling fan that is not made of artificial wooden vinyl, but crafted from golden and magic, with the force of seventy gazillion ocean breezes that can banish any loathsome, repulsive aromas into Siberia.
Not.
That odor lingered all night long. The gas was the Kato Kalin to my Brentwood manner, and it would not just fuck off and dissipate. The next morning, I had to change the sheets, stuff the comforter in the dryer with a scented sheet, and Febreeze bomb the mattress pad.
Yes.
This is the man who holds my heart and whom I am going to marry.
I'm a lucky gal.
If you want my body and you think I'm sexy, vote for me at TheGirlWho.Net's Great Experiment!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Best Thing I Found Today.
A few months ago, I made a post about the Childfree By Choice Movement here. I am Childfree by Choice and without trudging to deeply into the subject AGAIN, I am highly annoyed by people who think it is "okay" to advise me on how I am ruining my life by not turning into a baby-making dynamo.
Really? Go fuck yourselves.
After you listen to this song:
Really? Go fuck yourselves.
After you listen to this song:
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Losing My Edge
So, a person who actually reads this blog, commented to me the other day, (over beers, mind you), that my writing has lost its edge. That I am not as sarcastic or cynical as I used to be, which makes me not as funny.
Oh well.
I can't really say why I write this blog, it is more cathartic than anything. It is of absolutely no interest to anyone but myself and a handful of friends, but it has also been an evolutionary process for me. Maybe my writing is not as negative as it used to be, because I am feeling happier these days? Maybe I don't feel the need to grace the Earth with my searing wit and put downs?
What does behaving like an asshole in the written word really achieve?
I know it is a pretty good way to fuck up close relationships and piss a lot of people off!
I used to defend a lot of what I would write as "satirical", and it was..... But that did not make it appropriate subject matter, despite the truth of the situation..... Truth.... " We hold these truths to be self evident".... Truthiness..... I also think that I used this blog to insinuate what I believed to be the "truth" about certain situations that were happening in my life.... That this was some sort of "Cyber-Hall of Justice" where "Truth, Justice, and the American Way", would prevail.
Then I realized what an exercise in selfishness and futility that was. It was complete garbage, and luckily there was a delete button available to rid the world of my bullshit.... I never called anyone out, I never named names, but if anyone involved were to peruse this site, they would have known exactly who I was talking about.
That did happen and the results were not what I expected. I expected for these people to have some kind of moment of introspection... to realize just how "wrong" they were, and then to change their evil ways, baby.....
What a pile of sanctimonious bullshit.
Here is the "catch-22". My truth and their truth, were vastly different, and they felt just as passionate about their side of the situation, as I did. Instead of passive aggressively and cleverly hiding it within "blog" verse, they just confronted me, and then things got even uglier.
So clearly, my plan totally worked.
If my plan was to exacerbate the current situation, while in, turn creating more drama.
I also feel that the negativity I was harboring in my soul was creating problems for my future and destiny....... OH NOES! SOMEONE HAS BEEN READING THE SECRET AGAINZ!@@!)_!
Seriously though, all of these feelings of hurt, anger, jealousy, envy, and vindication were tied to my ankles like bricks. I let these dramas infiltrate my life so much, that it was all I could concentrate on, so much so, I lost my job. In hindsight, I feel that it was meant to be for me to leave that job, it was a shitty job in the suburbs, with a cranky, entitled boss, and I was bored with it. Most of all, I needed to lose so much, in order to see what I really have, and to be finally feel thankful for all of the wonderful things in my life.
I'm a very rich person. I have a lot of love and a lot of light in my life, and I am truly thankful for it.
So, yeah. I'm feeling better. I'm happy. I'm engaged to the love of my life, with whom I have been having a very passionate love affair with for the past five years, all the while growing a wonderful, enriching and deep friendship with. I have two lovely step-children, who are beautiful and brilliant. I have wonderful siblings, parents, and nieces, whom I cherish very deeply....
I feel peace......
Now, if I could only squeeze my fat ass back into some size sixes, I would be totally bitchin.
Namaste
Oh well.
I can't really say why I write this blog, it is more cathartic than anything. It is of absolutely no interest to anyone but myself and a handful of friends, but it has also been an evolutionary process for me. Maybe my writing is not as negative as it used to be, because I am feeling happier these days? Maybe I don't feel the need to grace the Earth with my searing wit and put downs?
What does behaving like an asshole in the written word really achieve?
I know it is a pretty good way to fuck up close relationships and piss a lot of people off!
I used to defend a lot of what I would write as "satirical", and it was..... But that did not make it appropriate subject matter, despite the truth of the situation..... Truth.... " We hold these truths to be self evident".... Truthiness..... I also think that I used this blog to insinuate what I believed to be the "truth" about certain situations that were happening in my life.... That this was some sort of "Cyber-Hall of Justice" where "Truth, Justice, and the American Way", would prevail.
Then I realized what an exercise in selfishness and futility that was. It was complete garbage, and luckily there was a delete button available to rid the world of my bullshit.... I never called anyone out, I never named names, but if anyone involved were to peruse this site, they would have known exactly who I was talking about.
That did happen and the results were not what I expected. I expected for these people to have some kind of moment of introspection... to realize just how "wrong" they were, and then to change their evil ways, baby.....
What a pile of sanctimonious bullshit.
Here is the "catch-22". My truth and their truth, were vastly different, and they felt just as passionate about their side of the situation, as I did. Instead of passive aggressively and cleverly hiding it within "blog" verse, they just confronted me, and then things got even uglier.
So clearly, my plan totally worked.
If my plan was to exacerbate the current situation, while in, turn creating more drama.
I also feel that the negativity I was harboring in my soul was creating problems for my future and destiny....... OH NOES! SOMEONE HAS BEEN READING THE SECRET AGAINZ!@@!)_!
Seriously though, all of these feelings of hurt, anger, jealousy, envy, and vindication were tied to my ankles like bricks. I let these dramas infiltrate my life so much, that it was all I could concentrate on, so much so, I lost my job. In hindsight, I feel that it was meant to be for me to leave that job, it was a shitty job in the suburbs, with a cranky, entitled boss, and I was bored with it. Most of all, I needed to lose so much, in order to see what I really have, and to be finally feel thankful for all of the wonderful things in my life.
I'm a very rich person. I have a lot of love and a lot of light in my life, and I am truly thankful for it.
So, yeah. I'm feeling better. I'm happy. I'm engaged to the love of my life, with whom I have been having a very passionate love affair with for the past five years, all the while growing a wonderful, enriching and deep friendship with. I have two lovely step-children, who are beautiful and brilliant. I have wonderful siblings, parents, and nieces, whom I cherish very deeply....
I feel peace......
Now, if I could only squeeze my fat ass back into some size sixes, I would be totally bitchin.
Namaste
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Child Free By Choice
For a woman who has no children with zero desire to have any, I sure spend a lot of time reading "MommyBlogs". I read two "Mommybloggers" frequently, not because of their "MOM" status, but because I like their writing, what they have to say, and how they say it. Hell, for a couple of people I have never met, I like them.
Do I always agree with them? No, of course not.
Does it light this fiery desire to have children deep down in my soul? Fuck no. In fact, more than not, it solidifies my position to not have kids.....
If I were to classify myself, I would consider myself as "childfree by choice"; with step-kids..... So am I really "childfree by choice"? Well, I think so, because I am not their mother. I am a parent to them, in some respects; I give them love, shelter, food, clothing and I pick up after them, but I also value the times I can jet out and tell my Little Honey, "THEY YOURS, YOU DO IT". Plus I have no say in their education, health care, etc. I don't know. If you're confused reading this, imagine how I feel.
I am a confused step-parent who enjoys vodka and time alone. I also enjoy bike rides, taking the kids on new adventures, ghost stories, cuddling and cookie baking.
It's a pickle.... So I would rather not classify myself.
Today I watched a webisode of "Momversation" discussing the "Childfree by Choice" movement. "Momversations" are quick web interviews about motherhood featuring some of the biggest "mommybloggers" in internet land; Dooce, Girls Gone Child, and others. At first I thought the "Momversation" episodes were a little over the top with the "Mommyblogger Obsession" plaguing the internet. (You should read what the haters have to say about these women, it is truly an exercise in envy and cruelty. Fascinating stuff.) I then decided that I will do anything to procrastinate work for a few minutes, including watching something that is completely irrelevant to my life.
Just cuz.
I have to say what makes the decisions on having children versus not having them, the reactions to such decisions on either side of the coin, are what alienates the opposing sides. There is not a whole lot of sympathy or empathy going around. CFBC people are not sympathetic to a parent who has been up for a week straight with a cranky kid, and parents are not sympathetic to a CFBC person's annoyance at their child hanging out under their table at Starbucks, screaming at top volume.
I know these are extreme examples, that's the point.
I think what really surprised the women on this webisode about the CFBC movement is the resentment that people without children feel towards a society that is totally geared towards, and caters to, having children and the children themselves. I don't think that CFBC people hate parents, per se..... They hate marketing, media-bias, and disrespect.
From the moment a person or people have kids, they forget what life was like without them. Your life is not your own anymore, and you know what? That's great. That's your choice, and it is a pretty popular choice. You don't have to walk around feeling alienated, like there is something wrong with you because you don't have the desire to have children. You are not accused of being a "cruel KID HATER", or treated like a freak.
Because I am in my thirties, people think my ovaries are an appropriate conversation topic for lunches, brunches, cocktails, business meetings, what have you. Recently a clerk at the grocery store gave her opinion on my reproductive equipment and my plans for the baby factory. FYI, it is incredibly inappropriate to ask me when I plan on having kids when I am buying lube and tampons, BTW. When I tell people I don't want children, I usually get "Oh, I didn't know you didn't like children", which is just fucking stupid. Just because I don't want kids, does not mean that I hate them. I like them very much... I IDENTIFY WITH THEM.... Sometimes a little too much.
Which is probably why it is a good idea that I abstain from creating any.
I cannot count how many times perfect strangers I have met, have told me that I am ruining my life by not only not having my own children, but for helping my partner raise his...... Right to my face. It's completely disrespectful, gross and annoying. I don't know how many people I have told "where to go", after they have made an inappropriate comment about my baby status.
Also, the pontificating needs to stop.
I am so happy that many people discovered that having kids was their reason for living and that the act of procreating successfully was the most important thing they had ever done. Their biggest accomplishment; their opus. That's fantastic, FOR THEM.
I have been told over and over again by several mothers, all ripe with emotion, tears welling up in their eyes, trying to convey to me the importance of motherhood and how much I am missing out on; fervidly trying to convince me to change my mind...
Yet, not one has stopped to pause on how incredibly condescending and disrespectful they are being towards my decision. You have your children, why are you so concerned about my choice?
Not everyone should become parents. There are plenty of people in this world that should be caring for nothing more than sea monkeys, let alone kids, yet they have dozens. Some nut job in California just had eight babies, because deep down, she thinks she is going to get a TV Show on TLC for it.
Now, I am not excusing the needless vitriol that many of my compatriots spew forth towards kids and parents. I think it is completely ridiculous to call children "crotch fruit" or parents "breeders". It's stupid and completely anti-productive.... You can't scream "INJUSTICE!" when you perceive people as not respecting you, and then turn around and repeat the same kinds of behaviors. Let's not be hypocrites.
Now, I am going to try to put this delicately: PARENTS, CONTROL YOUR KIDS. The public should not have to suffer your child's terrible temperament because you can't get your child under control. I don't care what is wrong with them, it's not my problem. I have a right to sit in a public space and to not be excessively bothered by your child. P E R I O D. I do not love your child unconditionally, nor am I impressed with every little thing that they do. Stop expecting me, or anyone else, to feel that way.
I know I may run into crazy people on the street who will bother me, annoy me, etc.. They have an excuse. THEY are cuckoo bananas. Children who run around in public screaming and refusing to sit down, can help it by way of their parents taking control of the situation and disciplining them. Don't get me wrong, I would never disrespect a parent I did not know in public, and I have had strangers give me unsolicited parenting advice, and it sucks. Please know that I am taking things to the extreme here, in that I don't expect young children to be totally silent and still in restaurants, etc...... But I do expect them to be under control. If your baby is fussy and is screaming for more than thirty seconds, TAKE THEM OUTSIDE UNTIL THEY CALM DOWN. If that doesn't work, IT IS TIME TO GO HOME. I know it sucks. I know you were looking forward to a nice dinner, but the baby has other plans for you. Please respect your fellow patrons' dining experiences as more of a priority than your own. Having a child does entitle parents to many perks, but it does not make them the most important people in the sushi bar.
I began experiencing this phenomenon last year; parents who bring their children and their children's friends to the bar. THE BAR; a place for adults to enjoy adult beverages and conversations. Just because a bar has an outside seating area, does not make it an appropriate place for children. When I am relaxing with my friends smoking ciggarettes, drinking alcohol, and cussing, I don't want to see your children. I especially do not want them bumping into my chair, while they are playing tag on the patio.... AT THE FUCKING BAR. I also don't want to get a dirty look from you when Junior overhears me drop an F-bomb, while I am talking to my friends, relaxing at the bar, which is an establishment for adults.It's no place for children. DON'T BRING THEM. KIDS SUCK TO BE AROUND WHEN YOU ARE DRUNK.
When it comes to my step-kids, they are much easier in public than they were when they were little, but, I am still like a drill sergeant when we are out. Stores are not playgrounds and need to be respected as such. Not everybody is interested in hearing you sing at the top of your lungs, save it for home. Your hands do not belong on other peoples' bodies, ever, so keep them to yourselves. Chew with your mouth closed, stop yelling, and I swear if you grab one more thing that is not yours, I will tie your hands behind your back.
I'm harsh, I am strict and I am honest. The way that society treats kids and people with them, is as though we are all revolving around them and catering to their every whim. It is the biggest lie out there. The world does not revolve around your kids just because your world does. To harbor some sense of entitlement in yourself because you have children, is bullshit.
All it is, is marketing. It is a false sense of superiority put forth by marketing firms to create an illusion that they care about what you are going through. They don't. They care about selling you diapers and they will try any underhanded technique to get your green. It is all just ruse to get you and your kids to spend more money. It's all bullshit. Every person in our society is constantly bombarded with this message, day in and day out.... For those who are not subscribing to the whole "I want babies, yay me!" life style, it is a constant, annoying, and isolating experience. Hence the crankiness.
However, I don't think it is right to find some kind of smug, self-satisfaction while witnessing a parent struggle to deal with their children. If you see a parent struggling with groceries, a stroller, and three kids: HELP THEM. Give them your seat on the bus, help them make sure all of their kids are seated properly; if you see their child slip away from them when they are not looking, POLITELY tell them.
There are fine lines, people.... Don't be a dumbass.
I could really go on an on about this topic. I met a lady a couple of weeks ago that raised this question to me: Since we are no longer an agrarian society that depends on offspring for labor to sustain ourselves, what are the reasons for having children? Is it purely egotistical? Is it survival of the species? Are people who abstain from children hurting the species? Are they just being "selfish"? Or are they altruistically ensuring the survival of the species by minimizing their carbon footprint?
Whatever it is, I believe it is a personal choice that needs to be respected on all sides. I think that we, as human beings, need to be more empathetic and patient with one another, but also just a hell of a lot more respectful to one another.
Maybe some Mothers should realize that we female, CFBCers are the vast minority of women out there. For every one woman who decides to remain childless, there are hundreds of women who decide to become mothers. Those who abstain are quite often philosophically attacked, belittled, isolated, and are subject to having our "femininity" and "essence of womanhood" constantly scrutinized and dissected by strangers.
I know it is not an excuse to be overtly, or overly critical to mothers and parents out there..... But, if you were wondering where the anger that many CFBCers have comes from, you could probably trace it back to that. So next time a single woman rolls her eyes at your screaming child, just remember that even though she is acting like a twat, she may have just had some asshole cross examine her for her choice "Not to be a REAL woman", by not having kids.
Conversely, maybe some of us who don't have kids, can let a busy mom or dad cut in line every once in awhile, or be a little more forgiving when someone is not on their A-game because of sleepless, cranky baby nights or a three child, flu epidemic.....
The world may end up being a little better, if we just tried to respect one another.
Do I always agree with them? No, of course not.
Does it light this fiery desire to have children deep down in my soul? Fuck no. In fact, more than not, it solidifies my position to not have kids.....
If I were to classify myself, I would consider myself as "childfree by choice"; with step-kids..... So am I really "childfree by choice"? Well, I think so, because I am not their mother. I am a parent to them, in some respects; I give them love, shelter, food, clothing and I pick up after them, but I also value the times I can jet out and tell my Little Honey, "THEY YOURS, YOU DO IT". Plus I have no say in their education, health care, etc. I don't know. If you're confused reading this, imagine how I feel.
I am a confused step-parent who enjoys vodka and time alone. I also enjoy bike rides, taking the kids on new adventures, ghost stories, cuddling and cookie baking.
It's a pickle.... So I would rather not classify myself.
Today I watched a webisode of "Momversation" discussing the "Childfree by Choice" movement. "Momversations" are quick web interviews about motherhood featuring some of the biggest "mommybloggers" in internet land; Dooce, Girls Gone Child, and others. At first I thought the "Momversation" episodes were a little over the top with the "Mommyblogger Obsession" plaguing the internet. (You should read what the haters have to say about these women, it is truly an exercise in envy and cruelty. Fascinating stuff.) I then decided that I will do anything to procrastinate work for a few minutes, including watching something that is completely irrelevant to my life.
Just cuz.
I have to say what makes the decisions on having children versus not having them, the reactions to such decisions on either side of the coin, are what alienates the opposing sides. There is not a whole lot of sympathy or empathy going around. CFBC people are not sympathetic to a parent who has been up for a week straight with a cranky kid, and parents are not sympathetic to a CFBC person's annoyance at their child hanging out under their table at Starbucks, screaming at top volume.
I know these are extreme examples, that's the point.
I think what really surprised the women on this webisode about the CFBC movement is the resentment that people without children feel towards a society that is totally geared towards, and caters to, having children and the children themselves. I don't think that CFBC people hate parents, per se..... They hate marketing, media-bias, and disrespect.
From the moment a person or people have kids, they forget what life was like without them. Your life is not your own anymore, and you know what? That's great. That's your choice, and it is a pretty popular choice. You don't have to walk around feeling alienated, like there is something wrong with you because you don't have the desire to have children. You are not accused of being a "cruel KID HATER", or treated like a freak.
Because I am in my thirties, people think my ovaries are an appropriate conversation topic for lunches, brunches, cocktails, business meetings, what have you. Recently a clerk at the grocery store gave her opinion on my reproductive equipment and my plans for the baby factory. FYI, it is incredibly inappropriate to ask me when I plan on having kids when I am buying lube and tampons, BTW. When I tell people I don't want children, I usually get "Oh, I didn't know you didn't like children", which is just fucking stupid. Just because I don't want kids, does not mean that I hate them. I like them very much... I IDENTIFY WITH THEM.... Sometimes a little too much.
Which is probably why it is a good idea that I abstain from creating any.
I cannot count how many times perfect strangers I have met, have told me that I am ruining my life by not only not having my own children, but for helping my partner raise his...... Right to my face. It's completely disrespectful, gross and annoying. I don't know how many people I have told "where to go", after they have made an inappropriate comment about my baby status.
Also, the pontificating needs to stop.
I am so happy that many people discovered that having kids was their reason for living and that the act of procreating successfully was the most important thing they had ever done. Their biggest accomplishment; their opus. That's fantastic, FOR THEM.
I have been told over and over again by several mothers, all ripe with emotion, tears welling up in their eyes, trying to convey to me the importance of motherhood and how much I am missing out on; fervidly trying to convince me to change my mind...
Yet, not one has stopped to pause on how incredibly condescending and disrespectful they are being towards my decision. You have your children, why are you so concerned about my choice?
Not everyone should become parents. There are plenty of people in this world that should be caring for nothing more than sea monkeys, let alone kids, yet they have dozens. Some nut job in California just had eight babies, because deep down, she thinks she is going to get a TV Show on TLC for it.
Now, I am not excusing the needless vitriol that many of my compatriots spew forth towards kids and parents. I think it is completely ridiculous to call children "crotch fruit" or parents "breeders". It's stupid and completely anti-productive.... You can't scream "INJUSTICE!" when you perceive people as not respecting you, and then turn around and repeat the same kinds of behaviors. Let's not be hypocrites.
Now, I am going to try to put this delicately: PARENTS, CONTROL YOUR KIDS. The public should not have to suffer your child's terrible temperament because you can't get your child under control. I don't care what is wrong with them, it's not my problem. I have a right to sit in a public space and to not be excessively bothered by your child. P E R I O D. I do not love your child unconditionally, nor am I impressed with every little thing that they do. Stop expecting me, or anyone else, to feel that way.
I know I may run into crazy people on the street who will bother me, annoy me, etc.. They have an excuse. THEY are cuckoo bananas. Children who run around in public screaming and refusing to sit down, can help it by way of their parents taking control of the situation and disciplining them. Don't get me wrong, I would never disrespect a parent I did not know in public, and I have had strangers give me unsolicited parenting advice, and it sucks. Please know that I am taking things to the extreme here, in that I don't expect young children to be totally silent and still in restaurants, etc...... But I do expect them to be under control. If your baby is fussy and is screaming for more than thirty seconds, TAKE THEM OUTSIDE UNTIL THEY CALM DOWN. If that doesn't work, IT IS TIME TO GO HOME. I know it sucks. I know you were looking forward to a nice dinner, but the baby has other plans for you. Please respect your fellow patrons' dining experiences as more of a priority than your own. Having a child does entitle parents to many perks, but it does not make them the most important people in the sushi bar.
I began experiencing this phenomenon last year; parents who bring their children and their children's friends to the bar. THE BAR; a place for adults to enjoy adult beverages and conversations. Just because a bar has an outside seating area, does not make it an appropriate place for children. When I am relaxing with my friends smoking ciggarettes, drinking alcohol, and cussing, I don't want to see your children. I especially do not want them bumping into my chair, while they are playing tag on the patio.... AT THE FUCKING BAR. I also don't want to get a dirty look from you when Junior overhears me drop an F-bomb, while I am talking to my friends, relaxing at the bar, which is an establishment for adults.It's no place for children. DON'T BRING THEM. KIDS SUCK TO BE AROUND WHEN YOU ARE DRUNK.
When it comes to my step-kids, they are much easier in public than they were when they were little, but, I am still like a drill sergeant when we are out. Stores are not playgrounds and need to be respected as such. Not everybody is interested in hearing you sing at the top of your lungs, save it for home. Your hands do not belong on other peoples' bodies, ever, so keep them to yourselves. Chew with your mouth closed, stop yelling, and I swear if you grab one more thing that is not yours, I will tie your hands behind your back.
I'm harsh, I am strict and I am honest. The way that society treats kids and people with them, is as though we are all revolving around them and catering to their every whim. It is the biggest lie out there. The world does not revolve around your kids just because your world does. To harbor some sense of entitlement in yourself because you have children, is bullshit.
All it is, is marketing. It is a false sense of superiority put forth by marketing firms to create an illusion that they care about what you are going through. They don't. They care about selling you diapers and they will try any underhanded technique to get your green. It is all just ruse to get you and your kids to spend more money. It's all bullshit. Every person in our society is constantly bombarded with this message, day in and day out.... For those who are not subscribing to the whole "I want babies, yay me!" life style, it is a constant, annoying, and isolating experience. Hence the crankiness.
However, I don't think it is right to find some kind of smug, self-satisfaction while witnessing a parent struggle to deal with their children. If you see a parent struggling with groceries, a stroller, and three kids: HELP THEM. Give them your seat on the bus, help them make sure all of their kids are seated properly; if you see their child slip away from them when they are not looking, POLITELY tell them.
There are fine lines, people.... Don't be a dumbass.
I could really go on an on about this topic. I met a lady a couple of weeks ago that raised this question to me: Since we are no longer an agrarian society that depends on offspring for labor to sustain ourselves, what are the reasons for having children? Is it purely egotistical? Is it survival of the species? Are people who abstain from children hurting the species? Are they just being "selfish"? Or are they altruistically ensuring the survival of the species by minimizing their carbon footprint?
Whatever it is, I believe it is a personal choice that needs to be respected on all sides. I think that we, as human beings, need to be more empathetic and patient with one another, but also just a hell of a lot more respectful to one another.
Maybe some Mothers should realize that we female, CFBCers are the vast minority of women out there. For every one woman who decides to remain childless, there are hundreds of women who decide to become mothers. Those who abstain are quite often philosophically attacked, belittled, isolated, and are subject to having our "femininity" and "essence of womanhood" constantly scrutinized and dissected by strangers.
I know it is not an excuse to be overtly, or overly critical to mothers and parents out there..... But, if you were wondering where the anger that many CFBCers have comes from, you could probably trace it back to that. So next time a single woman rolls her eyes at your screaming child, just remember that even though she is acting like a twat, she may have just had some asshole cross examine her for her choice "Not to be a REAL woman", by not having kids.
Conversely, maybe some of us who don't have kids, can let a busy mom or dad cut in line every once in awhile, or be a little more forgiving when someone is not on their A-game because of sleepless, cranky baby nights or a three child, flu epidemic.....
The world may end up being a little better, if we just tried to respect one another.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Blog Focus and Lobster Incidents
Blogging has turned into such the "industry" these days, which is just funny to me. What essentially started off as a computerized, online diary in which people stayed in touch with friends and family; has turned into the Op-Eds, Gossip, Entertainment, articles that used to be exclusive to magazines and newspapers.
I follow some blogs that are strictly for hobby, some are meant to tone the muscles of the author's creative writing skills, some are gossip, some are funny, and some authors make serious jack from advertising and don't have to hold down 9-5ers. I think that is tremendous for those authors. I wish I possessed the talent, foresight and entrepreneurship of those individuals!
Unfortunately, with the good, comes the bad and the ugly. One disadvantage to the blog, which you never really saw in the hard-copy, print world: Blogs strictly created to attack other blogs and their authors..
It's sad and gross, but it is the internet..... What should we expect, really? Just browse the Rants and Raves section of Craigslist for a minute, and you get the gist of the kind of bottom feeders that grace the world wide web with the benefit of anonymity. It's amazing the "king kong" sized balls someone can grow, under the cloak of disguise, as well as the amount of vitriol that can come forth from their souls.
Purely fascinating.
Anyhoodle, back to my blog and what I am trying to accomplish here..... Well, nothing really. I enjoy the experience of writing, it's incredibly cathartic for me, and it helps me sort out my issues. I must say, that I really don't feel like I fit into the blogosphere. Most women my age fall into the "Mommy Blogger" category, a category that many blogs I really enjoy fall into, but one that could not be further from my life.
I'm not a mommy.
I have been with my fiance for five years and he has two children that were babies when we got together, whom I have helped raise.... But, I'm not their mommy. I am their step-parent, their "Katy", which really does not give me license to discuss them too intimately here.... I have written about them before because they are wonderful, beautiful, smart, hilarious, and I love the shit out of them!...... But, it is really just better that I leave them out of my writing.
Plus, what's there to say other than this:
Being a step-parent is incredibly awesome, and, rewarding, while simultaneously, very hard, hurtful, alienating, and angering.
That's about it.
Other than that, I am an early thirties, career woman, who dreams of being a childless housewife, so I can cook, garden, clean and volunteer for neighborhood projects all day. Working is the pits. Please send money.
Thanks.
I was blogging on Big Booty Judy about my weight loss, which I have hit my goal, but I got bored of talking about it. I also became bored of posting everything I ate and breaking down recipes all of the time. I felt it made me sound as if I had a superiority complex, or held the secret to success for weight loss, which I don't.
So, what do I blog about?
Nothing.
And everything.
That has to do with me, and what I watch, think, experience, enjoy..
If it is boring to some, they can leave.
What do I want to accomplish?
Nothing really.
I am just trying to be a better person by getting things off of my chest and by trying to be creative and funny.
That's all.
OH, recently I was asked about "lobster incidents", and what that was all about.
Let's just say, after electrocutions and rising of the dead, I am done cooking lobsters at home.
I follow some blogs that are strictly for hobby, some are meant to tone the muscles of the author's creative writing skills, some are gossip, some are funny, and some authors make serious jack from advertising and don't have to hold down 9-5ers. I think that is tremendous for those authors. I wish I possessed the talent, foresight and entrepreneurship of those individuals!
Unfortunately, with the good, comes the bad and the ugly. One disadvantage to the blog, which you never really saw in the hard-copy, print world: Blogs strictly created to attack other blogs and their authors..
It's sad and gross, but it is the internet..... What should we expect, really? Just browse the Rants and Raves section of Craigslist for a minute, and you get the gist of the kind of bottom feeders that grace the world wide web with the benefit of anonymity. It's amazing the "king kong" sized balls someone can grow, under the cloak of disguise, as well as the amount of vitriol that can come forth from their souls.
Purely fascinating.
Anyhoodle, back to my blog and what I am trying to accomplish here..... Well, nothing really. I enjoy the experience of writing, it's incredibly cathartic for me, and it helps me sort out my issues. I must say, that I really don't feel like I fit into the blogosphere. Most women my age fall into the "Mommy Blogger" category, a category that many blogs I really enjoy fall into, but one that could not be further from my life.
I'm not a mommy.
I have been with my fiance for five years and he has two children that were babies when we got together, whom I have helped raise.... But, I'm not their mommy. I am their step-parent, their "Katy", which really does not give me license to discuss them too intimately here.... I have written about them before because they are wonderful, beautiful, smart, hilarious, and I love the shit out of them!...... But, it is really just better that I leave them out of my writing.
Plus, what's there to say other than this:
Being a step-parent is incredibly awesome, and, rewarding, while simultaneously, very hard, hurtful, alienating, and angering.
That's about it.
Other than that, I am an early thirties, career woman, who dreams of being a childless housewife, so I can cook, garden, clean and volunteer for neighborhood projects all day. Working is the pits. Please send money.
Thanks.
I was blogging on Big Booty Judy about my weight loss, which I have hit my goal, but I got bored of talking about it. I also became bored of posting everything I ate and breaking down recipes all of the time. I felt it made me sound as if I had a superiority complex, or held the secret to success for weight loss, which I don't.
So, what do I blog about?
Nothing.
And everything.
That has to do with me, and what I watch, think, experience, enjoy..
If it is boring to some, they can leave.
What do I want to accomplish?
Nothing really.
I am just trying to be a better person by getting things off of my chest and by trying to be creative and funny.
That's all.
OH, recently I was asked about "lobster incidents", and what that was all about.
Let's just say, after electrocutions and rising of the dead, I am done cooking lobsters at home.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Sunday: Watching Paint Dry..... Literally.
The holidays are upon us.... Scratch that.... The Holidays are laying on top of us like a sixteen-drunk-frat-boys-pile on. My fiance (I am still not used to calling him that, in fact, I feel kind of silly using that term..... It brings back memories of the red-neck girls I went to high school with who were all engaged by 10th grade..I digress) and I are not huge "Holiday celebrating people", but we do decorate....for the sake of the children...... THINK OF THE CHILDREN, MAN!
The good thing about the holidays? Time off.... Lots of beer..... and chocolate treats... The bad thing about the holidays? Well, besides the obvious: STRESS, DEBT, BFA (big fat ass)SYNDROME, DEALING WITH PEOPLE YOU TRY TO AVOID, aka, FAMILY.. The bad thing is living in a house that is need of constant upgrade, repair and renovation. In light of this, we are taking this time off to pay some much needed attention to our kitchen. We are painting, we are (he is) exposing brick, we are (he is) fixing transoms, we are ACCOMPLISHING great things.
The problem lies in the fact that I am really shitty at renovations. I can't paint. I mean, I can..... just not very well. I have a very short attention span. I am impatient and I lose interest in projects 60 minutes after I start them. I have boxes full of tiles when I decided that I was going to become a "tile Mosaic" aficionado.... Well, I have decided that I am going to empower myself and I am going to paint that kitchen so well, head hunters for the kitchen painting industry are going to be breaking down my door and offering me tens of dollars to become pro.
Alas, I am already experiencing a wrench in my plans.
I have to wait for paint(primer) to dry..... For like two hours before I can put a second coat on.. Then I have to wait and let the primer "cure"(are you effing kidding me?), for 24 hours.....
God, please grant me the strength to stay interested in this project for the duration................... OOH! SOMETHING SHINY!
The good thing about the holidays? Time off.... Lots of beer..... and chocolate treats... The bad thing about the holidays? Well, besides the obvious: STRESS, DEBT, BFA (big fat ass)SYNDROME, DEALING WITH PEOPLE YOU TRY TO AVOID, aka, FAMILY.. The bad thing is living in a house that is need of constant upgrade, repair and renovation. In light of this, we are taking this time off to pay some much needed attention to our kitchen. We are painting, we are (he is) exposing brick, we are (he is) fixing transoms, we are ACCOMPLISHING great things.
The problem lies in the fact that I am really shitty at renovations. I can't paint. I mean, I can..... just not very well. I have a very short attention span. I am impatient and I lose interest in projects 60 minutes after I start them. I have boxes full of tiles when I decided that I was going to become a "tile Mosaic" aficionado.... Well, I have decided that I am going to empower myself and I am going to paint that kitchen so well, head hunters for the kitchen painting industry are going to be breaking down my door and offering me tens of dollars to become pro.
Alas, I am already experiencing a wrench in my plans.
I have to wait for paint(primer) to dry..... For like two hours before I can put a second coat on.. Then I have to wait and let the primer "cure"(are you effing kidding me?), for 24 hours.....
God, please grant me the strength to stay interested in this project for the duration................... OOH! SOMETHING SHINY!
Friday, March 21, 2008
GANGLAND
Our house is located in the middle of one of the oldest, "old growth-forests" in Cincinnati, Parker Woods. I have lived in my house for four years and I have never seen head nor "hoot" of an owl near our house. I knew they had to be there, in fact, I had heard them in the distant corners of the woods, but had not seen nor heard any in our backyard.
Well, NOT ANYMORE.
Apparently our little corner of the woods has become some sort of "den of vice" for owls looking to procreate, or maybe to engage in more nefarious shenanigans?
The owls, oh boy, the owls! They are loud and they sound scary! Especially if you have never been five feet away from two owls having some sort of "discussion."
The first night I heard the chaos was last Sunday while Mr. Hotbuns was still out of town and the little ones were at their mom's house. I was all ALONE in my very dark bedroom.... by myself....TOTALLY ALONE....Except for the cat. I was awakened by this very loud "OOH OOH OOH!" and then the sound of very large, very powerful, wings flapping right out side the window. (Though at the time it seemed like this was going on right in front of my face.) This disturbing ruckus made me think there was a Ring Wraith outside of my window on a flying dragon.
Then I heard ""OOH OOH OOH!!!!!!!""" again followed by a high pitched, Fozzy Bear, "WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!" and then some more, pretty serious, flapping noises.
It sounded like a duel between two cracked out unicorns.
The thought running through my mind?
"Yo' ass is grass, Frodo Baggins."
After I was done crapping the bed, I grew baby balls, big enough to come out from under the covers and look out of the window. As soon as I peered out towards the yard, two, GIANT OWLS flew right in front of my window! I could detail their feathers, they were so close.... I jumped back, fearing I was going to get "winged" in the face, they were so close.... Which, in turn, sent me back under the bed.
After I self talked myself out of my panic, I finally came out from under the bed, on a mission to figure out what the hell just happened. I approached the window, trying to remain brave, I could see the perpetrators on top of our shed sharing a tender moment... or so I thought was a tender moment.
I felt a wave of relief and crawled back under the covers. I mean, I had THE ENTIRE BED to myself, I needed to enjoy it. As I awoke the next morning, I had pretty much forgotten about the incident and went about my day. I chose to look at the bright side, I have owls humping in my backyard....This only means baby owls and I am a sucker for "baby" anything.
Well last night as I laid in bed, feeling total relaxation setting into my entire body, my mellow was totally crashed by the sound of Mr. Hotbuns running up the stairs calling for me:
"There is something really fucking weird going on! Oh My God!"
I sat up startled thinking that our house was possibly being taken over by the band of Mormon missionaries who live up the street, or that our drunken, crazy, neighbor set his hair on fire again, when I heard:
"WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!"
Oh fantastic! The horny owls were back, fucking the night away on my shed. I prayed they would just freaking get it over with and be off smoking cigarettes somewhere, commenting on how great each other were before midnight. After some more furios flapping and beak clacking, they both took flight to finish the dance of night someplace else.
After the two love birds made their get away, Mr. Hotbuns and I started to discuss what had just happened and how tonight was NOTHING compared to the boisterous love making of the night before.
However, we were both kind of stricken with a sense that there was no love between these two creatures of the night, unless owls, unlike what we had been under the impression of before, really liked it rough.
What do you do when you are in doubt? Well, I don't know what you do, but I certainly turn to "Google" when I am in a knowledge pickle.
Unfortunately, after some extensive Googling and Wikipedia-ing, we were faced with a very harsh realization: What we mistakenly thought were owls caught in the throes of love, were actually owls in the middle of a turf war.
Perfect.
We were living in the South Central of the nocturnal world and my house is located right on Crenshaw.
Totally awesome.
Well, NOT ANYMORE.
Apparently our little corner of the woods has become some sort of "den of vice" for owls looking to procreate, or maybe to engage in more nefarious shenanigans?
The owls, oh boy, the owls! They are loud and they sound scary! Especially if you have never been five feet away from two owls having some sort of "discussion."
The first night I heard the chaos was last Sunday while Mr. Hotbuns was still out of town and the little ones were at their mom's house. I was all ALONE in my very dark bedroom.... by myself....TOTALLY ALONE....Except for the cat. I was awakened by this very loud "OOH OOH OOH!" and then the sound of very large, very powerful, wings flapping right out side the window. (Though at the time it seemed like this was going on right in front of my face.) This disturbing ruckus made me think there was a Ring Wraith outside of my window on a flying dragon.
Then I heard ""OOH OOH OOH!!!!!!!""" again followed by a high pitched, Fozzy Bear, "WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!" and then some more, pretty serious, flapping noises.
It sounded like a duel between two cracked out unicorns.
The thought running through my mind?
"Yo' ass is grass, Frodo Baggins."
After I was done crapping the bed, I grew baby balls, big enough to come out from under the covers and look out of the window. As soon as I peered out towards the yard, two, GIANT OWLS flew right in front of my window! I could detail their feathers, they were so close.... I jumped back, fearing I was going to get "winged" in the face, they were so close.... Which, in turn, sent me back under the bed.
After I self talked myself out of my panic, I finally came out from under the bed, on a mission to figure out what the hell just happened. I approached the window, trying to remain brave, I could see the perpetrators on top of our shed sharing a tender moment... or so I thought was a tender moment.
I felt a wave of relief and crawled back under the covers. I mean, I had THE ENTIRE BED to myself, I needed to enjoy it. As I awoke the next morning, I had pretty much forgotten about the incident and went about my day. I chose to look at the bright side, I have owls humping in my backyard....This only means baby owls and I am a sucker for "baby" anything.
Well last night as I laid in bed, feeling total relaxation setting into my entire body, my mellow was totally crashed by the sound of Mr. Hotbuns running up the stairs calling for me:
"There is something really fucking weird going on! Oh My God!"
I sat up startled thinking that our house was possibly being taken over by the band of Mormon missionaries who live up the street, or that our drunken, crazy, neighbor set his hair on fire again, when I heard:
"WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!"
Oh fantastic! The horny owls were back, fucking the night away on my shed. I prayed they would just freaking get it over with and be off smoking cigarettes somewhere, commenting on how great each other were before midnight. After some more furios flapping and beak clacking, they both took flight to finish the dance of night someplace else.
After the two love birds made their get away, Mr. Hotbuns and I started to discuss what had just happened and how tonight was NOTHING compared to the boisterous love making of the night before.
However, we were both kind of stricken with a sense that there was no love between these two creatures of the night, unless owls, unlike what we had been under the impression of before, really liked it rough.
What do you do when you are in doubt? Well, I don't know what you do, but I certainly turn to "Google" when I am in a knowledge pickle.
Unfortunately, after some extensive Googling and Wikipedia-ing, we were faced with a very harsh realization: What we mistakenly thought were owls caught in the throes of love, were actually owls in the middle of a turf war.
Perfect.
We were living in the South Central of the nocturnal world and my house is located right on Crenshaw.
Totally awesome.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Will They Reminisce Over You?
Being employed by a company who excels at micro managing, every day is rigorously scheduled. You may unchain yourself from your desk at 10:15 to piss and smoke and by 10:12, my co-workers and I get quite antsy, anticipating the fifteen minutes of freedom so close on the horizon. I imagine myself as Andy Dufrane, queerly giddy, watching my comrades drink beer in the warm, spring sun, as we make our way to the corporate patio, feeling, if just for a few minutes, free.
This morning during our break, oddly, there were a group of young boys, (around 8 or 9 years of age) crowded on the shores of the office park pond, hurling rocks onto the weak, thin, cover of ice. We struck up a conversation about why those boys were doing that? Is that fun? I thought about the kids in my life and how Young Son will sit out in the woods in our back yard and slap a tree stump with a stick for hours on end, so yes, I can see how tossing rocks onto thin ice for hours at a time can be amusing.
This got me reminiscing my own childhood, growing up in the country and the weird shit we used to do. We lived on about 50 acres of farmland which consisted of pastures, woods and about a dozen dilapidated barns. My parents were not farmers, but we did lease the land out to a cattle rancher in town who had exceeded his own land, so there was plenty of livestock to chase and harass. Mr. Murray (the rancher) was really nice. Thanks to himself and his farm hands, I learned how to cuss like a pro, as well as dip by age seven.
My brother and sister and I are very lucky people. Not only because growing up on the farm kind of rules the school for little kids, not to mention the added bonus that we were NOT farmers, so there were no ass busting chores we had to embark on at day break, but, because we are alive today. There were so many “games” we played that could have killed us. The only casualties to ever happen were some broken arms and a few stitches here and there.
We had a hay stack (can I get a HELL YEAH!?), where we would pile the bales on top of each other until we could get to the rafters. We then would un-string a hay bale and use the STRING to tie to the rafters to swing across the barn. SAFETY FIRST! Amazingly enough, only one time did I bust the string while in mid-swing. It wasn’t too damaging to me, as there was a big pile of hay to break my fall, though I did find the needle in the haystack that day. It was sticking out of my butt crack.
Way back in the cow pasture, near our property line, there were a bunch of stone foundations from, what we referred to as “old pioneer homes” and barns. Out of all of the structures, only one was still in tact; a small shed that had a spigot from a natural spring that flowed into a rusty old tub, so there was always “fresh water”. We played “house” back there all of the time and DRANK from the rusty old tub. God made rust, too.
One game we liked to play was “Make the cows mad!” This consisted of us grabbing some sticks and rocks, the casing the pasture until we found where the herd was hanging out. Then we, along with the dogs would run up screaming, throwing rocks and slapping them with sticks to get them to “stampede”. We were obsessed with cowboys, so we did this to try to lasso them and play “rodeo”. None of us were ever really close to being trampled, though if it had happened, we would have totally deserved it. We also liked to run through the feed troughs when they were eating. We were dicks.
One game that was always a pleasure was finding petrified cow patties to throw at one another. Good times.
We had quite the groundhog problem on this farm. Every spring, the farmhands would drive up to the fence around our pasture with long-range rifles and cases of beer. They would sit there for hours looking through the scopes on the rifles, waiting for a groundhog to pop up, then they would shoot it. I LOVED hanging with them when they did this,(hence the cussing and dipping) and I shot my first animal, (a vile groundhog) with help from Roy (the main hand) at age 8. After they would shoot a few, they would drive into the pasture to pickup the carcasses and fill in the holes.
Ground hog holes are dangerous for livestock. Livestock animals are stupid. They don’t watch where they are going and fall into the holes, breaking their legs and dying. Livestock animals are also incredibly expensive, so one dying in the night due to a fall, was a huge net loss, therefore there needed to be as much damage control as possible to prevent these situations.
I also fucking hated the damn things. They were vicious assholes that would chase you and if they got a hold of you, very likely might maul you to death. Luckily we had Beauregard J Puppy dog, defender of small children and ground hog assassinator, who saved me from numerous ground hog maulings. Beau was a bad ass and quite the killer. Unfortunately, we had a couple of other dogs and cats that perished at the fangs of the dreaded groundhog. One puppy, Bouncer, got his jaw ripped off by one of these nefarious creatures. He limped up to the porch and the jaw bone was dangling from his face by a thread of flesh. My mom had to hold his torn jaw to his face, tie a bandage around his head, and drive him to the large animal vet down the road to have him put down.
The day I shot that damn ground hog, I did it for Bouncer, man.
One day, my sister and I were walking through the pastures, looking for some cows to bully and we found a rotting ground hog carcass. After inspecting it thoroughly, WITH OUR BARE HANDS, we yanked its jaw out, then started unhinging its teeth to fashion a tooth necklace for Bouncers Revenge. I don’t recall ever seeing a movie where someone did this, so I think this is proof that savagery and revenge are inherent human emotions. We then headed inside to have dinner and I doubt we washed our hands, though Mom did not let us keep the groundhog teeth to make our necklaces. Le Sigh.
My friend J grew up on a farm, too. We like to swap stories on whose upbringing was grosser and who had the least supervision. I think I beat her on the supervision part, as my parents NEVER knew what we were up to, but, she beat me on gross with this doozy. Her daddy was a pig farmer and in the spring they had to slaughter. After the pigs were slaughtered, gutted and parted, they would toss the remains behind the barn before the disposed correctly of them. Well, the remains became bouncy and J and her siblings liked to jump on them, for they were quite springy and soft. Her parents hated this and finally bargained with the kids that if they bought them a trampoline, the kids would stop jumping on the pig remains. J, to this day swears it was more fun to jump on the dead pigs, but never did again out of respect for her parents.
So, there you have it. Kids do really dumb and gross things to entertain themselves. I wish I was back there on that farm, sitting on the fence, contemplating my next move, rather than tied to this desk, at this soul sucking job. My only pleasure was remembering all of this for you all.
Happy Holidays.
This morning during our break, oddly, there were a group of young boys, (around 8 or 9 years of age) crowded on the shores of the office park pond, hurling rocks onto the weak, thin, cover of ice. We struck up a conversation about why those boys were doing that? Is that fun? I thought about the kids in my life and how Young Son will sit out in the woods in our back yard and slap a tree stump with a stick for hours on end, so yes, I can see how tossing rocks onto thin ice for hours at a time can be amusing.
This got me reminiscing my own childhood, growing up in the country and the weird shit we used to do. We lived on about 50 acres of farmland which consisted of pastures, woods and about a dozen dilapidated barns. My parents were not farmers, but we did lease the land out to a cattle rancher in town who had exceeded his own land, so there was plenty of livestock to chase and harass. Mr. Murray (the rancher) was really nice. Thanks to himself and his farm hands, I learned how to cuss like a pro, as well as dip by age seven.
My brother and sister and I are very lucky people. Not only because growing up on the farm kind of rules the school for little kids, not to mention the added bonus that we were NOT farmers, so there were no ass busting chores we had to embark on at day break, but, because we are alive today. There were so many “games” we played that could have killed us. The only casualties to ever happen were some broken arms and a few stitches here and there.
We had a hay stack (can I get a HELL YEAH!?), where we would pile the bales on top of each other until we could get to the rafters. We then would un-string a hay bale and use the STRING to tie to the rafters to swing across the barn. SAFETY FIRST! Amazingly enough, only one time did I bust the string while in mid-swing. It wasn’t too damaging to me, as there was a big pile of hay to break my fall, though I did find the needle in the haystack that day. It was sticking out of my butt crack.
Way back in the cow pasture, near our property line, there were a bunch of stone foundations from, what we referred to as “old pioneer homes” and barns. Out of all of the structures, only one was still in tact; a small shed that had a spigot from a natural spring that flowed into a rusty old tub, so there was always “fresh water”. We played “house” back there all of the time and DRANK from the rusty old tub. God made rust, too.
One game we liked to play was “Make the cows mad!” This consisted of us grabbing some sticks and rocks, the casing the pasture until we found where the herd was hanging out. Then we, along with the dogs would run up screaming, throwing rocks and slapping them with sticks to get them to “stampede”. We were obsessed with cowboys, so we did this to try to lasso them and play “rodeo”. None of us were ever really close to being trampled, though if it had happened, we would have totally deserved it. We also liked to run through the feed troughs when they were eating. We were dicks.
One game that was always a pleasure was finding petrified cow patties to throw at one another. Good times.
We had quite the groundhog problem on this farm. Every spring, the farmhands would drive up to the fence around our pasture with long-range rifles and cases of beer. They would sit there for hours looking through the scopes on the rifles, waiting for a groundhog to pop up, then they would shoot it. I LOVED hanging with them when they did this,(hence the cussing and dipping) and I shot my first animal, (a vile groundhog) with help from Roy (the main hand) at age 8. After they would shoot a few, they would drive into the pasture to pickup the carcasses and fill in the holes.
Ground hog holes are dangerous for livestock. Livestock animals are stupid. They don’t watch where they are going and fall into the holes, breaking their legs and dying. Livestock animals are also incredibly expensive, so one dying in the night due to a fall, was a huge net loss, therefore there needed to be as much damage control as possible to prevent these situations.
I also fucking hated the damn things. They were vicious assholes that would chase you and if they got a hold of you, very likely might maul you to death. Luckily we had Beauregard J Puppy dog, defender of small children and ground hog assassinator, who saved me from numerous ground hog maulings. Beau was a bad ass and quite the killer. Unfortunately, we had a couple of other dogs and cats that perished at the fangs of the dreaded groundhog. One puppy, Bouncer, got his jaw ripped off by one of these nefarious creatures. He limped up to the porch and the jaw bone was dangling from his face by a thread of flesh. My mom had to hold his torn jaw to his face, tie a bandage around his head, and drive him to the large animal vet down the road to have him put down.
The day I shot that damn ground hog, I did it for Bouncer, man.
One day, my sister and I were walking through the pastures, looking for some cows to bully and we found a rotting ground hog carcass. After inspecting it thoroughly, WITH OUR BARE HANDS, we yanked its jaw out, then started unhinging its teeth to fashion a tooth necklace for Bouncers Revenge. I don’t recall ever seeing a movie where someone did this, so I think this is proof that savagery and revenge are inherent human emotions. We then headed inside to have dinner and I doubt we washed our hands, though Mom did not let us keep the groundhog teeth to make our necklaces. Le Sigh.
My friend J grew up on a farm, too. We like to swap stories on whose upbringing was grosser and who had the least supervision. I think I beat her on the supervision part, as my parents NEVER knew what we were up to, but, she beat me on gross with this doozy. Her daddy was a pig farmer and in the spring they had to slaughter. After the pigs were slaughtered, gutted and parted, they would toss the remains behind the barn before the disposed correctly of them. Well, the remains became bouncy and J and her siblings liked to jump on them, for they were quite springy and soft. Her parents hated this and finally bargained with the kids that if they bought them a trampoline, the kids would stop jumping on the pig remains. J, to this day swears it was more fun to jump on the dead pigs, but never did again out of respect for her parents.
So, there you have it. Kids do really dumb and gross things to entertain themselves. I wish I was back there on that farm, sitting on the fence, contemplating my next move, rather than tied to this desk, at this soul sucking job. My only pleasure was remembering all of this for you all.
Happy Holidays.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Assholes
I really enjoy reading Heather Armstrong's blog, Dooce (look on my blog roll). I think she is very clever and she cracks me up, all the while warming the cockles of my cold, cold heart.
In her latest entry, she really hits home with me and my pseudo motherhood position in my family. Hotbuns and his ex, whom I will refer to as Ms. Delish (she has a very tasty place to eat, and she rocks), share custody of the little Buns. It is a good arrangement and Hotbuns and Delish are excellent parents. She has the Little Buns half of the week, and we have them the other half.
Well, as my position grew here at chez Dildo-Buns, I started to really go through a crisis. Overnight I found myself in a parental role that I was completely NOT PREPARED to deal with.
You see, I don't want children of my own, I never really have. The only time I ever expressed any interest is when my career has been in the toilet. (Yeah, because squeezing out babies and having to deal with them for 18 years will be EASIER. I can be a real moron sometimes.)
Well, in her latest entry, Heather wrote this:
I have been experiencing similar feelings. I know that I am not a birth mother, that I am a bonus parent, but it is really hard. It is hard to know if you are being fair to everyone's feelings. How much discipline is too much discipline? How much disclosure of my life is too much? Dealing with a lot of feelings of resentment, then guilt, because I am the one who put myself here, not these babies, and I should be being a better partner. Frustration on being the bonus parent and things not being done the way you think they should, but, that is the way it is. Feeling like the carpet could be pulled out from under you in a minute and these children you love so much and have helped raise over the past three years, will no longer be a part of your life. That is the biggest fear of all.
Anyways, I deal with fear through humor, so I thought I would share a message I sent Heather Armstrong. Please read the excerpt I posted, so you can see that I am using humor and sarcasm and do not necessarily have the feelings I am about to post.
You have to have a sense of humor about parenting. If you don't, you are going to drive yourself INSANE.
In her latest entry, she really hits home with me and my pseudo motherhood position in my family. Hotbuns and his ex, whom I will refer to as Ms. Delish (she has a very tasty place to eat, and she rocks), share custody of the little Buns. It is a good arrangement and Hotbuns and Delish are excellent parents. She has the Little Buns half of the week, and we have them the other half.
Well, as my position grew here at chez Dildo-Buns, I started to really go through a crisis. Overnight I found myself in a parental role that I was completely NOT PREPARED to deal with.
You see, I don't want children of my own, I never really have. The only time I ever expressed any interest is when my career has been in the toilet. (Yeah, because squeezing out babies and having to deal with them for 18 years will be EASIER. I can be a real moron sometimes.)
Well, in her latest entry, Heather wrote this:
For many months after Leta’s birth I felt like I was going through an identity crisis, even after my hospital stay when I could think about things more clearly. I didn’t know I was going through it then, but I had many symptoms of a mid-life crisis, including excessive drinking and lashing out at the most important people in my life. I can look back at those months now and see what was going on, that suddenly I was a mother, but didn’t feel like I thought mothers were supposed to feel. It was as if overnight I had gone from working in the mail room to becoming the CEO, and I had no idea how to run a company. I didn’t want to run a company.
I have been experiencing similar feelings. I know that I am not a birth mother, that I am a bonus parent, but it is really hard. It is hard to know if you are being fair to everyone's feelings. How much discipline is too much discipline? How much disclosure of my life is too much? Dealing with a lot of feelings of resentment, then guilt, because I am the one who put myself here, not these babies, and I should be being a better partner. Frustration on being the bonus parent and things not being done the way you think they should, but, that is the way it is. Feeling like the carpet could be pulled out from under you in a minute and these children you love so much and have helped raise over the past three years, will no longer be a part of your life. That is the biggest fear of all.
Anyways, I deal with fear through humor, so I thought I would share a message I sent Heather Armstrong. Please read the excerpt I posted, so you can see that I am using humor and sarcasm and do not necessarily have the feelings I am about to post.
Traveling with toddlers sucks wads. P E R I O D. Even if it is a one hour road/day trip, it sucks. Why? Because though they are cute and we love them infinitely, toddlers suck.
Toddlers are complete assholes. They don't care about other peoples' wants and desires, they care about their wants and desires. Case in point, toddlers NEVER run the dishwasher and rarely flush the toilet. Heck, you are lucky they went in the potty in the first place. Most toddlers are animals and go in their pants and MAKE YOU clean it up. Typical behavior of a MAJOR ASSHOLE.
Toddlers won't even bother to READ for themselves. They make you do it, if you don't, they make you wish you were never born, just like an asshole would. I have even known toddlers to take a plate of dinner I had just slaved over for HOURS, and dump it on the floor. Just like an asshole. THEY DID NOT EVEN APOLOGIZE, the fucking ASSHOLE.
A lot of times, I look down upon this giant ASSHOLE that lives in my house and think, "Fuck them, I am D O N E." Just when I think I have the balls to totally tell them off and REALLY let them know what a complete ASSHOLE they are, they look up at me and tell me how much they love me and how I am the best in the world. Just like an asshole.
Only an asshole would tell you the most amazing thing you have ever heard, right when you are about to stick it to them. They totally pull your heartstrings and make you embrace them in cuddle time for the next hour, causing you to forget what a total asshole they are in the first place.
Jerks.
(it does get better, when they move out, things are going to be just fine;))
You have to have a sense of humor about parenting. If you don't, you are going to drive yourself INSANE.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Deja EW!
The mice have infiltrated us, yet again.
Sgt. Weiner Hotbuns has set up a new ambush after yesterday's mission was unsuccessful.
The evolution of these rodents has impaired our efforts, for now they do not want to go out like "Uncle Lenny" did.
Please wish us godspeed in allieviating this nuisance and restoring balance to our home.
Sgt. Weiner Hotbuns has set up a new ambush after yesterday's mission was unsuccessful.
The evolution of these rodents has impaired our efforts, for now they do not want to go out like "Uncle Lenny" did.
Please wish us godspeed in allieviating this nuisance and restoring balance to our home.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Mouse Update
Apparently the mice in Northside have reaped substantial, unnatural abilities, due to their proximity to P&G factories and the Mill Creek.
Northside is now home to Mighty Mice.
When I first discovered the little lovelies' droppings in our silverware drawer, I foolishly thought it was just one, itty bitty, mouse. So we trucked up to CVS in the Gaslight to get some mousetraps. We thought it would be so easy. We were so young and foolish.
There is this lady from Russia who has been working at this CVS for years. She is the meanest, uninterested, wearin' lots of makeup, lady I have ever met. Seriously, if you say "Hi" to her, she grunts at you without making eye contact. She is totally intimidating. I asked her where the mousetraps were, and her little face lit up! At first I thought she was passing gas, but then realized she was smiling at me...... What? Were they out? Was she going to go on a tirade about how cruel it is to kill mice with traps and insult my lazy cats, all hopped up on catnip and Pounce Treats?!? OH GOD WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?!?!?!?!?!??!
She tenderly grasped my arms and led me directly to the mouse traps. She then proceeded to pick up a package and hand them to me.
I clearly thought I was having an acid flashback.
She then smiled ear to ear, and slyly said "I hope you catch it"! I was in shock. I walked away from the "Boo Radley" incident that had just occurred and paid for the traps. As I got into the car, Hotbuns asked me if I was okay, because I was pale. I told him he would not believe what had just happened, because I was still convinced I had made it all up.
When we got home, I designated Hotbuns to be the mousetrap engineer and coroner. He finally was successful in getting the cheese on the trap, only losing two fingers! (I sewed them back on later.) He placed it in the silverware drawer and we went about the rest of our day in giddy anticipation.
The next day we galloped down the stairs, as if we were children ambushing a Christmas Tree. We opened the drawer, ready to bask in the fact that, DAMMIT! WE HAVE THUMBS, EAT IT MOUSE!!!!! We then discovered that the trap had not been activated, yet the cheese was missing. The little pisser sure showed us.
After three more attempts, *shame*, we finally prevailed. We had wine to celebrate.
So two weeks go by. One morning as I was going for a spoon for my steaming, delicious bowl of oatmeal, I noticed little black pellets in the silverware drawer.................AGAIN.
So far we have made about ten attempts to get his one. All unsuccessful.
The mice in Northside have thumbs.
Northside is now home to Mighty Mice.
When I first discovered the little lovelies' droppings in our silverware drawer, I foolishly thought it was just one, itty bitty, mouse. So we trucked up to CVS in the Gaslight to get some mousetraps. We thought it would be so easy. We were so young and foolish.
There is this lady from Russia who has been working at this CVS for years. She is the meanest, uninterested, wearin' lots of makeup, lady I have ever met. Seriously, if you say "Hi" to her, she grunts at you without making eye contact. She is totally intimidating. I asked her where the mousetraps were, and her little face lit up! At first I thought she was passing gas, but then realized she was smiling at me...... What? Were they out? Was she going to go on a tirade about how cruel it is to kill mice with traps and insult my lazy cats, all hopped up on catnip and Pounce Treats?!? OH GOD WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?!?!?!?!?!??!
She tenderly grasped my arms and led me directly to the mouse traps. She then proceeded to pick up a package and hand them to me.
I clearly thought I was having an acid flashback.
She then smiled ear to ear, and slyly said "I hope you catch it"! I was in shock. I walked away from the "Boo Radley" incident that had just occurred and paid for the traps. As I got into the car, Hotbuns asked me if I was okay, because I was pale. I told him he would not believe what had just happened, because I was still convinced I had made it all up.
When we got home, I designated Hotbuns to be the mousetrap engineer and coroner. He finally was successful in getting the cheese on the trap, only losing two fingers! (I sewed them back on later.) He placed it in the silverware drawer and we went about the rest of our day in giddy anticipation.
The next day we galloped down the stairs, as if we were children ambushing a Christmas Tree. We opened the drawer, ready to bask in the fact that, DAMMIT! WE HAVE THUMBS, EAT IT MOUSE!!!!! We then discovered that the trap had not been activated, yet the cheese was missing. The little pisser sure showed us.
After three more attempts, *shame*, we finally prevailed. We had wine to celebrate.
So two weeks go by. One morning as I was going for a spoon for my steaming, delicious bowl of oatmeal, I noticed little black pellets in the silverware drawer.................AGAIN.
So far we have made about ten attempts to get his one. All unsuccessful.
The mice in Northside have thumbs.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Gersh Dang Mouse in the Gersh Dang House.
Dangit.
Last year we were fortunate enough not to host the "Rodentia Invasionia". Unfortunately, it seems this is an "every two year" event. Like every good host, we obviously have to roll out the red carpet!
As I opened the silver ware drawer Saturday morning, I noticed little black crumby things scattered all throughout the utensils my family sticks IN THEIR MOUTHS. Hooray! Not only is the little vermin an unwelcome house guest, but he does not even have the decency to poop in the JUNK DRAWER. Asshole.
Preferring salt over mouse dookie as a seasoning to my eggs, I promptly removed all utensils and stuck them in the dish washing machine. I then proceeded to pour gasoline into the drawer and light it on fire, hoping to gas the little fucker out. Didn't work.
I am not terrified of mice. I grew up on a farm and mice are really the least of your worries when a fifty pound groundhog is chasing you and trying to rip your leg off. Our house was not just a people house, but a youth hostile for rebellious mice, who wanted more out of life, than following the traditional values of the field. I had to vacuum out the couch one day when I was eight and found three little guys flattened underneath the cushions, just like little rodent pan-cakes.
What I love the best when vermin enter your lives is the advice you receive from people you love, and once thought had any common sense.
First Question:
"Don't you have three cats? How can you have mice with three cats?"
I do have three cats. Two that are indoor/outdoor, one that is strictly outdoor. The two that stay inside are useless. Why? They see a mouse and they get excited and look at each other like "By golly, jidya see dat! Wut is dat!" They then proceed to grab a bowl of catnip and take station at the closest vantage point, to watch this amazing thing run across the floor! They are like French people watching Jerry Lewis movies; the act is so unnatural, totally unfunny, completely not fascinating, and just deeply disturbing.
This brings us to the first suggestion:
"Well, you should get one of those cruelty free traps."
This is so dumb, on so many levels.
First off, what is this person expecting me to do? Trap the stupid mouse, then drive it to the country, to release it while screaming, "BE FREE FAIR MOUSE, BE FREE!" Then witness a red tail hawk come out of nowhere, and snatch the fucker up for dinner?
My house is not a holy place that mice just "pop" into existence, I don't care how filthy some of you think I may be. The thing had to come from somewhere (outside) and since I am not wasting a $2.25 gallon of gas on a mouse, I only have one more option of where to release it (outside), and I have not had a friend with a snake since my Metallica phase in high school.
But, what is dumbfounding to me, is that the same person who wondered why I own defective cats, is the person who suggested a cruelty-free trap. Placing a trap that will snap the mouse's neck quickly, is crueler than letting a cat get to it? Um, hello?
Let me introduce you to Bernie, the third kitty, who lives outside. Bernie lived in the house during the "Rodentia Invasionia" of 2005. Unfortunately for us, he is akin to peeing on just about EVERYTHING in the house, if permitted inside, and unfortunately for Bernie, he pees straight cat urine and not Lysol. So during this stint of mouse residency, Bernie is not a viable solution.
Death to a mouse by way of feline intervention is NOT humane, and quite a gory process. First, the feline (one that is not hopped up on cat nip and Pounce treats) sniffs out the mouse. Secondly, the feline becomes one with its environment, meaning, if the stake out location is on the floor, the feline will flatten itself to become "one" with the floor. Time is no matter to the feline, for it will wait until mouse boldly attempts to change positions, then *SNAP*, the mouse is now a cat toy.
I use "toy" for a reason. Cats are amazing hunters by instinct, they are carnivores and in the wild, they need to hunt to eat. House cats (once again, those that are not hopped up on cat nip and Pounce treats) do not need to hunt to eat, yet sill, instinctively possess the ability to be a great hunter. Being that the house kitty does not hunt to eat, it hunts for sport. A torturous, gruesome, horrible sport. Kind of like golf, but not as boring.
The kitty uses the mouse as its personal entertainment for however long the mouse can cling on to dear life. They carry the mouse around in their mouth, like it was their wittle baby. They play solitary table hockey with the mouse, slamming it back and forth between their paws. They then play the "Hippy Hippy Shakes" game with the mouse, clenched in kitty's jowls, shaking it back and forth until the wittle mouse gets all dizzy! Fun for cat and mouse.....*ahem*
Well, this is what happened to the last mouse that dared enter the lair of "Bernie the Brain Eater". We found the body of the decapitated mouse on the rug in the kitchen and the head being used as a "CHASE IT!" ball throughout the house.
Yep, a regular trap is definitely crueler than letting a cat get to it.......
So, I have decided to go about getting the mouse my own way. I got a six pack, a lawn chair and a BB gun. That son of a bitch will never know what hit him.
Last year we were fortunate enough not to host the "Rodentia Invasionia". Unfortunately, it seems this is an "every two year" event. Like every good host, we obviously have to roll out the red carpet!
As I opened the silver ware drawer Saturday morning, I noticed little black crumby things scattered all throughout the utensils my family sticks IN THEIR MOUTHS. Hooray! Not only is the little vermin an unwelcome house guest, but he does not even have the decency to poop in the JUNK DRAWER. Asshole.
Preferring salt over mouse dookie as a seasoning to my eggs, I promptly removed all utensils and stuck them in the dish washing machine. I then proceeded to pour gasoline into the drawer and light it on fire, hoping to gas the little fucker out. Didn't work.
I am not terrified of mice. I grew up on a farm and mice are really the least of your worries when a fifty pound groundhog is chasing you and trying to rip your leg off. Our house was not just a people house, but a youth hostile for rebellious mice, who wanted more out of life, than following the traditional values of the field. I had to vacuum out the couch one day when I was eight and found three little guys flattened underneath the cushions, just like little rodent pan-cakes.
What I love the best when vermin enter your lives is the advice you receive from people you love, and once thought had any common sense.
First Question:
"Don't you have three cats? How can you have mice with three cats?"
I do have three cats. Two that are indoor/outdoor, one that is strictly outdoor. The two that stay inside are useless. Why? They see a mouse and they get excited and look at each other like "By golly, jidya see dat! Wut is dat!" They then proceed to grab a bowl of catnip and take station at the closest vantage point, to watch this amazing thing run across the floor! They are like French people watching Jerry Lewis movies; the act is so unnatural, totally unfunny, completely not fascinating, and just deeply disturbing.
This brings us to the first suggestion:
"Well, you should get one of those cruelty free traps."
This is so dumb, on so many levels.
First off, what is this person expecting me to do? Trap the stupid mouse, then drive it to the country, to release it while screaming, "BE FREE FAIR MOUSE, BE FREE!" Then witness a red tail hawk come out of nowhere, and snatch the fucker up for dinner?
My house is not a holy place that mice just "pop" into existence, I don't care how filthy some of you think I may be. The thing had to come from somewhere (outside) and since I am not wasting a $2.25 gallon of gas on a mouse, I only have one more option of where to release it (outside), and I have not had a friend with a snake since my Metallica phase in high school.
But, what is dumbfounding to me, is that the same person who wondered why I own defective cats, is the person who suggested a cruelty-free trap. Placing a trap that will snap the mouse's neck quickly, is crueler than letting a cat get to it? Um, hello?
Let me introduce you to Bernie, the third kitty, who lives outside. Bernie lived in the house during the "Rodentia Invasionia" of 2005. Unfortunately for us, he is akin to peeing on just about EVERYTHING in the house, if permitted inside, and unfortunately for Bernie, he pees straight cat urine and not Lysol. So during this stint of mouse residency, Bernie is not a viable solution.
Death to a mouse by way of feline intervention is NOT humane, and quite a gory process. First, the feline (one that is not hopped up on cat nip and Pounce treats) sniffs out the mouse. Secondly, the feline becomes one with its environment, meaning, if the stake out location is on the floor, the feline will flatten itself to become "one" with the floor. Time is no matter to the feline, for it will wait until mouse boldly attempts to change positions, then *SNAP*, the mouse is now a cat toy.
I use "toy" for a reason. Cats are amazing hunters by instinct, they are carnivores and in the wild, they need to hunt to eat. House cats (once again, those that are not hopped up on cat nip and Pounce treats) do not need to hunt to eat, yet sill, instinctively possess the ability to be a great hunter. Being that the house kitty does not hunt to eat, it hunts for sport. A torturous, gruesome, horrible sport. Kind of like golf, but not as boring.
The kitty uses the mouse as its personal entertainment for however long the mouse can cling on to dear life. They carry the mouse around in their mouth, like it was their wittle baby. They play solitary table hockey with the mouse, slamming it back and forth between their paws. They then play the "Hippy Hippy Shakes" game with the mouse, clenched in kitty's jowls, shaking it back and forth until the wittle mouse gets all dizzy! Fun for cat and mouse.....*ahem*
Well, this is what happened to the last mouse that dared enter the lair of "Bernie the Brain Eater". We found the body of the decapitated mouse on the rug in the kitchen and the head being used as a "CHASE IT!" ball throughout the house.
Yep, a regular trap is definitely crueler than letting a cat get to it.......
So, I have decided to go about getting the mouse my own way. I got a six pack, a lawn chair and a BB gun. That son of a bitch will never know what hit him.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Missing
Monday, April 24, 2006
Frank the Cat. Current mood: sad Category: Life
What a weekend, the weather was beautiful. I finished digging out, and edging my new flower beds, now I just have to lay the topsoil and do the rock walls.
It was a very sad weekend for us, at the Goldschmidt /Schadler Geln Parker compound.
A few months ago, our dear neighbors, the Goldschmidts, their cat, Frank was hit by a car. It was really bad and he had to have very extensive, life saving surgery. It was really touch and go for awhile and we were not sure if he was going to make it. He did make it through, though his right leg was messed up with torn ligaments and muscles, and, would most likely, never be the same again.
Here is the deal about Frank. Frank is the meanest cat I have ever met. When Buffy found him, he was three weeks old. She had to bottle feed him and wipe his butt, to get him to expel. I guess when you do this to kitties to get them to survive, they grow up to be Satan. Although he is so mean, we all love him so much! I box Frank ("box" meaning, I try to pet him and he slashes my hands with his claws) and we all sing to him. I love looking back into our woods, and seeing Frankles McAnkles, running around, terrorizing the fauna.
Franks is Josh's buddy. Josh is the only human being that Frank does not try to destroy. Every night, Josh screams out the back door, "C'MON FRANK!" Then you see Frankles, run up to him, to go in for cuddle time.
On Saturday night, we had our first official compound grill out, drinking fest. Good times were had, lots of beer was consumed. Around 11 pm, we noticed Frank was missing. He ended up not coming home that night.
Buffy found him Sunday morning, on top of the neighboring apartment buildings' parking deck. We don't know what happened to him, but he had passed away sometime during the night. He was only two, but we think with all of the trauma that he had endured from the accident, ( maybe he passed a clot or had an aneurism, there were no signs of struggle, or outside injuries) had taken him
.
It was one of the saddest days I have had in awhile. Frank was buried on the compound grounds, Goldschmidt side, in between the Hemlocks, where he loved to sunbathe. Though Frank was a spawn of Satan, we all love him very much, and we will miss him terribly.
Love,
Your neighbors
Frank the Cat. Current mood: sad Category: Life
What a weekend, the weather was beautiful. I finished digging out, and edging my new flower beds, now I just have to lay the topsoil and do the rock walls.
It was a very sad weekend for us, at the Goldschmidt /Schadler Geln Parker compound.
A few months ago, our dear neighbors, the Goldschmidts, their cat, Frank was hit by a car. It was really bad and he had to have very extensive, life saving surgery. It was really touch and go for awhile and we were not sure if he was going to make it. He did make it through, though his right leg was messed up with torn ligaments and muscles, and, would most likely, never be the same again.
Here is the deal about Frank. Frank is the meanest cat I have ever met. When Buffy found him, he was three weeks old. She had to bottle feed him and wipe his butt, to get him to expel. I guess when you do this to kitties to get them to survive, they grow up to be Satan. Although he is so mean, we all love him so much! I box Frank ("box" meaning, I try to pet him and he slashes my hands with his claws) and we all sing to him. I love looking back into our woods, and seeing Frankles McAnkles, running around, terrorizing the fauna.
Franks is Josh's buddy. Josh is the only human being that Frank does not try to destroy. Every night, Josh screams out the back door, "C'MON FRANK!" Then you see Frankles, run up to him, to go in for cuddle time.
On Saturday night, we had our first official compound grill out, drinking fest. Good times were had, lots of beer was consumed. Around 11 pm, we noticed Frank was missing. He ended up not coming home that night.
Buffy found him Sunday morning, on top of the neighboring apartment buildings' parking deck. We don't know what happened to him, but he had passed away sometime during the night. He was only two, but we think with all of the trauma that he had endured from the accident, ( maybe he passed a clot or had an aneurism, there were no signs of struggle, or outside injuries) had taken him
.
It was one of the saddest days I have had in awhile. Frank was buried on the compound grounds, Goldschmidt side, in between the Hemlocks, where he loved to sunbathe. Though Frank was a spawn of Satan, we all love him very much, and we will miss him terribly.
Love,
Your neighbors
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