I has it.
Have a lovely Tuesday, y’all.
I owe my friend Mama Badger an apology. I promised her photos of a certain young man, but alas! He was not able to visit us this past weekend.
I am so sorry. There is little that makes up for the lack of chubby, blue-eyed sweetness.
It also puts me at a loss for this week’s You Capture, which is “Youth.” You see, I was depending on the opportunity to photograph our darling bundle of youthful joy
in order to overwhelm all the other participants. Instead, I’m stuck with a photo of the first crocus to bloom in our desperately-in-need-of-mulching garden.
Pride. It goes before a fall, or so they say.
And you work with what you have, I guess.
Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve participated in Random Tuesday Thoughts, but I actually had some random this week, so here we go. Grab the new and improved funky purple button, link up to Keely and let’s all play along.
Excerpt from an IM conversation between me and Oldest Son:
Me: Your mother is a strange person, dear
Oldest Son: LOL how so?
Me: I can guarantee she’s the only person you know who says things like “Well, shit – I need to take another jar of lard out of the freezer.”
Oldest Son: LMAO
What? It’s true.
Why is it that I can find a pair of shoes, try them on, walk around the store and declare them the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn in my entire life only to take them home and the minute I put them on, they rub 47 huge blisters on my feet?
Someone please tell me this phenomenon is not limited to just me.
A conversation between me and The Young One, when the Miami Heat went to Cleveland for their game last week:
TYO: Are you excited about the football game?
Me: It’s basketball, honey.
Hey, at least he knew it was a sport and they were playing a game.
To the person who found my blog via a search for “Gross pics of liver and onions”:
#%$@ you too.
Seen on a t-shirt in a local butcher shop (alas, one that does not sell grass-finished beef or pastured pork, but does sell the best Mexican chorizo I’ve found in Ohio):
“Friends don’t let friends buy grocery store meat.”
Amen, brother. Amen.
And here is the view in my neighborhood this morning.
I think the black and white really emphasizes the bleak starkness of it all, don’t you?
It’s gonna be a long winter. *sigh*
I’m still absolutely overwhelmed, and am SO grateful that Jen at Sprite’s Keeper has given us a break this week and let us pick out our favorite posts for the Spin Cycle. This is from April 2008, before I had any readers to speak of, and is relevant and at least mildly amusing. One caveat: Darling Daughter has done an admirable job of getting her shit together since this was originally posted. Haven’t you, my little Elk’s Lodge chaplain?
I’ll catch up with all of my reading and commenting once things have calmed down a bit. In the meantime, have a lovely weekend, y’all.
Spring has arrived and so has our mulch, which Beloved has been enthusiastically spreading for the past several days. The first day he performed this yearly chore, the kids went outside to be dragged around by walk the dog and stopped dead in their tracks.
“It smells like ass out here,” Darling Daughter declared. We’d have asked her how she knows what ass smells like, but since she has her head stuck so far up her own it really wasn’t necessary. (You have to understand I love this kid to death, but if she doesn’t get her shit together soon I’m going to have to kill her.)
However, she isn’t that far off – the stuff is fragrant. And the simile has stuck; while running our errands this morning, we stopped by the discount store and picked up 10 more bags of what The Young One now refers to as “Ass Mulch.” Now none of us can stop calling it that – our grandchildren are probably going to refer to Spring as “Ass Mulch Season” and we’ll all end up explaining ourselves to a school psychologist some day.
Of course, the entire town smells like ass these days (since it is that time of year) and that made me think about those people who are of a green and/or money saving disposition and make their own compost and mulch. The “why” part of that is understandable, but I have a real problem with the “how??” Where do you put it while it’s getting all, well, ripe? I can’t see keeping it in the house or garage, so do you just, like, keep a big pile of slowly decomposing crap in the back yard? Wouldn’t that cause your neighbors to complain and lower your property values? How would you keep the dog from jumping in it and rolling around every time you let him out to do his part in the lawn fertilization process?
Do you fence it off and post large “Beware of Mulch” signs? Go all Martha Stewart and construct a camouflaging-yet-decorative container out of old, flowered-patterned sheets and wire coat hangers? I suppose you could pack it away neatly in some of those 30-gallon plastic leaf bags, but it seems to me that would hinder the decomposition and render the attempt to be “green” rather pointless. Not to mention that once it was bagged, your teenage son would probably take the whole kit-and-kaboodle to the curb on trash day for the first – and only – time in his life without being asked.
You see, these are the kinds of things that keep us city-raised-but-moved-to-a-small-town-girls up at night.
It’s that time again folks – so grab the funky purple button (what’s with that ham, anyway?), link up to Keely and play along with Random Tuesday Thoughts.
Today’s edition: The Annual Groundhog Rant.
So, here it is…February. My least favorite month of the year – for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because it’s going to be at least six weeks before I see the sun or any sign of life around here. No matter what the stupid groundhog says.
Because while it is PERPETUALLY GRAY here in my neck of the woods I imagine it’s sunny as all get-out in Puxatawney and I bet the rotten little buck-toothed rodent is dancing around going, “See? My shadow! It’s my shadow! Six more weeks of winter! Bwaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!”
Going a little crazy? Not at all. Why do you ask?
But Phil the Weatherman was right…it’s all the groundhog’s fault.
Puxatawney Phil needs to die.
I don’t care how well he drives for a quadruped.
Oh, PETA is going to be after me now. Have you heard? They want the organizers of Puxatawney’s Ground Hog Day Festival to replace Phil with a robot.
Does this organization not have one thinking member that looks at their press releases and says, “Hey, look guys – this is pretty damn stupid. Do we really want to publish this?”
No, I didn’t think so either.
Ah, well, at least we know what we’ll be watching this evening. I don’t think The Young One has ever seen Groundhog Day.
There I go again – I’m just racking up the votes for that Excellence in Parenting award that I know is just waiting for me somewhere.
“You want a prediction about the weather, you’re asking the wrong Phil. I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be gray, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.” — Phil the Weatherman
Have a lovely Groundhog Day, y’all.