Archive for the ‘What are you looking at?’ Category

You remember Michelle Miles from my post earlier this week, right? If not go check it out! We had lunch today and stuffed ourselves with Mexican food and talked about people we don’t like and generally enjoyed being the most awesome people there. The place was kind of empty so we were automatically the coolest ones. So now I smell like wood smoke and queso. Let me also pat myself on the back for not gorging myself. Usually I do and as I’m re-learning to eat and be healthy I have to remember to push the stupid plate away…which I did!

So I get back to the office and dove into the stuff I needed to wrap up before the end of the day and put The Empire Strikes Back into my computer for background noise. And then I hear the line that Luke looks strong enough to pull the ears off of a gundar. “What does a gundar look like anyway?” I think and am surprised this has never before crossed my mind. (I am a full time nerd.)

I guess he looks strong...

I guess he looks strong…

I have Google which, of course, means I can find anything anytime I want to. So I type “What does a gundar look like?”

This was an enormous mistake, folks.

This is an example of what I got (edited for content and size for the sake of your eyes and because I’m already going to have nightmares of some kind and ALSO the guy on the right is wearing a loin cloth {sort of} and it’s really hard to see but I did NOT POST nudity because, trust me, I cut that out and you don’t want to see it because it’s super duper horrifying and even cropping the photo made me feel ‘off’ and not in a good way):


 

No. Just... NO!

No. Just… NO!

 

I immediately message Hub:

ME: Why didn’t you warn me not to Google about random Star Wars creatures because I don’t know what the hell a “gundar” is but do not go looking for one.

HUB: Excuse me??

ME: Luke looks strong enough to pull the ears off a gundar so I went looking for one and I shouldn’t have. (sending him the link)

HUB: Nick.

ME: Well I don’t care what a “gundar” is or supposed to actually be because after that I’m just going to swear off Googling. In my mind I’m going to just imagine a gundar is a weird badly tempered rabbit. Cos we are talking about Luke.

HUB: Nick.

ME: Especially since he’s gotta be strong enough to pull its ears off which, frankly, is kind of mean. So this badly tempered rabbit must be really difficult to deal with.

HUB: NICK! Your first mistake is that it is an “gundarK”.

ME: Motherfucker! What??

HUB: Go try that one.

ME: I’m scared to.

HUB: I think you are safe on this one.

ME: (after Googling) OMG it’s a damn CHUPACABRA!!!!!!

HUB: Not really.

ME: It really kind of is except for the feet part.

HUB: Okay. I see where this is going and I gotta go. See you tonight.

Much more appealing.

 

Now that's what I'm talking about.

Now that’s what I’m talking about.

I was really impressed with the Sochi opening ceremonies. It was interesting and extremely long and I feel that it likely did exactly what Putin wanted. MAKE YOU FULLY FEAR THE SOVIETS!

The venues are really quite pretty. Especially when they look as if they are exploding with color.

The venues are really quite pretty. Especially when they look as if they are exploding with color.

Let’s hit the highlights (in no particular order):

Is this busy enough?

Is this busy enough?

Let’s forget the fact that I’m really super sure there are Oompa Loompas involved here did this make anyone else wonder if all the overly energetic partying you did between the age of 18 and 28 had finally caught up with you and you were completely insane and seeing some weird Sixth Level of The Chocolate Factory?

I'm going to have this installed in my master suite.

I’m going to have this installed in my master suite.

I can’t even describe how much I loved this.

CONFESS!!! CONFESS!!

CONFESS!!! CONFESS!!

I don’t care what they say the Inquisition is alive in well in Russia. There’s the photograph to prove it.

I tried to expand the ring with my mind.

I tried to expand the ring with my mind.

Ok yeah it was a glitch in a huge production but still a giggle. For me.

 

You know this is scary to look at. Weapons & disembodied heads.

You know this is scary to look at. Weapons & disembodied heads.

You know what you are looking at. Severed body parts and weapons. The key to the instilling fear.

They should have had a curling rock bowl em over.

They should have had a curling rock bowl em over.

This was a neat idea and nicely executed. 75.20 is probably what it scored.

I thought we'd accidentally switched to the National Geographic channel.

I thought we’d accidentally switched to the National Geographic channel.

One thing and one thing only came flying out of my mouth at this point…….. “I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my Squishy.”

While it’s politically acceptable this confusing conversation with the Kittie wrecked my brain for about an hour:

Kittie: Mom, you know that brown broad?

Me: (Straight face) Excuse me?

Kittie: Yeah, that brown broad. Ya know. From Walking Dead. Sasha. Yeah. Her. She’s in my show.

Me: Um. Good honey.

(My apologies to Sonequa Martin-Green. In our house you are now known as “that brown broad”.)

You would think that would have been the highlight of the week but it totally was not. Why we can’t avoid encounters with so many ridiculous people is quite beyond me. Kittie has a Subway addiction. (FREE PLUG…FREE ADVERTISING…Mr. Subway! Send me gift cards!) Luckily for her there’s a Subway inside our local Wal*Mart giving her ample opportunities to buy subs.

I also feel at this time I need to clarify something. We live in a small Texas town south of the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. The town is small enough to have exactly zero sit-down restaurants (well mom & pop places…you don’t want to eat at any of them) and two grocery stores. One IGA that is out of the way (for me) and a Wal*Mart. That’s it. That’s the list. (However, we confusingly have 4 donut shops, 2 Chinese food restaurants, a yoga studio and two vapor cigarette shops. Thank God for the vape stores. One of the Chinese food places sells “beef” lo mein that I think is made with part leather part unknown mammal.)

Where was I? OH yeah.  What I’m trying to say is unless we want to hoof it into town we shop at Wal*Mart. Trust me. I don’t want to shop there. It’s a total beat down. I mean a punch in the gut 90% of the time because EVERYONE in our lil burg has the same issue I do. I’ve been there when I believe half of our population is present. I honestly considered suicide.

SO.

We’re in Wal*Mart and Kittie announces she “needs Subway. And it will be a foot long so I’ll have half for lunch tomorrow and the other half for snack if I don’t want what you’re cooking.” She likes my cooking. When I cook something she’ll eat. Which is basically cheese sticks, crab legs, shrimp, or eggs in a hole.

Entering Subway the Kittie is pleased that there is only one person in line. That was mistake #1. Assuming that one person would be out of there quickly. Here is how this went:

Portly patron clearly trying to make good on a New Year’s resolution is ordering a sandwich. Reading the entire menu aloud. “Turkey, tuna fish, roast beef, ham, BLT, oh nothing with bacon, no, Italian, club…” Deep sigh and “Ok, turkey. I want a turkey sandwich.” We then proceed to indecision on sizing and bread. It’s taking entirely too long to get a turkey sandwich made but finally a decision is made. Six inch on wheat. The girl behind the counter starts to make this and the customer whispers, “Can you make it less….bready?” The girl looks at her like she’s mad. “Yes,” this woman loud-whispers. “Just scoop out some of the bread.”

The Subway girl proceeds to remove some of the bread from inside the roll. It’s not enough to feed a fucking duck. And the customer is happy. Turkey, lettuce, tomato. That’s it. OH WAIT a TINY TINY TINY BIT of mayo. TINY bit.

Time to check out (finally) and the girl asks if she wants to make it a combo. “What comes with the combo?” she asks. Chips, drink, cookie. “OH YES let’s make it a combo……. (loud whisper, guilty glance around the store) one peanut butter cookie.”

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? You can’t have the two crumbs of bread from the middle of the sandwich but a PEANUT BUTTER COOKIE IS OKAY??? The Kittie looks like she’s about to start stabbing people and thankfully another employee magically shows up and asks, “Can I help you?”

“YES,” Kittie exclaims. She’s gonna show these people how it’s done. She’s a Subway pro. “Foot long. White. Turkey. American & Cheddar cheese doubled. Lettuce. Lots of mayo. Toasted. Please.”

The girl looks at her and asks, “You want the salad?”

So the Kittie walked over to a booth, curled up in the fetal position and cried.

Half has been devoured to ease the pain.

Half has been devoured to ease the pain.

You may remember that I mentioned I have a slight problem with hoarding Christmas wrapping supplies.

I likely don’t have to explain how damned happy I am about this……:

I could wrap a Winnebago at this point.

I could wrap a Winnebago at this point.

If you look under the bows you will see glitter tags sticking out. I added another 400 tags to my collection. Which means I likely possess the most freaking fascinating variety of self adhesive gift tags in the solar system.

As I walked through the front door with my prizes, however, Hub was less than thrilled.

Hub: You have GOT to be kidding me, Nick.

Me: I can’t hear you.

Hub: You do realize that we need exactly none of that crap.

Me: And you do realize that I could care less. FIFTY per cent off. I scored.

Hub: You didn’t “score”.  You just bought stuff you don’t need.

Me: Oy vey. You know this is an awesome haul. Shut it.

And then he ignored me for about 45 minutes which, of course, is also nothing but net.

The Kittie and I had to go to Wal*Mart yesterday because we ran out of laundry soap.

The part that pisses me off is I didn’t think I was out. I knew I was low in the bottle of Tide (original scent) that I’d been using, however, I was very happy with the fact that there was an entirely new container waiting for use.

I was horrified when I started to do a load of laundry and found that the “new” bottle was full of used cooking oil instead of soap.

I’m not sure of two things:

  1. How to properly dispose of used cooking oil. I mean, other than pouring it into empty Tide bottles and discreetly slipping the same into a black trash bag so that the waste is hauled away, and
  2. How this bottle full of used oil wound up in my damned laundry room

I had no intentions of going to the store this weekend. At all. I hate going to the store. I had SUPER shopped to avoid this very task. The first thing Kittie said when she backed her car down the driveway was “I get the sense you are impatient so I won’t ask if we can look at fake flowers.”

That brings up two additional points:

  1. It’s real nice when you’ve run a kid all over creation and then they get a license and you can insist they chauffeur you wherever you want to go, and
  2. The Kittie is hot glue gunning fake flowers onto, well, everything.

I inform her that fake flowers are simply right out on this trip and we are getting TIDE.

“And shampoo,” she says.

ME: Do you really need shampoo?

KITTIE: I wouldn’t ask for shampoo if I had some.

ME: Just use mine.

KITTIE: I don’t want to.

ME: FINE.

KITTIE: And conditioner.

ME: Anything else??

KITTIE: Cat food.

At this point we’re parking and the trip I didn’t want to make because I had forgotten NOTHING at the store was now a 20 item list.

We are finally headed toward check-out which I am praying isn’t a nightmare with my darling child adding a large box of chocolate Lucky Charms to the cart (she only eats the Charms which means a big box of Lucky will soon be in the pantry) when she says, “OK that’s the freakiest thing ever. That seriously scared me to death.”

We back up one aisle and see this:

I had no idea Disney characters even shopped here.

I had no idea Disney characters even shopped here.

I seriously thought she’d be taller.

You know how people (usually boss-types) enjoy talking about having a good work-life balance? I always found those conversations annoying because, frankly, if I didn’t have to work my life would be much more balanced.

Sadly, I have to work because I enjoy things like shelter and nutrition so I just accept that in order to have those things my “life” is interrupted by “work”. The last work-life conversation I had with my boss went like this:

BOSS: Do you feel like you have a comfortable balance between work and life?

ME: That depends. Can I get a week of paid vacation each month?

BOSS: No.

ME: Then yup, I’m good!

My problem right now is balancing my life with working—-OUT! My workouts are no less than 45 minutes and are usually closer to 60-65 minutes not counting prep and getting myself cleaned up afterward. I have been trying to get no less than 4 work outs in a week (five is my goal and six would be best) however, I have missed two days of lifting because life is interrupting the workout.

It’s a difficult and delicate balance. Gotta work. Gotta take care of family/homelife …. so now I’m faced with the decision of how “selfish” do I get with my time. Frankly, I (like most women I’m sure) take on as much as I can for as many as I can in the household allowing my needs to go to the wayside. Since no one in the house is a toddler I clearly need to allow myself the opportunity to be who I want to be in the manner I want to handle it.

So the responsibility shift from everything around me to just me may seem selfish, believe me, it is not. The more I have for my own sanity the more sanity I can share!

And now….. to plan my next week of workouts!

weight

I want throwing stars.

An whole set. Why you may ask? Well if you asked why then you probably should not read my blog cos being a bad ass is all that this blog is about. And I need throwing stars to be a bad ass. Feel free to send me throwing stars. I’m going to carry them in every day life so I can fling them at random individuals that deserve a sharp pointy object imbedded in their body. Believe me I see a lot of these people.

For instance….. the dude in the jacked up truck on the freeway with the inappropriate racial slur that starts with the letter “N” shoe polished onto his back window….yeah..throwing star into the front right tire. Maybe you’ll swerve off the road and die. The person going through the express lane at the grocery store with a cart full of crap insisting it was under 20 items when it was really more like 50 items. Throwing star in the back of the skull.

I’m saving ONE special throwing star for the person who bruised my kid last week when she had appendicitis. At two o’clock in the morning my kid had her appendix removed cos, well, it just had to go. It was not the most exhilarating 72 hours of my life  to say the least and certainly the worst of hers. The only time I wasn’t with her was when she was in actual surgery. (Although opportunity to be there existed. An orderly kept coming in and out of the electronic door to get trash and here’s the conversation that went down:

ME: When that asshole comes back I’m sneaking through those doors and finding our kid’s operating room.

HUB: Go ahead.

ME: I will then!

HUB: I’m not going to be responsible when they throw you out of the building.

ME: They can’t throw me out. MY MINOR CHILD is a patient here!

HUB: You always SAY you won’t get thrown out but you always do.

ME: LIES! I do not! And here he comes…..just look like you don’t know me.

HUB: With pleasure.

ME: Ok shhh…no more talking.

HUB: If you go through those doors I promise I’ll beat the crap out of you.

ME: I hate you.

So I didn’t go back. If I had a pocket full of throwing stars, however, I *could* have totally gotten away with it! You just have to fling a few to get your way. I’m telling you, they are like the world’s backstage passes.)

ANYWAY….. the day after surgery she hobbles to the bathroom with my help (which means I manned the I.V. tree) and I notice this big horrible bruise on her hip and she can’t remember where she got it. I later questioned the nursing staff about it and they didn’t know.

See.  Throwing star in ONE NURSE FOREHEAD and I’m sure I’d have the answer.

Message me if you want to send me throwing stars. I need to rid the world of evil.

My Hub is an Army Man. Like G.I. Joe awesome and hot and aggressive and an ass and a hero with a gun. Anyone who’s resume says “82nd Airborne” and “Ranger” and “Jungle Certified” and  “Initiate Nuclear War Certified” is amazing no matter how you cut it. (OK, he’s not in control of any nukes but if he WERE able to access them he’d be certified …there’s a lot of certificates in his file….all of which means he has fucking five minutes you’ve never seen so if you want to get your ass kicked go ahead and try him out…)

ANYWAY…..he, like me, is getting older.  He hates to admit to things like “I can’t do the splits” and “I think my hair is thinning” and “I didn’t hear you” and “What does this say on the menu?”

I can only fix one thing at a time. Eyes are easy.  But since Hub is #1: male, #2: a tough guy, and #3: incapable of making a doctor’s appointment of any type I finally gave up and made him an appointment to get his eyes checked out because I’m sick and god damn tired of reading the menu on the dish to him…. I mean it’s a freaking 1000″ TV and he can’t read it…. really????

So off to the eye doctor he goes…..cos I told him I’d stab him in his sleep if he didn’t go.  He insisted that he’d only go if they’d sell him contact lenses that he could sleep in all night.  I lied and said, “Yeah you can have those!” having no idea if he could or could not have those.

Fortunately, he not only COULD have those…he’s been wearing them for a week.  And SURPRISE he can see…… only now I’m dealing with conversations over the instant messenger that go like this:

HUB: These contacts make me look like I’m on heroin.

ME: What??

HUB: Yeah. My eyes look all wet.

ME: Maybe you are on CRACK and not heroin. What the hell?

<no response>

ME: Were you accused of being high? Or requested to take a drug test?

<no response>

ME: Are you there or…. what are you doing? Are the contacts working or not?

HUB: What are you talking about? I’m trying to run this company here! Aren’t you at work?

ME: SERIOUSLY!??! You just fucking told me you looked like you were on smack and I’m asking you questions about that! Remember?? And I am the one with the problem…… WTF is wrong with you?

HUB: Hang on. I have to go light a bowl.

And then I threw myself into traffic.

 

 

I’ve been Voodoo pretty much my whole adult life. And by adult I mean I didn’t live with my parents any more. Cos I’m not so sure I’m a grown up even now at the tender age of twenty-nine (+13).

I joined the digital age before digital was cool which not only makes me old as shit it makes me cooler than most people. Even cooler when I admit that the first time I BBS-ed (look it up if you don’t know what it is cos I’m not explaining this) it was on a 1200 baud modem and I was ROCKING IT. When my ex-husband (God rest his soul…ok he’s not dead. That I know of. But he is to me.) first said, “Hey, we can dial into this computer network. It’s cool!” I said, “And do what with it? That’s dumb.” He said, “Play games and talk to people. Do you want to create an account?”  I said, “If I wanted to play games I’d keep having this conversation with you and I hate talking to people.”  I don’t know why he got mad but he stalked off and I heard this weird noise a little while later that was the sound of the modem picking up.

Seven hours later I picked up the phone and there was this weird static noise and from the back I hear him shout, “HEY! I’m on the computer!” Now my interest was piqued. So I check out what he’s doing and think, “Ok, this could be fun.”  So this is the moment that having one computer in the house is not acceptable any more.  I mean, who has more than ONE computer (yes I’m old; we’ve freaking established that cos we have like 12 now shut up…oh and I have a different husband…but I think I’ve established that. I play games w/ him, too. Somehow all my husbands make that that face of disdain. Maybe the common denominator is me. Who knows…anyway) it says, “Enter the handle you want to be known as:”

I straight face.  “What the fuck does this even mean?” I ask. The ex says “What name do you want to be known as?” I say, “Seriously.” He says, “Yeah….you pick a handle.” I say, “Like B.J. from B.J. & The Bear?” (dated again FML) and he says, “Yeah, sure.”

It was a no brainer. I admit to being a nerd. The boxes of comic books and the autographed Spawn #1 (by McFarlane…eat it!) is my most prized possession should prove that….. without having to think about it I type one word… VOODOO.

So there it is.  I have herds of people that know me as Voodoo…some of them, I think, never even learned my real name.  That’s fine. She’s awesome.

See.