Category Archives: Humor

Oct11

I sewed something!

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Namaste, bitches! After literally months of effort, my barstool cover is done. Here’s Spot showing off its warm and cozy butt-feel:

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“Butt-feel”. That’s like mouth-feel. Like gourmands say on those posh cooking shows. See what I did there? Sorry, I know you got the joke. I impress myself too much, sometimes.

Anyhow, I did part of this on my little hand held sewing machine, and then it refused to work for me any more. Sewing machines hate me. The feeling is mutual. So, the rest is hand sewn. Good thing ya can’t see that part!

Oct11

A peek into iDJ’s mind

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Really, this happened.

It was a lovely day half hour outside. I’m in the fabulous Coleman camp chair and iDJ is directly behind me on the garden bench. I’m trying to read, but he’s doing a running commentary on everything. I’m mostly ignoring him. The dog (AKA the queen) is also outside, turning her lovely white feet green on the fresh cut grass. After listening to iDJ talk to no one for a while, I opened a word processing app and started transcribing what he said.

iDJ: “Aw, look at the queen.”

Pause.

iDJ: “Aw, poor Spot. Someone is crying. I know, kitty, we’re all outside!”

Pause.

iDJ: “I love my kitty. He loves me.”

Pause.

iDJ: “Yes, yes. I definitely need an occasional table out here.”

Me: “No, hon. You occasionally need a table out here.”

Then we went inside, because it started to rain again.

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Oct10

I saved 5 lives today, and maybe another

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It’s a red-letter day here in Culchieland! I left the house! I know, what on earth could possibly have happened to make me leave? On foot? In the rain? Hell, it’s Ireland, it’s nearly always raining…

Well, I had to make the trek down to the post office to get my dole. That’s welfare, for my Yank friends. On the way, I:

Met BD who is a manager at the post office, and my sometime Harley-Davidson biking buddy. He was making deliveries, which is not his normal job. We had a short chat and blamed the shortage of staff on the presidential election flyers tying up all the postal workers. He handed me my post – a presidential election flyer.

So, mail in pocket, I continue my walk to the post office… is that ironic? It had rained a LOT overnight so there were little earthworms drying up and dying in the church driveway. I picked up three and tossed them into the grass.

Continuing on my way, I saw a small tortoise-shell coloured kitten running around under the parked cars in front of the grocery store that we don’t patronise. I don’t know why not, we just don’t. I tried to coax her to me, but she was scared and probably feral. I wouldn’t let a young fella in a hurry leave until she moved from under his car to another.

Up to the PO, chat with the clerk – turns out two people are on holiday and one other had a funeral for his mother in law. Aren’t small towns fun? Can you imagine getting to have a chat at the post office instead of a surly government worker? Wheee! And my dole went up €20, why? no clue. I’ll take it, 70 is better than 50 any day. It still is a drop in the debt bucket.

Back out, down to the Paper Shop where my mother in law works. She’s usually only there in the afternoon, but she’s in, and so are the other three ladies that work there. They aren’t all working; mam and B are, and the other two are chatting and bringing coffee and sammiches to the others. Aw. Mam has a cold and can barely talk. They all ask me about my back, and my job hunt. A fella delivering magazines hears me talking about my back, and I get advice and the name of a physio who fixed him ‘in one go.’ A physio is someone who isn’t a doctor, or a chiropractor, but does stuff to people who are hurt, like a sports/physical therapist. This one apparently is the physio for a GAA team in B… okay, I don’t recall the name of the town, but it started with a B and I’d never heard of it. Apparently if I go to B… and ask anyone on the street for so-and-so, they will know him and give me directions. Yes, that is the way things work over here!

Back out for the walk home. Dammit, kitten is still under the cars along the main street. Very dangerous for the wee thing. So I try, and try, to get it to come to me. She talks to me, but runs. I gave up, walked away…then turned back and into the grocery. I went to the deli counter and asked if they had a tiny bit of ham or turkey or chicken, as I was trying to catch a cat. I would have paid for it, but she handed me a bit of ham off the slicer. Thanks, deli lady!

Back outside, the kitten finally gets sick of my attentions and runs off down the alley, past the back road behind the houses & shops on the main street, and into someone’s overgrown garden. I tore up the ham and left it in the grass. At least she was safe from cars, now.

On the way home, I find and save two more worms. I feel like an Annelida hero! Yes, I Googled that. I’m a geek, but not that much of a geek!

In case you were wondering, here’s why worms surface when it rains.

Oct9

Socks, part deux

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***Some of my readers might know who Socks is, from other social media outlets. Please keep any comments about the content of this post ON this blog, and not elsewhere. I have her permission for this post, but we all know this is an anonymous blog for the moment, right? Thanks, y’all!

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So, I’ve been putting this post off since I started the blog. I feel I have to get this out before I can forge ahead and talk about stupid things again.

I think I made it clear that Socks is damn important to me. She’s my inspiration, not only for writing, but for anything creative. She and I had great plans for a mutual project, and I never even started. See, I was journaling, but stopped, and that was part of the project. My blog is my new journal, in a way that seems to work better for me. Therefore, I need to hold up my end of our joint writing enterprise, and talk about babies.

Travel back to January with me. Socks and I are having our weekly blab-a-thon, and the topic of kids comes up. She’s been thinking about them, about actually having one! Well, this is new. We’d decided ages ago that they are too much work. They make a lot of noise. They cost a lot of money and time.

But most of all, they…leak.

Fluids.

And solids.

All the time.

Now, I’m not bothered by this aspect of children. You just deal with it, and hope like hell you have a good washing machine, cuz that sucker will be running daily for years. But Socks? Not so much.

Ever seen one of those funny video shows where someone is lying on the floor (usually dad because men rarely think ahead), holding a baby over their head, bouncing it up and down, and laughing? And then junior pukes rancid, lumpy, half-digested hot milk DIRECTLY into daddy’s mouth?

Right now, somewhere in the world, my BFF barfed up her last meal just from reading that. There is very little chance of her dealing well with this happening in front of her. Even clear baby drool makes her go totally phobic.

So, of course, when she starts talking babies I remind her about the fact that they leak. Because I’m not having kids, for my own non-fluid related but equally valid and well-thought-out reasons, and I sort of don’t want her to turn into Just Another Mom. I’m a selfish bitch, and I don’t want her to change. Because I’m an honest selfish bitch, I tell her this. She agrees, whew! Barf, and the chance of her turning into someone different, someone …. well I hate to say boring, that’s not the best word. Someone that is no longer ‘Socks’ and is just ‘Mom.’

Yes, I KNOW how that sounds. Bear with me. Anyway, crisis averted.

Except… it isn’t. Despite my attempts to hog her whole life, she talks to her hubby about why they decided not to have kids.

Turns out, he thought she didn’t want them, and she thought he didn’t want them. And they both DO want them. Well, now, don’t I feel like a jerk. Game on!

So, not to go into too much detail, plan Team Building was instigated. How cute! Awww, I love these guys.

I was the only other person who knew they were trying to get pregnant. Loads of reasons, mainly due to her wanting to surprise a certain family member with the good news. Because I was the only person not actively involved in Team Building, Socks and I wanted to come up with a creative way to record how we felt during the journey.

As I said earlier, I totally let down the Team. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was in denial, maybe I was too stuck in my own head with my own issues. Maybe from 3,000 miles away, it didn’t feel real. But, I never wrote one word. See ‘selfish bitch’ above.

We still had our weekly teleconference. I heard about each disappointment when Aunt Flo showed up, that dirty old hag. I couldn’t help, but I mentally changed from being a spectator in the stands into someone that wanted to buy pom-poms and lead the cheers from the field. Figuratively. I doubt her hubby would have welcomed me in the bedroom, even if I was in a cheerleader skirt.

Go, Team, Go!!!

Finally, there was a touchdown, a goal, a try, a slam-dunk. They have a positive result! I got a phone call in the early afternoon. Yay! Now, we can make plans! And great plans they were. The timing was perfect for Socks and Co to tell her family in person, which is exactly what she wanted all along. Just a few weeks to wait. So hard to keep the secret!

It didn’t happen that way. They lost the baby. She had to tell her family the sad news, over the phone. Oh, sweetie.

I cannot talk any more about her loss.

I can say that I now am able to talk about the journey I had the privilege to be a part of. And now, I can talk about it here. Because this is not a tale of sadness, this is one of joy, no matter what else happens.

My best girl is pregnant again!

This time, she doesn’t have to wait until Thursdays to talk about it. She’s got a much bigger support network, and I’m happy about that!

My selfish self is happy to finally want, and need, to record my thoughts about my future niece or nephew. Because if I don’t get called Auntie E, I’ll be grumpy.

Hint, hint 🙂

Oct8

Please meet… Socks!

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Hiiii! I have to talk about a very important subject. Very!

My best friend, Socks! Here she is, as illustrated by yours truly:

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Isn’t she gorgeous on the outside? Well, the inside is so stunning you’ll lose all interest in plastic TV people and shallow fictional characters. I will never be able to do her justice using mere words, or a Brushes finger painting.

But, fuck it, I like a challenge. Here’s the smallest glimpse into why I have the best best friend in the world.

She fell in love with her next door neighbour when they were both kids. She never wanted anyone else, and she never would, or had to, settle for less. They’ve been married over a decade now. He is soooooo lucky.

She’s a fab artist in a bunch of different medium. Mediums? Shit, I thought I knew how to write. Different artistic materials that you use to make artistic stuff with. She’s so good my English fails me 😀 She’s so good she could teach, and has.

She sends REAL MAIL. Not a big deal? When’s the last time you got a real letter or postcard or package? How about one that is an original painting, and tells you how fantastic you are and how much fun the sender had in the act of creating and sending it? Yeah, it’s a big deal.

So far I’ve not gotten personal, but this is: she sends me things all the bloody way over here! It costs a fortune to send silly things like Peeps, or giant candy canes, or Kraft mac n cheese to another damn country, but she does. Things I can’t get here, and I mention without thinking about it… show up on my doorstep. I live 3,000 miles away from anything I ever knew, and everyone that I’ve known longer than seven years. She sends me bits of ‘home’ so I don’t get too sad and lonely. She’s the one who realised that I might need such things in the first place.

She puts up with Oirish Tirsday; our weekly phone call, that goes on for hours. Yes, we’re both married. But some things you can only talk about to a best friend. And she listens, sooooo much better than I do. Hence her sending me prezzies from ‘home’ that I bring up in passing, and immediately forget about.

She’s funny. I get to snort laughter more on an Oirish Tirsday than I do all week.

She’s a genuinely nice person, but not a doormat. She recently had to meet someone that did horrible things to her and her family. I never, ever, would have met with this jerk. Her hubby didn’t understand why she would, either. But because she was incapable of being even the tiniest bit of an asshole, they met…and it was fine. Even, perhaps, good. Wow, babe. You are way stronger than me.

She takes care of everyone, and I mean everyone, in her life. I worry about that, that it is too much for one person to handle. But I’m one of the ones she takes care of, and I don’t want her to ever stop.

There are some, just some, of the reasons why this gal rocks my world.

We talk, obviously, a LOT. About anything. Sex? well, duh. Self-analysis? yup. Art, writing, music, food, pets, our respective menfolk, family, the occult, cannibalism, murder, and poop. Actually, I think we talk about poop more than any other single topic. Hey, it’s a never-ending source of humour!

Back in January, a new topic came up. Children, babies, having them, why and why not. Well, it wasn’t a new topic. But it hadn’t been talked about in ages, because we’d agreed that kids are oooky.

And I think I’ll leave you hanging, here, as there is sooo much more to say still.

Oct6

I’m pooped

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Ugh, I’m not feeling spiffy this morning. Guts are unhappy about whatever it is that makes them unhappy all the damn time. Feel a bit like barfing, too. Back is giving me trouble, of course.

Think we did too much yesterday. Really annoying that doing normal things one day screws me up for the next two days.

I actually left the house yesterday! In the car! I went into buildings! I did some shopping! You can see how exhausting that is, just from all of the exclamation marks! !!! !! !

I needed to pick up my back x-rays from the hospital, so I can take them to the chiropractor tomorrow. Being as all that the National Health Service (NHS) has done for my back in the last 1.5 years is take one set of x-rays, I figure I should use them as best I can. So, because everything is done different here than I would ever expect, I had to get a letter from my GP and take it to the hospital’s x-ray department, and ask for my films. Which I do, and got them after a short wait. I also got questioned as to what I needed them for. “Oh, um, I have a consultation…no, I forget who it’s with… I’ll bring them back next month…” all the while blushing furiously because I am a totally shitty liar and even lying by omission shows all over my face. I didn’t want to say that I was going to a chiropractor outside the NHS for fear they wouldn’t let me have my x-rays of my back even with a letter from my GP. Because I’m so thrilled to be paying for treatment myself instead of being cared for by the NHS. Grrr.

Oh, I am totally going to take pics of the pics of my innards. I love that stuff! Don’t worry, I’ll share. 🙂

The hospital is under a ‘no visitors’ rule at the moment due to a vomiting bug going around. I should have taken a pic of the giant “No visitors” board that was propped outside the main entrance. Sort of fucking scary that the hospital already had a board to put out front. I very carefully touched nothing but the file they gave me. But… didn’t I start this post saying that I feel a bit pukey? Joy.

Okay, so then we stopped in at Horkan’s to get Dogzilla something for her birthday. We wandered around there a while. They have small pets, pet supplies, plants, and Weber grills. So me and iDJ were both happy. We also picked up a couple little Xmas presents to send to the US. Always good to find things that are small and lightweight. Dear god, did I just admit to buying Xmas gifts before Halloween?

Back home and got some schtuff for dinner. And we stopped into a pub, because it was 4:30, and he said that since he had been forced to take the week off as holiday time (instead of the dole; this way he actually gets paid), he wanted to have an early pint as if he was on holidays. So we did.

Aaaand that was enough to wear me out. Aaaand I need to RUN to the potty now!

Oct5

It’s a dog’s life

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It’s Neko’s second birthday today! I’m sure she cares. But we’re pretty good soppy doggie parents, so she got a carrot that honks and two rawhide bones.

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Since she can’t have any treats that have grain in them due to her colitis, she gets a carrot a day. That’s it. I just know it’s gonna confuse the shite out of her to have a carrot toy. She really loved it, but started to pull on the felt leaves at the top right away. That is not like her – she’s 2 and never has ever destroyed a toy. Or anything else. Either I’m a really good dog trainer or have been lucky as fuck with my last two gigantic dogs. I’m going to go with a combo of the two, I do my best not to pick a dog that chews out of boredom. It’s a fine line between too smart and too dumb: smarter dogs take you seriously when you go medieval on them over an infraction of the rules. Too smart and they just do it behind your back.

The rawhide… We don’t like to give them to her. My poor Shade couldn’t have them at all. She’s never had an issue, but I’ll keep a close eye on her. We found some just the right size to make her happy for more than a moment but not make her sick if she eats the whole damn thing in one go.

So there ya go, my first post all about Dogzilla. Happy birthday, dogeen! I believe that for her breed, she’s officially an adult now.

May let her have a spoonful of Guinness later 😀

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Oh noes! I just trawled through iDJ’s pics from Dec 2009 when we brought the queen home. I have to share the cuteness:

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Aaaaaw, look at the widdle puppy legs! She was so small. Compared to now. Look at the size of her tootsies!

Ok, ok. I’m done with the baby talk. Just so you know, only baby animals make me talk like this. And even then, usually only MY baby animals.

Oct5

Earworm of the day

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Morning! I think I’ll introduce you to something not-quite-sane today. I hope to do it as a regular post. My ‘theme’ (did you hear that in a teacher’s voice? Good.) allows me to post something called an ‘aside.’ Tomorrow, my earworm will be an aside.

I have really cool dreams. To me, anyhow. No, I won’t bore you with them.* Mostly because I can’t remember them for more than a few minutes. This really annoys me, some neat-o shit happens and I’m endlessly fascinated by what my subconscious gets up to. But, alas, something drives my dreams out of my head the moment I can think in complete thoughts.

My earworm.

You know what that is, right? A song that gets stuck in your head and plays in an unending loop? Usually just a fragment, a line, a bit of melody. I wake up with a new song in my head every damn morning. Every. Damn. Morning.

It took me years to realise this was happening. I’m lying there, trying to recall my dream in detail – if you don’t think about it right away it fades – and instead…lalalalala, lalalalala, lalalalala… sheeeeit. Gone. After a while, I figured out that music is overwriting my memory. Dammit!

I’m not sleeping well lately. Mostly in a good way: my brain is happy and wants to write. I’m up at 4, 5 am and thinking away! But this means I’m now getting two bloody earworms a day! Not fair!

Since I’m such a nice person, I’m going to share them with you.

5am: Queen, Don’t Stop Me Now

8am: some song by Super Furry Animals that was on the radio yesterday. It’s still in there.

Enjoy!

*I lied. Here’s a bit of my dream at 5 am. Totally about blog anxiety… the phone rang and the guy in bed next to me reached over to answer it. It wasn’t my husband, and I sure as hell don’t have a corded Princess phone in babyshit brown next to my bed. Anyhow, it was some whack job who had figured out who I am from the blog and rang up to ask me creepy questions. My bedmate didn’t reply but also didn’t hang up the phone right, so I could still hear freakboy talking and getting angry. This because I posted a comment to a cool cartoon site and used my blog URL. Paranoid much?

Oct4

Dinner will be late tonight

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It’s 9:45pm. I’ve been reading, checking the classifieds in the local papers, and smoking too much in front of the fireplace. I needed another drink (cheap non-brand rum n Pepsi Max, since you ask) and went to pour myself one in the kitchen, as you do.

The oven is on. iDJ is making Cajun spiced roast chicken breast for dinner. I had helped put the spices on the meat at 8:30, so he didn’t have to wash his hands a bazillion times. Poor didums got cajun spice and chicken ook in the numerous cuts that he managed to give himself today. There was much whining and ouching and a FB post. Anyhow, he wanted to let it sit ten minutes to let the rub ‘marinate’ or whatever a rub does to soak into the meat. If that is even possible.

At 9:45… the roasting pan full of meat is still on the counter.

All we could do was laugh. And FB post. And now, oh joy! blog…

The reason for the name iDJ is: he’s a complete Apple Nerd and he’s an Internet and pub/club DJ. Apple had some launchy-thingie tonight, and he was watching that while listening to new music and prepping for his next Internet show… he can multitask! but apparently not so much as to include shoving a pan in an oven.

Love you anyway!

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