Category Archives: Humour

May21

Socks has a Honeydew Melon!

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Time for another Socks update! I’m probably four weeks behind now, but two of those are because what with house moves and baby showers, we didn’t have our OirishTirsday phone call for two weeks. The other two weeks’ delay is just me being my usual slacker self. I need to be more diligent, because I only have four weeks left of baby-cooking blogging left. That’s right, four short weeks – and that was as of last Thursday.

I won’t be continuing on talking about Socks and Button after Button makes her big debut. I will probably relate a funny story or two along the way forward, but that’s because Socks makes me laugh more than anyone else, and I just know she’s going to have me puking laughter as she learns how to be a mom.

Because she doesn’t have a clue. She’s not a baby person. She doesn’t go all gooey and giggly and want to hold them when she sees one. Remember way back when, she said she wasn’t having kids because they are oooky? Aha hahahah. So, not a lot of hands on experience. Her mom asked her if she had enough diapers – her response was an honest, “How the hell should I know? I don’t know how many I need. I don’t know how many a baby uses!” Mom asked for the count on hand and said it would do.

So, despite being a complete neophyte at taking care of a baby, she seems to have things well in hand and all sorted out. Socks is a planner, a reader, and a listener – and she’s especially skilled at listening to her own body. She’s met her paediatrician, and likes her, and will take a tour of the hospital this Thursday. She’s sorted the supplies, equipment, and fun stuff from her baby shower and has actually – finally – started buying things for Button! I’m not joking, she didn’t buy anything until now. Shopped, researched, planned – but no purchases. But even now that the crib is bought, the baby carrier is bought, and the diaper bag still being sought (hey, it’s a hard decision: it has got to be pretty cool, she’ll be carrying the damn thing everywhere for the next…forever…) she says it still doesn’t feel quite real.

It doesn’t really matter, though, not knowing how everything is going to be, because there is no way, ever, any new mom can know how it’s going to be. All the preparation in the world won’t make a difference, so why stress about it? Being parents isn’t going to feel real for a while, I suspect. At first, the incessant changes will come so hard and fast that there won’t be time to realise a routine is being created. And babies grow so fast, the changes never stop.

I think maybe, just maybe, that by the time Button is old enough to go to school it might feel real.

In the meantime, Button is nearly as physically mature as she can get inside there. Her lungs have a bit more developing to do, but she’s already practicing breathing. She probably will gain another pound in this last month – and Socks is wondering just where that’s going to fit as she is chock full o’ baby already. I have an example from last week, which is something that has probably only gotten worse… Socks can’t get off the couch by herself any more. It takes forever to get comfortable in a position where she can breathe because Button has her butt right up under Socks’ ribs, squashing her lungs and stomach. Once she’s down on the couch, there’s no way back up without a helping hand from Bear. I guess if he’s not home, she doesn’t nap on the couch…

Bear, of course, is even farther back on the ‘feel real’ scale. He’s hoping he can help with the birth via text.

Oh, and is it wrong of me to laugh my ass off at her description of what her swollen feet look like after wearing flip-flops? I’m picturing perfectly manicured toenails on the Pillsbury Dough-Girl’s feet.

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(yes, there was a Dough-Girl in the early 70’s. My sister had this very set, and I’m sorry I stole this photo from the net but if I had them still, I’d take my own photo, I promise. Maybe is sis still has them she’ll offer me a non-nicked shot).

Finally, I’d like to offer my prediction that Socks isn’t going to go all the way to her projected due date. That baby is huge and I think she’s at least a week further along: not only because Button is more like a bowling ball than a nice polite mother-of-pearl ornament, but because Socks had one scan early on that indicated she was farther than her obstetrician thought. For some reason, I really believed those people.

Then again, I’ve been known to be wrong. I ever so much wanted Button to be twins so I could really laugh my ass off.

May18

I’m in a Good Mood… Should I be Worried?

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I finally have had the time and motivation to read posts from blogs I follow, and comment, and I’m also goofing around on a few FB feeds, and in general I have a big stupid smile on my face.

It feels a bit strange, I haven’t had one of these things on my mug for a while! But, of course, I wouldn’t be me unless I dissected why it is, exactly, that I am in a good mood…

Now, before you go thinking that I’ve turned all sappy and soft and that this is going to be a list of stuff that I’m grateful for – well, it might be. I’m cheerful! It’s rare! But HEY! I’m not soft and sappy so just shut that train of thought down, ok?

Right! Easy one: it’s Friday, and I don’t have to go anywhere until tomorrow night, and I don’t have to go to work for two whole days which means I don’t have to get depressed again until mid-afternoon on Sunday.

Tomorrow I get to go to a housewarming party which I am looking forward to immensely. People I like, a comfortable flat, a greyhound and a kitty to play with, and iDJ doing the tunes! Oh, and home-cooked fooooooood. All-around winner!

The happyish feeling of having caught up, a bit, with what is going on in everyone else’s blogworld. I went away, mentally, for a bit there. I didn’t want to comment or read anything, and I didn’t much feel like changing that situation. I think I’ve staved (stiven? No. But it should be a word) that off for now. I’m glad to be back and interacting again. Hopeful that this carries on.

I made a really, really, bad joke tonight that not even I laughed at. I didn’t laugh because I was amazed at my own brilliance at such short notice. I boggled at my own wit. Someone had to, other than my hubby who didn’t laugh either, but actually clapped. I’m not sure what that means, as he gets the brunt of my fast-thinking humour – unlike this writing kinda humour that requires me to think and spell at the same time.

He said I did a bad job of posting my hilarity on FB, so here’s the long version: he was nattering away about electronics needed for tomorrow night’s housewarming gig, and I was sort of listening but not really understanding much of what he was saying. He talks a lot, and I’m not a DJ. He just needs to say it out loud to get it clear in his head, and I don’t even smile and nod any more… Eventually he lost interest himself in what he was saying and noticed that Lokii was sitting next to my leg and licking himself.

Imagine, if you can, my Irish hubby speaking in a Beavis or Butthead voice: ‘Heh. Lokii’s licking his ass.’

I looked down. Lokii was not licking his ass.

“He’s licking his elbow.”

Small pause.

“Are you telling me you can’t tell his ass from his elbow?”

Drumroll, hi-hat crash, I rock. Thank you, I’ll be here all week!

With a big stupid smile on my face, hopefully.

May13

Invasion of the Flour Mites

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I had plans to post a few times tonight. But something icky happened and iDJ and I are dealing with it the best way we know how: by getting drunk.

The icky thing is that we (I) found out we have been invaded, infested, by tiny-ass flour mites. Getting rid of them is so very labour intensive that we cleared the counter under the infested cabinet, took out the food sources, and just… started drinking.

We intended to drink anyway. Well, of course – its us. But… it was meant to be special drinking. American craft beers rarely found here, bought with excitement and chilled with impatience. Then, choosing a glass… oh, they recommend a tulip glass? We only have one, my precious Corsendonk glass. So, big wine glasses will do. But, despite being in the cabinet they looked dirty, cloudy. I said I’d wash them first.

One washed, no problem. Next one, had a closer look to see just why it looked so filthy. “Oh no. No. No. No! Nonono. NO! The fucking bugs are back!”

See, we’ve been through this before. And it was hellish. And now, the little cunts are back. Sigh.

Drinking seems an easier solution, when faced with what I’ll be doing over the next few weeks…

May7

I love you, random Google visitor.

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I never talk about how people find my blog, despite how frikkin’ funny and/or disturbing some of the searches are. That changes today – this one hit me just right and I laughed with abandon, never mind the sleeping hungover husband.

“i got my cat from the spca they said she was fixed & chipped but now she’s got boobs”

Hahahahahahahahhaha! Oh, I’m so sorry, random Googler – I’m not totally laughing at you. It’s just…when did I ever talk about cat boobs? I’m positive I’ve used every one of those words on my blog, but never in that particular order… Also: have kitty-titties become an issue for people when I wasn’t looking?

Right, so: I’m probably still a bit drunk, so I’m gonna let the dog out and then go lie down for a little longer. But I don’t think I can go without telling Random Googler this: your cat is FAT. Those aren’t boobs. Ease up on the chow, she’ll be fine – or even better, play with her more. Cuz I just can’t see anyone selling an 8-cup support bra anytime soon.

May1

The ‘Human Sacrifice’ Bit

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So, I could have died last week. It wasn’t close, really – but it could have been, if I were as bad of a driver as my opponent.

Here’s the scene, as photographed the next day. This is the road I take to work every day, which is now a drive forever ruined by having to watch for a particular shitty grey station wagon…

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Nice and big, and brighter that it was in reality as it was yet another grey morning.

See the cross road?

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That’s where it leads – hard to see with all the vegetation. Like how I drew a yellow line, as if that road actually has any lines at all?

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My attention was caught by a little grey station wagon rolling toward the intersection from the left. They weren’t really coming fast. I just had a feeling. But still, plenty of time for them to slow down before the intersection. But I kept my eye on them just in case.

They didn’t slow down. At all. Well, maybe a little bit, before they turned left on to the main road right in front of me. I was considerably closer by now – because I was doing 70 FUCKING MILES AN HOUR DOWNHILL. That’s about 100 FUCKING KPH DOWNHILL for my European readers. My little grey nemesis was doing about 20MPH.

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X marks the spot where I was 100% sure they were not looking or stopping and I had to slam on the brakes. Not much time, but if I hadn’t been watching the little fucker I’d now be part of a Mini-sandwich.

My instinct wasn’t to hit the horn; my hands were busy making sure I didn’t lose control. A horn would have been too little too late at any rate. So, my massive ire had to be redirected into making it dammed clear that I was passing her – by now, I was close enough to know it was a her, with a him in the passenger seat – at the earliest opportunity. Which as predicted by that ‘bendy road ahead’ sign, wasn’t going to be right away. She made it worse by not even doing the speed limit or even trying to go faster to make up for slowing me down so much. Grrrrrrrr.

Until, of course, the way was clear for me to pass and THEN SHE SPEEDS UP. Just so my angry glaring face would be only a blur as I sped past mouthing insults at her, her car, her man friend, her ancestors and her children.

Then she slowed soooo far down that I could barely see her car behind me as she stopped in the middle of the road to DROP HER KID OFF FOR SCHOOL.

It almost would have been worth the wreck if I could have lived but taken out her whole gene pool.

Apr27

I hates what I hates, and tha’ what I hates

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A new blogging friend, Raising The Curtain, has reminded me of an old memory. One about my lifelong fussy eating habits, and how it all changed for me in a typically dramatic way even if it was unintentional.

I was a fat baby, and I remember my mom saying all it took to quiet me was a bit of zwieback that I could happily gum to death. I turned into a skinny child and teenager, despite the fact that I ate a LOT. Four big bowls of cereal every morning for many years! Oink. That was fine, it was fuel I burned off easily. And how I loved the food that I loved.

But boy, did I hate the things that I hated.

I loved ribs, beef fondue, pizza, my dad’s weird ‘black fungus Chinese chicken,’ grilled cheese sandwiches, especially with Lipton Chicken Noodle soup which is still my ultimate comfort food, ham sandwiches (no cheese) with the ham shaved so fine it was almost like ham mush – no thick slices of meat please and thank you. Watermelon, corn, green beans or wax beans (what the hell are wax beans, anyway?) fried chicken, roast beef, pork chops, shrimp boiled or fried, my dad’s smoked venison, and ‘hot n juicy’ hamburgers. Listing all these, I see that I preferred meat to almost anything else as a kid.

But…and it’s a big but…my hamburger was always plain. I didn’t even have one on bread. It probably didn’t have cheese often, either. Back then we tended to purchase sliced orange Kraft American cheese (not the plastic stuff that is wrapped in plastic. That crap isn’t even called legally able to be called cheese, it’s named “cheese food,” which sounds like something you feed to real cheese), not really worth putting on a good hamburger.

I ate, and eat: no catsup, mustard, or mayonnaise. I didn’t have salad dressing until I was 20, and it was a restaurant’s Italian dressing which converted me. We always had creamy blue cheese dressing. Blue cheese makes my tongue itch.

I would eat sliced raw tomato, if I could sprinkle sugar on it. I would not eat tomato sauce. I peeled the cheese off of my pizza and scraped the excess sauce out – a little was okay, but not great globs of it. I do this still when we don’t make the pizza ourselves. Did you notice I didn’t include spaghetti in my list of favorites? That’s because mine had no sauce; just pasta with salt and butter; and I irritated the shit out of my dad by rolling my meatballs around on a napkin to get the sauce off them, because they were cooked in the sauce. My meatballs had no onion in them, but did include a toothpick so mom knew which ones were mine (and my maternal grandfather’s – but that’s a story all by itself).

Which leads me into my biggest hate – onions. Hate, hate, hate them. Always have, always will. I can taste or smell them in food when no one else can; the aversion is that strong. If you cut an onion up for a salad and use the same knife to chop the lettuce, I will taste it. YUCK you’ve ruined my salad!

Bread and meat cooked together, for me, was – is – gross. No way would I eat meatloaf, or stuffing in a turkey, or even by extension my mom’s ‘porcupine meatballs’ which had rice in them, and possibly tomato sauce on the outside – I’ve blocked that memory.

We didn’t have a wide variety of vegetables in the 70’s/early 80’s. Or, maybe mom didn’t know what the more exotic ones were or how to cook them. Corn, except for creamed corn, was good with me. Spinach, however, was frozen and mushy. I could stand a little bit with enough butter and salt, but I never understood why my sister loved it so much! Potatoes and mushrooms could never be bad, in any form. Carrots were better raw, and I think I even ate mayonnaise when it was a raw carrot and raisin salad (I wouldn’t now). Coleslaw, no thank you – even though everyone raved about grandma’s secret recipe. But the absolute banes of my dinner experience as a child were Lima beans and Brussels sprouts.

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Limas. Ick.

They probably both came ‘fresh frozen’ back then, like the poor wilted spinach. I do know they were never fresh-fresh. I don’t think I’ve even seen a Lima bean in years, so either they are called something else here or they went out of fashion with big collars and pornstar moustaches on men.

I had the same method of attack for both Limas and sprouts: I cut them into chunks small enough to swallow whole, and took them like a pill with a gulp of milk. This was the only method that would win me the prize of dessert. The rule in our house was to eat all of your dinner or you get no dessert. Fair enough, rules are rules, and I tried like hell because back then I was a pretty good kid (that would change) and I wanted that slice of German chocolate cake or bowl of strawberry cheesecake ice cream, and I wanted it a lot!

There came a day, a day that is frozen forever in my mind, when I no longer was forced to eat the things that I loudly, dramatically and continually said I hated. It was a Brussels sprouts day. I cut each sprout into four sections. More pieces meant more time spent trying to swallow them whole without chewing which just prolonged my misery, and of course a longer delay for dessert. They were the only things left on my plate. I’d gotten about one-third through my allotted portion when it happened.

Maybe the sprouts were bigger than usual. Maybe it was just time. You see, my gag reflex nearly always kicked in and caused me to make unpleasant ‘urk’ noises when forcing down the noxious veg – even without chewing they were horrible. This time, it went a bit further and I puked milk and sprouts all over my dinner plate.

I can’t speak to my parents’ reaction, but I was never forced to eat the things that I hated again. My opinion was that they finally believed me, and I was so grateful.

I’ve never eaten Brussels sprouts or Lima beans since.

Apr25

Fabulous housekeeping!

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I’m so proud of myself: I cleaned something that really needed cleaning.

Really cleaning. Not like washing dishes, or rinsing the coffeepot before use, oh no.

Let me tell the long story. I will anyway, it’s my blog…

Hubby made pork chops for dinner. Before he cooked them, they were in a plastic bag. Which he thoughtfully left in the sink, crawling with icky pork juice. I held the lid of our bin out for him and he put it on the inside of the lid (keeps it from dripping on the trek from sink to garbage can, aren’t I clever). I took the contaminated plastic to the bin and promptly dumped it on the floor next to the bin. I made him pick it up since only one of us should have to wash our hands, clever me again. *snort*

Soooo… now I have gook on my floor, and all down the outside of the can, and need to get out the anti-bacterial spray and clean it up. Oh yes, so clever am I, with my clever methods of cleverly keeping nasty shite off my floor. So I cleaned it up, after snarking at him for not doing it himself, of course. He pretended he was just about to do it, of course. Ah, marriage…

But wait! There’s more. I didn’t toss the paper towel in the bin because it was barely used, after all. I left it on top of the bin, with the spray, to remind me of something else that needed cleaning: a place where one of the cats had barfed on our wooden stairs. I saw the distinctly not-clean spot last week yesterday and it had been bothering me ever since.

Eventually I had to pee and actually walked through the kitchen first, and lo! I cleaned the ick off the stairs.

But…the paper towel still wasn’t really, really, nasty. Surely there was something else I needed antibacterial spray for, now that I’d bothered to bring it all the way upstairs?

Well, yes. Way back in…October, I think… Spot got accidentally locked in our box room. This is a tiny, tiny, room that is the place where I hide the plants the cats will eat and any junk I don’t know what else to do with. Spot got locked in there for a few hours, so he had a good old chomp on the greenery. Which, of course, he puked back up. I wiped up the chunks right away, but after that amount of time, there was a sludge dried to the wood that needed more than a wipe.

I go in there maybe once a week to water plants. And have, since October, or whenever it was. But I never cleaned up the sludge.

Until tonight! Go, me! I deserve another rum and Pepsi. Glad the pork chops are almost done, too; after all that work I need a snack.

Apr24

Socks has a Jicama!

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Ok I’m not going to apologise any more for being bad at updates. The thing is, poor Socks is getting overwhelmed with first-owned-house stuff, and visitors, and an approaching baby shower a buncha states away. She’s probably at the most ‘boring’ part of her pregnancy, as far as updates go, because not much is going on in there except a lot of growth! But she unfortunately doesn’t have a lot of time to meditate on the growing Budda-Belly right now with so much else on her plate.

So…three weeks(!) ago, Button was an ‘English Cucumber’ in length. Hmm. Hard to picture. Google isn’t much help, it seems mostly 26week pregnant women are putting up photos tagged ‘English Cucumber.’ Button’s brain was starting to get wrinkles then – so I guess before then she was really not able to think or remember or learn. Not as if there’s much to learn in there right now! However, she is reacting to loud noises with a big startle reflex, even when the noise is rooms away. Like when Bear decided Button’s closet was dangerous to little fingers – it had poorly made doors – and he made her a whole new walk-in closet, drywall and all! Lots of noise, and the soon-to-be parents both left little secret notes written on the hidden inside walls for Button to discover one day. Aww. Socks said she got a little emotional over the closet-building, too: the idea that they were creating something for someone they were creating was a bit of a surprising idea. Socks made me laugh when she talked about having the air-conditioning company come out to look over their heating and cooling – ‘He better be good, and fast – you just don’t mess with a pregnant woman’s temperature!’

Two weeks ago, Button was a Pineapple! I should have posted then, that’s a way better fruit than this week’s one. Up to 3 1/2 pounds or almost 1.6 kilos! Wow!

They had another ultrasound scan done – a fancy 3D one. You could see Button’s hair! That is just amazing. Button only got brain wrinkles last week, but hair already! Real hair, not the downy pigment-less fur she used to have covering her whole body. Button was also practicing how to breathe, moving her diaphragm up and down. Time for hiccups to start!

They did take time out to take a belly-photo, but she’s not had time to upload it yet. However, finally getting a chance to have a real wash, shave her legs, and actually blow-dry her hair was a welcome break from cleaning the new house and moving their stuff and changing addresses and getting cable and running a business and…
…and dealing with the bizarre, redneck, scatterbrained, possible Friends of Bill W, tattoo covered, greasy, biker appearing people Bear bought a used yard tractor from. The story is way too long for me to relate here: it took Socks a good hour to tell it what with me laughing so hard I nearly wet myself. Suffice to say it ended with Bear buying a new tractor elsewhere and getting it delivered in an hour. Which was a relief after a week or more of buying, using, not being able to use, and helping the nut jobs pick up for repair the used tractor. And that’s the short, short story with huge gaps…

This week! Week 32. This is ‘generic squash week’ or ‘a large jicama.’ I had to Google, and steal, someone’s pic of a jicama – I had no idea what it was even if I could spell it. Here:

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Not lovely, is it? Damn. The pineapple would have been so much more fun! Right, next time the fruit/veg is pretty, I’m posting. No more excuses.

Button is even bigger: already about 4 lbs or 1.8 kg. She’s 15-17 inches (38-43 cm) long from head to toes. At what is ‘officially’ seven months, she is nearly all the way formed. Not translucent any longer, real hair, and all of her senses are working. She usually seems to hang out head down, fingers in face, in all the ‘photos’, and is quite strong when she wants to be! Socks says she has a real sense of Button being a separate person that she can interact with and even play with by poking her belly and getting a reaction that is predictable and consistent (my words: she just said ‘playing with her is so much fun! When I poke here, she kicks me! When I poke there, she does a somersault!’).

Socks did say that she gets a shock when she sees her reflection by accident, like in the window of a restaurant where the server called her precious. (I’d not be able to eat if anyone called me precious. Just…no.)

And the best news for Bear? Her belly button has stayed an ‘innie!’

Apr17

Random One

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I had no idea that Cee Lo Green was a woman. And I’m glad. I’ve heard the name, and think it belongs to a musician, but never saw her until just now because she apparently has a cat.

I kind of like my priorities in this case: cats over crappy modern music.

I still think ‘Cee Lo Green’ sounds like a male gangsta rapper, though.

Apr17

A query following from the previous query…

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Okay, I don’t think I’m ready for, or have the time for, nor the energy for Twittering.

So – would it be weird if I just posted a short random thought post now and again? I usually write a bit more and try to give a visual if I can. Seems a bit…abrupt…to just say something odd and leave it at that.

Maybe I just like to explain myself too much, and a bit of brevity would be a fun change? I certainly do not think Deep Thoughts, unless they are the Jack Handy variety.

An example: I was picking up dog poop on a dry sunny day, and the flies were snacking on Neko’s landmines. It was a really a nasty surprise to have a shit-footed fly bolt away from its dinner and bounce spang off my cheek. What could I possibly wash with that would make me forget that I had molecules of dog dookey on my face? Nothing: there is nothing that can clean that memory away.

Yep, random as hell but I keep thinking about this and other things of even less importance. Will I bore the arse off of you guys if I post this nonsense?