I was just complaining to a friend the other day how much of a pain in the ass it is to fold tshirts. I just received a 5 dozen tshirt order and nearly broke my back hunched over folding the damn things up. My friend pointed me to this little gem:
How To Fold A T-Shirt In 2 Seconds - Explained
It cracks me up to hear the lovely British lady saying "Pinch One." I giggle and snort every. single. time. Yep, I'm my father's daughter.
For Pinch Three - be sure to cross your right arm UNDER your left arm. It took me a while to get that part but I finally made it work.
I'm so excited about this new trick that I may finally quit using all my closet space for tshirts on hangers. But there's no way in HELL I'll take back doing laundry from the husband's task list.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Terminally Bored
So we're upgrading our server or something in the home office and of course, nothing works but email. Thanks for the 10 second warning home office, it sure is good to know when things will be down for 4 hours and I can plan my work schedule accordingly. I've done all the manual things to be done so what does that leave me to do?
Nothing.
Except play on the internets.
At least there is a Woot! Off today. My MP3 player is having jack issues - as opposed to jill issues - so I did Woot! me a refurb Sansa 4GB media player. In about 7 to 10 days I'll be able to jam AND look at 1.8" photos or goofy videos anytime, anywhere.
Nothing.
Except play on the internets.
At least there is a Woot! Off today. My MP3 player is having jack issues - as opposed to jill issues - so I did Woot! me a refurb Sansa 4GB media player. In about 7 to 10 days I'll be able to jam AND look at 1.8" photos or goofy videos anytime, anywhere.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
OMG! Senior photos!!
Dear former member of The Class of 1989 WBHS Anti-Conformity League:
My parents are getting a new house - HOORAY! I've been on and off helping Mom packup and trash the past few weeks. What does this have to do with you, you ask? Absolutely nothing except for one tiny photo in a tiny frame.
During my senior year of high school I came into possesion of a small set of cheap-ass "lead from China" kind of picture frames. There were only a couple of them and they were just right for the wallet sized senior pics of my homegirls. The frames were perfect because there weren't too many members of the 89WBHSACL. And of course, your lovely 18 year old face was placed into said frame.
So jump ahead 19 years (HOLY SHIT! 19 years!!??) into the hallway of my parents home. Mom and I are sorting, tossing and sneezing dust out of our noses and she hands me a small picture frame. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT WAS YOU and I really did have a good giggle. Good times. I can't believe I'd left you behind when I moved out of there. You were probably stuffed in some corner under a pile of my sister's clothes which is why you didn't make the move with me. Don't worry though, I still have lots of pics of you and us back then. Yep, I got plenty of those!
I decided I had enough lead and did toss out the frame but I would keep the photo inside. I take apart the frame and noticed you'd written a nice little message on the back.
"Can you believe it? Six years and all the things that have happened. Somehow, it was always me that caused the trouble - the 8th grade, the mustang, the beer in the school parking lot, etc. I'm glad you thought I was worth the trouble!"
I moved here in the 7th grade, making our friendship 6 years old when we graduated.
I'm not positive what the 8th grade incident was but it must have been the forgery incident. We were in band and had a pretty kick-ass instructor. Often, he would write us notes to get out of class for a practice session. I decided I didn't want to spend the afternoon in Ms. Springs' class so I wrote myself a note (this was his M.O. - we wrote, he signed) and signed it with my best Band Teacher handwriting. It worked until Ms. Springs confirmed said band jam with the instructor the next day. I think I spent 3 days in ISS (school jail) for that one. I think my friend got away though. She was in the super-smart classes and probably made up some story about going to the library or something.
When I was 15 I was dating a guy who was from the country, was 16 and had a car. It was a Mustang but the NG was broken off so we always called it the Musta. He is the first guy that bought me jewelry, small 14k gold heart earrings. Talk about BLING! tee hee!! Anyway - if you spent the night at my house on a Saturday night, you went to church the next morning. No excuses. Mr. Musta picked us up and drove us to church. On the way back home from church she decided she wanted to drive and he let her. We came home "the back way" and as I point out, "You're missing our road!" she jerks the wheel to make the turn, overcorrects and we end up in the VERY STEEP ditch. I had a concussion, a busted lip and a busted up knee. She bounced off the steering wheel pretty good and Mr. Musta came out of it fine - physically. His car wasn't busted up that bad so he didn't get into too much trouble.
Which brings us to the beer in the school parking lot. Being a member of the 89WBHSACL, you had to be somewhat nerdy, poor, social outcast kind of thing. And you had to do that stupid thing with your jeans...taper fold and tuck down into your hightops or boots. A few of us got our nerd on with the Band. The Marching Band. With Mandatory Attendance at all football games. We had a new band instructor by then and he usually let us go after the halftime "performance." (Keep in mind this was his first year and we were a very young band with no marching skills whatsoever. I'm so proud of the real marching band he did build and my sister got to be involved with. They've come a long way since '89!)
So I had put away my band uniform and went to hang with my homies. At this time I was dating no one so I can't remember why we were out in the parking lot, but we were out there. Outside the safety fence of the football field where children do very stuipd things believing that those things are cool. We were out on the backside, farthest from the school. The dark area. I believe her very cool and beautiful boyfriend was in his/someone's car. He was a year (maybe two) older than us. Someone busted out with a six pack of Bud and we all passed around the ONE CAN as we're standing near the car. The can makes it to me and she starts making those eyes at me - the ones that say "DANGER WILL ROBINSON!! DANGER!!"
It was the fuzz!
My parents are getting a new house - HOORAY! I've been on and off helping Mom packup and trash the past few weeks. What does this have to do with you, you ask? Absolutely nothing except for one tiny photo in a tiny frame.
During my senior year of high school I came into possesion of a small set of cheap-ass "lead from China" kind of picture frames. There were only a couple of them and they were just right for the wallet sized senior pics of my homegirls. The frames were perfect because there weren't too many members of the 89WBHSACL. And of course, your lovely 18 year old face was placed into said frame.
So jump ahead 19 years (HOLY SHIT! 19 years!!??) into the hallway of my parents home. Mom and I are sorting, tossing and sneezing dust out of our noses and she hands me a small picture frame. I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT WAS YOU and I really did have a good giggle. Good times. I can't believe I'd left you behind when I moved out of there. You were probably stuffed in some corner under a pile of my sister's clothes which is why you didn't make the move with me. Don't worry though, I still have lots of pics of you and us back then. Yep, I got plenty of those!
I decided I had enough lead and did toss out the frame but I would keep the photo inside. I take apart the frame and noticed you'd written a nice little message on the back.
"Can you believe it? Six years and all the things that have happened. Somehow, it was always me that caused the trouble - the 8th grade, the mustang, the beer in the school parking lot, etc. I'm glad you thought I was worth the trouble!"
I moved here in the 7th grade, making our friendship 6 years old when we graduated.
I'm not positive what the 8th grade incident was but it must have been the forgery incident. We were in band and had a pretty kick-ass instructor. Often, he would write us notes to get out of class for a practice session. I decided I didn't want to spend the afternoon in Ms. Springs' class so I wrote myself a note (this was his M.O. - we wrote, he signed) and signed it with my best Band Teacher handwriting. It worked until Ms. Springs confirmed said band jam with the instructor the next day. I think I spent 3 days in ISS (school jail) for that one. I think my friend got away though. She was in the super-smart classes and probably made up some story about going to the library or something.
When I was 15 I was dating a guy who was from the country, was 16 and had a car. It was a Mustang but the NG was broken off so we always called it the Musta. He is the first guy that bought me jewelry, small 14k gold heart earrings. Talk about BLING! tee hee!! Anyway - if you spent the night at my house on a Saturday night, you went to church the next morning. No excuses. Mr. Musta picked us up and drove us to church. On the way back home from church she decided she wanted to drive and he let her. We came home "the back way" and as I point out, "You're missing our road!" she jerks the wheel to make the turn, overcorrects and we end up in the VERY STEEP ditch. I had a concussion, a busted lip and a busted up knee. She bounced off the steering wheel pretty good and Mr. Musta came out of it fine - physically. His car wasn't busted up that bad so he didn't get into too much trouble.
Which brings us to the beer in the school parking lot. Being a member of the 89WBHSACL, you had to be somewhat nerdy, poor, social outcast kind of thing. And you had to do that stupid thing with your jeans...taper fold and tuck down into your hightops or boots. A few of us got our nerd on with the Band. The Marching Band. With Mandatory Attendance at all football games. We had a new band instructor by then and he usually let us go after the halftime "performance." (Keep in mind this was his first year and we were a very young band with no marching skills whatsoever. I'm so proud of the real marching band he did build and my sister got to be involved with. They've come a long way since '89!)
So I had put away my band uniform and went to hang with my homies. At this time I was dating no one so I can't remember why we were out in the parking lot, but we were out there. Outside the safety fence of the football field where children do very stuipd things believing that those things are cool. We were out on the backside, farthest from the school. The dark area. I believe her very cool and beautiful boyfriend was in his/someone's car. He was a year (maybe two) older than us. Someone busted out with a six pack of Bud and we all passed around the ONE CAN as we're standing near the car. The can makes it to me and she starts making those eyes at me - the ones that say "DANGER WILL ROBINSON!! DANGER!!"
It was the fuzz!
Of course, the can was in my hand. Of course!
But at least it was friendly fuzz, a sherrif's deputy that I knew. And he let me (and everyone else) go as long as I went home and told my folks what happened. Shit. Now I had to go home and tell on myself. Because a cop told me to.
And I did do it. I went home and told on myself. I don't remember what (or if) I was punished. I just remember getting busted and having to tell on myself. I remember walking into my parents' bedroom and saying, "I gotta tell you something...." Couldn't tell you what the hell I said BUT I DID IT. I DID NOT LIE ABOUT IT.
The beer incident was on a Friday night. I passed Mr. Sherrif Deputy on the stairs at church on Sunday. He asked me, "Did you tell 'em?" And I said, "Yep." And his reply was:
GOOD FOR YOU BECAUSE I WASN'T GOING TO TELL ON YOU!
At the time I immediately wanted to push him down the stairs. But I didn't. I'm glad he made me do it. It was a good lesson - or rather a couple of good lessons:
- Don't be trying to do things you're not old enough to do.
- Don't be trying to do things you're not old enough to do in public.
- Don't think someone is NOT watching you. Somebody saw you do it.
- Tell on yourself if you get caught. Honesty is the best policy.
- Dont' be a liar. Liars suck.
- Your friends always say they're sorry, or they are in trouble with you (giggling madly!). Other people don't give a shit what they did to, with or about you.
And you know who you are my dear. If you contact me, with your permission I'll post your senior photo and my goofy-assed band photo on this here blog-0-matic.
Monday, June 30, 2008
You can't have any new ones until the old ones are gone
We have an understood rule about pets and owning them. You can't have a new one until the old one passes away. I really, really, REALLY want another bird (he died a few years ago) to talk and sing with and teach bad things to but I don't want to deal with the mess. So we're birdless.
The other neighbors got two new puppies and they might as well be the Sun and Husband is Icarus. The puppies are miniature beagles and holy cow, they are SO ADORABLE! They're still in the "when I wag my tail my whole body shakes I'm so happy!" stage and that makes them VERY contagious. "I want one!" he says. "We have a dog." I say. "But they only cost $50!" he whines. "Well, when Mya checks out, you can have one." I insist.
But I think I can offer him a trade and we'll both get what we want.
He wants this:
and he can have it if I can have this:
The other neighbors got two new puppies and they might as well be the Sun and Husband is Icarus. The puppies are miniature beagles and holy cow, they are SO ADORABLE! They're still in the "when I wag my tail my whole body shakes I'm so happy!" stage and that makes them VERY contagious. "I want one!" he says. "We have a dog." I say. "But they only cost $50!" he whines. "Well, when Mya checks out, you can have one." I insist.
But I think I can offer him a trade and we'll both get what we want.
He wants this:
and he can have it if I can have this:
more cat pictures
But I guess I'll need a pantry before I can have an Evil Pantry Kitteh. And the kitteh must be truly evil, no substitutes!
What the hell is in those jars??!! Looks very, very scary!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
When Animals ATTACK!!
Go ahead, click on it. Would YOU survive?
These numbers are about me surviving. My wolf odds are looking pretty good. I've known about the cat for years. In fact, I've been whooping his ass on a regular basis the past few days. He is old, 14ish this summer I do believe. He's starting to walk like an old man. And his gut is HUGE so he's got a lot to tote and he often looks "stove up" when he struts around. I found some "hey your cat has old bones" pills at Wally World last weekend so we dropped $8 (!!) for a 60 day supply. He's not really down with taking the pills but I have opposable thumbs and the will to put some pep in his step. And its working, he strolls smooth like a pimp now.
Now Mr. Tat Cat has lived outside for the most part of his life. He'll come inside and hang out for a bit, especially on hot days (he's old and fat, remember?) but he usually wants to spend his time outside and I'm cool with that. He doesn't get fleas, maybe a few but nothing like a manifestation. He's long haired and it's very thick. I think the fleas give up trying to eat him thru all his fur. I don't bathe him often because he tries to kick my ass when I brush him out. Tat doesn't quite understand that if I brush him, I'll get those loose hairs off of him and he won't spend so much time hacking up dang furballs all over my porch, walkway, yard, driveway, etc. Tat just thinks of it as an opportunity to smack me around. Some gratitude!
When we moved into the new house I tried to keep him inside, at least for the first few days so he could get comfortable with our new area. That meant Tat had to take a bath. I didn't want dirty cat butt dragged all over my carpet. I was nervous. I think the last time I'd bathed him was about 5 years ago. And he fights brushing - no water involved - so I was REALLY nervous and I made sure Husband knew how to get to the hospital from our new location. I just knew I was going to need some stitches after Tat's bath.
After I worked out all the pre-bath fretting I filled up the bathtub. I scooped Tat up and we headed for the bathroom. He gave me a "Where do you think you're taking me?" look and I tried to explain how he's pretty dirty and I don't want him bringing dirt or possibly fleas into the new house. He just closed his eyes and looked away. And I put him in the water, expecting him to jump up onto my face and claw my eyes out but that didn't happen. He just sat there, all still and quiet and let me bathe him. LET ME. Then he spent a good 6 hours pouting and hiding under my bed.
Of course, the next day when I thought "Hey, let's put him in the back yard (it's fenced in) and see how he likes the ground." BAD MISTAKE! He squeezed his large ass thru the gap between the fence and the house and ran like hell. We didn't see him for almost two weeks. Every day I'd go outside shaking the food dish and yelling for him, "Fat boy! Here kitty kitty." He finally showed back up and was he ever skinny! I'd never seen him skinny, at all, EVER. He's well back to his non-fighting weight now.
Tat likes living on The Circle. He's got no nuts so he doesn't chase or kill much anymore. He's only brought me one set of mole hands since we've moved here. He used to leave me all kinds of lizards, birds and mice at the old farm. He doesn't even chase the birds who come eat at our eleventy feeders.
Good kitteh!
Monday, June 23, 2008
In the final laps of Sunday's race...
I was not in the pool. The race was in Callie Fornie so it was a late start. Too much cold water, overcast skies and intermittent sprinkles made it hard to swim. In fact, we didn't get to swim all weekend.
But we did talk during the final laps of the race, Her and I. She did not have good news. She laid down her Shock and Awe on me. I kissed baby goodnight, hugged Husband tight and drove to Her.
I stayed for about an hour. She filled me in on what happened and we began to make a game plan. We were interrupted by a phone call and a visit and at Her request, I left. She had business to tend to.
I can't believe what just happened. Completely out of nowhere and everywhere at once. Very close to home, my fingers are tracing old childhood scars. I know I came out of it, on the other side, the good side - well maybe the OK side on a bumpy road. I shamefully repeated the cycle to my own child. I sure am worried about my girls.
It will not be easy but it will get better. I will be a good friend. I will be a good godparent. I will be a good marksman if need be.
But we did talk during the final laps of the race, Her and I. She did not have good news. She laid down her Shock and Awe on me. I kissed baby goodnight, hugged Husband tight and drove to Her.
I stayed for about an hour. She filled me in on what happened and we began to make a game plan. We were interrupted by a phone call and a visit and at Her request, I left. She had business to tend to.
I can't believe what just happened. Completely out of nowhere and everywhere at once. Very close to home, my fingers are tracing old childhood scars. I know I came out of it, on the other side, the good side - well maybe the OK side on a bumpy road. I shamefully repeated the cycle to my own child. I sure am worried about my girls.
It will not be easy but it will get better. I will be a good friend. I will be a good godparent. I will be a good marksman if need be.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Tiger Woods is no Dr. Phil
It's 4:25ish and the work phone rings. TV goes on mute, it's now "safe" to answer the phone. (I was watching CNN like a good little girl.)
Me: Good afternoon, NAME OF MY WORKPLACE.
Her: Are you watching TV?
Me: Yep, it's on.
Her: Are you watching Tiger Woods?
Me: Why would I be watching Tiger Woods? He's not a race car driver.
Her: They're playing today, the playoff!
Me: Ok, channel 6, right? (I know this because Dr. Phil is not on today. Stupid golf.)
Her: Yep.
Me: Some dark guy in a red tshirt is on the green. Wait, both guys are dark...AND wearing red shirts!!! (Again, if this was racing, they'd at least be wearing different numbers!!!)
Her: That's probably Rocco.
Me: No, it's Tiger. He's fake swinging his putt. He fake swings again. Ok, he hit it this time...and .... it's going to be JUST SHORT!
Her: NO WAY!
Me: Yes way! And he's ON HIS KNEES in anguish! (Could golf be any more exciting?)
Her: Has the other guy shot?
Me: Nope, he's up next. But they're showing the replay of his reaction to Tiger's play and he and his caddy both laughed when Tiger missed. Golf asses!!
Her: Bastards!!
Me: Ok, here he goes. Fake swing, fake swing, HIT! OH, he waaaaaaaaay over shot!
Her: Oh no! I wonder if they're still tied?
=========
This is where the light bulb finally switches ON and blinds me with ... science.
=========
Me: The damn TV is still on mute. (unmute TV) Yes, Tiger won.
Her: WOO HOO!
Me: Damn, I'm an idiot. If I realized the TV was on mute I could have let you LISTEN to what was going on the whole time instead of relaying a play-by-play of a NASCAR fan watching golf.
Her: Well that's been bothering me since my lunch break, thanks for checking it out for me.
Me: You're welcome, talk to you later!
Ahhh...the benefits of friendship. I am SO calling her from the swimming pool on Sunday with 4 laps to go in the race. Let's hear golf girl make the play-by-play on the race!!
Me: Good afternoon, NAME OF MY WORKPLACE.
Her: Are you watching TV?
Me: Yep, it's on.
Her: Are you watching Tiger Woods?
Me: Why would I be watching Tiger Woods? He's not a race car driver.
Her: They're playing today, the playoff!
Me: Ok, channel 6, right? (I know this because Dr. Phil is not on today. Stupid golf.)
Her: Yep.
Me: Some dark guy in a red tshirt is on the green. Wait, both guys are dark...AND wearing red shirts!!! (Again, if this was racing, they'd at least be wearing different numbers!!!)
Her: That's probably Rocco.
Me: No, it's Tiger. He's fake swinging his putt. He fake swings again. Ok, he hit it this time...and .... it's going to be JUST SHORT!
Her: NO WAY!
Me: Yes way! And he's ON HIS KNEES in anguish! (Could golf be any more exciting?)
Her: Has the other guy shot?
Me: Nope, he's up next. But they're showing the replay of his reaction to Tiger's play and he and his caddy both laughed when Tiger missed. Golf asses!!
Her: Bastards!!
Me: Ok, here he goes. Fake swing, fake swing, HIT! OH, he waaaaaaaaay over shot!
Her: Oh no! I wonder if they're still tied?
=========
This is where the light bulb finally switches ON and blinds me with ... science.
=========
Me: The damn TV is still on mute. (unmute TV) Yes, Tiger won.
Her: WOO HOO!
Me: Damn, I'm an idiot. If I realized the TV was on mute I could have let you LISTEN to what was going on the whole time instead of relaying a play-by-play of a NASCAR fan watching golf.
Her: Well that's been bothering me since my lunch break, thanks for checking it out for me.
Me: You're welcome, talk to you later!
Ahhh...the benefits of friendship. I am SO calling her from the swimming pool on Sunday with 4 laps to go in the race. Let's hear golf girl make the play-by-play on the race!!
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