A Rant **

** Because "OH MY FREAKIN GAH ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME" has probably been used already.

Ok, so this rant will be about 15 different things that are actually all connected, in a bizarre kind of way.

I know someone who was at a CVS PHARMACY buying a sitz bath and a cane and the cashier actually asked for their last name to verify that the credit card they were using was actually theirs.

1. This assumes that a credit card thief is too incredibly stupid to read the credit card owner's name off the card.
2. If someone stole my credit card and all they were buying was a sitz bath and a cane... just let them get it.  Seriously, if they were desperate enough to steal my card and use it for that... they got some problems.

Coincidentally, the guy at the next counter was buying heartburn pills and got asked for his birth date... because apparently there's a new under aged heartburn relief gang?

At 7pm Saturday night, we had a prescription for Vicodin called in... for long time readers, you'll know that it wasn't for me because I can't even get Xanax, and I'm pretty sure I qualify for that.  I think I'll start a petition drive.  Throughout all of my myriad of strange issues (broke my foot in two places using a Wii, random cysts that I've all named popping up on my wrists, thumb problems from a car wreck) the only thing I get is Ibuprofen.

Now its not like we live in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere or anything.  We live like 10 minutes from Baltimore (pronounced Balmer) and a half hour from D.C. (Warshington, as my mom calls it) so its not like we commute by Yak and use smoke signals, so you would think it would be relatively easy to find an open pharmacy at 7pm on a Saturday.  I actually think it would be easier to find an open pharmacy on that time and day because that's generally when the drunks who say "Hey, watch this" do something stupid and need a prescription... but NOOOOO.  Its literally impossible to find a pharmacy open after 6pm on the weekends.

Now, let me clarify: an open PHARMACY.  Sure, CVS PHARMACY is open, and so it Rite Aid PHARMACY, but not the PHARMACY part, just the store.

Why bother?  To me, an emergency isn't running out of bread or hair dye.  I've never run frantically to a pharmacy for some late night hair bands or lip gloss, no matter what the weather forecast.  I'm pretty sure I can live without those items for a night, or at the very least GO TO ONE OF THE GAZILLION 7-11, WA-WA, QUICKSTOPS, ROYAL FARMS, GROCERY STORES, OR GAS STATIONS that are open and have this crap in them.  To me, an emergency is needing some guy to count out 20 vicodine to keep from writhing in pain over night.

IF YOU CALL YOURSELF A PHARMACY THEN KEEP THE PHARMACY OPEN WHEN THE STORE IS OPEN!!!

Better yet, if your Web site says you are open until 9pm HOW ABOUT YOU PUT IN BIGGER PRINT THAT YOUR FREAKIN PHARMACY CLOSES AT 6 SO SOMEONE DOESN'T GO SHLEPPING OUT AT 7PM ONLY TO FIND THE PHARMACY CLOSED!

Then, at 10am when the pharmacy opens, but your pharmacist calls in sick... when the person who got burned the night before calls to make sure you are open and have the prescription called in the night before ready and waiting, how about you just tell them the ETA of the replacement pharmacist instead of making the already irate customer play 20 questions:

Me: So... when will the replacement show up.
Rite Aid Moron (RAM): He's been called and he's on the way
Me: Is he flying in from Pakistan?
RAM: ???
Me: When do you think he'll get there?
RAM: He's on the way
Me: so... will he be there today, or perhaps next week?
RAM: Oh today!
Me (banging head against wall): roughly about what time today?
RAM: Oh... maybe like 11

So... now I wish I hadn't failed miserable with my new year's resolution: Become a Crack Ho.

At least I could have whipped up something in the bathtub using common household products.

The Rat Trap

A few months ago I noticed that some sort of vermin had dug a hole under my fence. I can only imagine that its some starving rat, taking advantage of the lack of rat snakeability looking at my yard for foodstuffs from Ye Olde Foreclosed Home.

I poured Quikrete down the hole, poured in water, and thought the problem was solved... not so fast.

A few days later, right next to the cemented area was another hole. I knew that I was dealing with a very determined rat. Although determined, this rat has to be dumber than a box of rocks to dig INTO a yard with 3 Siberian Huskies wandering around. I commonly see Loki sitting patiently near the hole, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to come out. He’s very good at that. He’ll wait prey out, catching moles, mice, fledgling birds, whatever, just by sitting perfectly still and pretending to be a lawn ornament. Either that or they just eventually commit suicide and run into his mouth.

So I looked into the various and sundry types of ways to capture, kill, maim, destroy and obliterate various and sundry types of vermin.

Hav-A-Heart traps Good concept, except for one thing... WTH do you do with it once you caught it? Its not like I’m Billy the Exterminator (who I LOVE, so don’t be mocking Billy) and have thousands of miles of forest area to free trapped critters. The best I could do would be to call animal control for pick up, and the poor critter would die of old age in the trap by the time they showed up, or release it into the foreclosed home area... but all I’d be doing there is training the critter that it could come to my place for a free meal and lounge in the trap for a while, like a mini all-inclusive vacation. Of course, there’s always “disposing” of the critter but what kind of humane way is there to “dispose” of them other than drowning or shooting them (and frankly the county frowns upon firearms discharging).

Poison: errr, no way. There’s absolutely, positively no way I’d use poison on critters, not because its a horrible death (which it is) I honestly don’t have a problem with vermin dying horrible deaths, its just that I don’t want poison ANYWHERE near my dogs, I don’t want something non-targeted to get into the poison, and once the vermin die, don’t want my dogs or other non-targeted animals eating poison dead vermin. Plus the vermin usually crawl somewhere unfortunate to die and stink, so poison is right out.

Glue Traps: While handy indoors, they don’t work for crap outdoors in cold weather. I don’t have a problem using glue traps (bite me Animal Rights nut cases), I do have a problem with removing them from husky fur, as my dogs would no doubt be covered in glue traps because they were “interesting”.

Snap Traps: Once again, I’d be making vet trips with dogs that had snap traps on their noses since peanut butter is the main trap bait, and mine can’t resist peanut butter.

Call a pest control company: but what are they going to do that I can’t do? Charge me a lot of money to set a trap, that’s what.

So, using logical (for me) thinking, I’d need something non-poisonous, non-sticky (because of the cold), that would kill the vermin (so I wouldn’t have to) that the dogs couldn’t get into it. Once again... watching Billy the Exterminator pays off. I found this really cool AMERICAN company (and from what I can tell, they are family run) Do My Own Pest Control

They have the really cool professional grade rat bait stations that you can put one of their T-Rex Rat traps in. It has a hex lock, and a way to anchor it to the ground. This solves the following problems:

1.) Dogs getting snapped by traps
2.) Dogs playing hockey with the enclosed trap thing
3.) Dogs snacking on the dead critter once the critter is dead
4.) Dogs picking the lock to get at the peanut butter

PERFECT! I order a bait station and a trap online and then spend hours gleefully imagining the fun that will ensue.

Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worse in Georgia, which delayed my shipment. To their credit, they immediately e-mailed to let me know that not only couldn’t they get to their shop, but all of the shippers couldn’t get around on the slippery roads, and apologized profusely for the delay... which lead me to respond:

“Dear Customer Service,

I want to thank you for the e-mail in regard to the status of my rat trap order. I want to assure you that I totally understand the delay, and frankly I wouldn't be able to live with myself if one of your employees injured or killed themselves trying to mail out my rat trap. I'd have to change my name, possibly move out of the country, and that's just a hassle.

Even if I had ordered a brain eating zombie trap, it would be silly of me to be upset under the current weather circumstances, and totally irrational not to buy one locally, although when attacked by brain eating zombies, one typically doesn't think clearly.

I appreciate your update and fine customer service, and although I don't hope I have a need to buy more traps, if you do market a brain eating zombie trap, I'll be sure to get it from your fine company.

regards“

Pretty much everyone in customer service responded, and even thanked me for suggesting the brain eating zombie trap as a potential untapped resource for them.

To which I responded:

”I’m pretty sure you could make a zillion dollars with an effective brain eating zombie trap. You just never know when the zombie apocalypse will kick off, and frankly, even if it wasn't effective... I'm pretty sure you wouldn't get any complaint e-mails, as zombies can't type.“

At last check, my rat trap is in the vicinity and scheduled for delivery on Monday... I’ll let you know how it goes, but if you ever need any sort of pest control stuff... please visit Do My Own Pest Control

Fond Childhood Memory: The Bean Incident

I'm soaking some beans tonight because tomorrow I plan on cooking them and a hunk of ham (with bone) in the crockpot for some tasty bean soup... which jogged this fond childhood memory of the bean incident.

So, I have no idea how old I am when this happened, but every Saturday my dad use to cook something incredibly tasty, and since it was a snowy, cold day, he decided to cook ham and beans.

I'm sure you are aware that when beans are in the package, they're pretty small, and you have to soak them overnight before you cook them... well, Dad did that, but the amount of beans in one package didn't seem like a whole lot, so he used like... 5 packages.

By morning they had swelled to mammoth proportions and we had to keep transferring them to bigger and bigger bowls and we ended up having to use one of those HUGE canning pots to hold them all.  Mom was off somewhere most of the day, so we were all in charge of seasoning and watching the beans cooking to make sure they didn't double in size again and take over the kitchen. 

Since we had so many beans, we figured we'd make a few phone calls and invite half the neighborhood over, because, seriously, who can eat a vat of beans?

Well, mom had some stomach issues and couldn't eat pepper.  We did add some pepper to the beans, but just a normal amount, barely enough (in all of our opinions) to set off her stomach "condition", but when mom walked through the door later that night, the first thing she shrieked was that she could SMELL the pepper, and then went off on a tirade about her stomach condition and the pepper (mom was also going through the "change", which is yet another fond childhood memory I'll share later).

An argument ensued and just as the the neighborhood friends came into the front door, dad took the entire vat of ham and beans and threw it out the back door, much to the delight of Barney, our terrier-mix dog (the white dog on the left, the schnauzer is Baron... yet another fond childhood memory forthcoming).

I greeted the neighbors by saying "hey, glad you can make it... dad just threw the beans into the back yard".  Being good friends, they laughed until they cried, because good friends don't think its bizarre for us to toss a vat of beans into the back yard.

What Barney couldn't eat that night, he buried in the snow and feasted on it for days, and as far as I know, he thought there was just enough pepper in it.  We opened up some canned soup and drank heavily and had a good time.

Fond Childhood Memory: Christmas

Since we don't have kids and the dogs can't read calendars (they think every day they get a cookie is Christmas), its kinda hard to get into the Christmas spirit.  I truly do think that Christmas and Disney World are for kids, and that Disney World as an adult is inhumane and should be outlawed, or they include "adult land" where its nothing but alcohol and strippers.

Anyhoo, I just happened to find some black and white pics of one of my childhood Christmas times, so I thought I'd share the wonder that was "A Very Robinson Christmas"... and yes, for those of you that know my first name is Penny, I was Penny Robinson and NO I wasn't named after the stupid "Lost In Space" family (although I had an Uncle Don and my father was Jon, I did not have a little brother or a freakin robot so STFU I was named after a dog!).

See, you keep trying to ruin Christmas for me, so just be quiet and enjoy "A Very Robinson Christmas" and no, we weren't a Swiss Family either OMG will you just be quiet and enjoy the stupid pictures!

Here is our tree:

Yes, it looks like quite the motherlode of gifts under the tree, but be advised, we got socks and clothes and to make things look bountiful, my parents use to wrap everything separate... so it was "ooooh, a sock", then "oooh the other sock".

The tree was snagged from one of the local tree sellers and decorated with about 5,000 lbs of ornaments, popcorn strings, and tinsel.  We would invariable find popcorn and tinsel laden poo or cat puke around the house for weeks after, and there was always the lovely walking through the house and having your foot impaled with a brittle, splinter-like tree spike.

The "thing" in our house was that my mom would take my sister out "shopping".  Then she would take me out "shopping".  I can only vouch for my shopping, but it went something like this:
Mom - "Your sister would really like that doll"
Me - "euw, lets get her a GI Joe"
Mom - "no, I think we should get her THIS doll"
Me - "whatever"

Then, when we would unwrap our gifts, we would each get the same doll, and the same GI Joe... whatever one got, the other got.  The mindset behind that insanity was that we would never fight over gifts, because we both got the same thing.  We figured that out quickly, and just traded dolls for GI Joes and finger paints for guns, then we both had two of what we wanted.

The household tradition would be that on Christmas Eve Dad would trudge upstairs with Mom and read "Twas the Night Before Christmas" where we would both burst out laughing when the guy "threw up" the sash.  Then we were told that we had to fall asleep or santa wouldn't come.  Of course we were too keyed up to sleep and heard Santa downstairs rustling around and cursing in a voice that sounded like dad.

Around 3am we'd get up and creep downstairs and ask if it was too early, then run back upstairs when threatened with bodily harm and continue to ask each hour until finally they'd have enough and decide to get up.  Then we had to wait for the coffee to brew and they each had their first cup before we started the whole opening gift process.  We'd get each parent a gift, then get to open one, etc.

Here I am near the tree, and from the carnage it looks as though we are in mid-unwrapping.  The lovely little pajama number was sewn by my mom, who ran out of the patterned material before she made the sleeves.

Yes, that is a cow skull hanging from a beam in the ceiling, and yes, that is the sun god Rah on the wall.  Behind me is a rotary phone too.

Here is a bigger picture of the homemade pajama monstrosity.  Please note: I have the exact same hairstyle now.  Also note that the last time I was home, my mom still had the same Encyclopedia Brittanicas that we bought from some door to door salesperson dirt cheap because even by the time we bought them, they were incredibly outdated. I'm pretty sure there's an entry in them about the world being flat.

Here is my dysfunctional sister with her bounty.  Love the saddle shoes (and yes, I got the same exact freaking things).

Every year one of us would get the "big" gift.  Actually if it was for us kids, we'd each get the "big" gift, like bicycles or something.  But this year it was mom that got the big gift... a new sewing machine.  She cried over the sewing machine... seriously?  We cried over the sewing machine too, because that meant that she could sew unmatching, one sleeve too long fashions for us for school.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciated the fact that my mom tried to put us into the latest fashion, but as with all home-made clothes, its just... not right and all of the kids KNOW its not store bought, especially when your mother can't match fabric colors to save her soul (a trait she passed on to me).

Later she would take up crocheting and I had quite a collection of mutant stuffed crocheted animals.

There you have a "Very Special Robinson Christmas".

Merry Christmas to everyone out there!

Stupid Sayings

This morning, as I blew about 5lbs of crap out of my nose, I thought "great, I'm catching something".

Then I thought about how stupid that saying was.  Typically when you "catch" something, its a conscious decision to grab and hold onto something that is thrown to you.  While nobody bats an eye when you say: "I caught a cold", they would probably avoid you and label you a nutcase if you said "I caught a pile of poop".

Although germs can be "thrown" at you, typically by an inconsiderate co-worker that comes to work sick and then hacks and sneezes all over you in a meeting that you didn't want to attend in the first place, I'm pretty sure you have no choice in whether or not to "catch" those germs as they are sprayed on you at a rate of 40 mph.  Its like trying to outrun a speeding car.  So you should just say: "some inconsiderate bastard sprayed me with their cold and contaminated me."  Of course, that's a really long sentence but if you just said "I have a cold" then people will label you a plague carrier and blame you for everything as if you spontaneously contaminated yourself with a cold virus.

So, I guess having a cold is all about blaming someone else for your illness, and that you couldn't possibly be sick for no reason, but that someone threw a cold at you, and like a dumbass, you caught it without thinking.

I'm going to start a new trend:

I was attacked by a ninja cold virus.

This Old Foreclosed House - WTF Edition

In our last episode of This Old Foreclosed House, we discussed the joys of trees and the futile attempt of the bank to sell a house that was mold filled, had a whole dead tree cluttering up the front yard, and a mosquito-laden decrepit in-ground pool in the back yard.  Yep, a true "fixer-upper".

Despite numerous phone calls to the bank about this eyesore, and damage to our property, This Old Foreclosed House sat around for another few months until... yes... movement once again!

This movement was signaled by the delivery of a huge dumpster late at night and parked in the driveway.  A few days later, workmen arrived and loud banging was heard from inside the house, and pretty soon the dumpster was filling with the guts of the house.  About a week later, the dumpster disappeared and we thought that excitement was over for at least another few months, but lo and behold, there was a major development on the dance floor.

We weren't exactly sure if the pulling back of the tarp was a wind-driven event, or done on purpose.  We have had pretty high winds in the area, and since the tarp had been "secured" with bits of brick and other debris, it could have been nature's force, but apparently not because the next day, we started seeing this:

Yep, after all that work to clean the garbage out of the pool, then erect no less than three different covers for the pool (including the elaborate dance floor that succumbed to a bit of rain), workmen were, once again, using it as a giant dumpster and throwing the guts of the house in there.  LOVELY!
I was about to get on the phone with my friend the County Health Inspector when this started happening:

Holy crap!  They're ripping the whole back part of the house off!  Of course, this is perfectly logical, you see the old couple that lived there had that edition added onto their house, and I'm pretty sure they had their third cousin from a fourth marriage who owed some guy a favor who knew a guy that once worked at a home improvement store and owned his own hammer do the work.  I'm also pretty sure that right after the new edition was added, their basement flooding problems started because instead of putting up adequate gutters and downspouts, they saved money by ending a gutter in the middle of the new edition and snaking a garden hose from the gutter to the side of the house.

The only problem I have with this whole new work flow (being a logical and thoughtful person) is that it would make more sense (and make the job easier) to have a dumpster parked close by so you can throw the debris into the dumpster, rather than duplicating effort by ripping the place to shreds and THEN having to go pick up the debris... which leads me to believe that perhaps the intent is to fill up the pool with house debris, then covering it up again.  Nobody is that stupid... yeah, right.

So, as the work progressed, and please note that the work crew consists of three guys, a hammer, a crow bar and a pack of cigarettes, we've now revealed the lovely platform and the tipsy deck.  When they finished on Wednesday, here is what's left:

I haven't seen them back today, and because it is the eve before Christmas eve, they may be taking the day off.  This means they won't be back until Monday (I hope they plan on coming back to at least finish the destruction) and we're suppose to either get a blizzard, or not... yeah... fun!

Perspective

Recently on a news channel (which surprisingly had actual news on it) Lobsterman and I saw a report about vandals spray painting graffiti over ancient rock art.

Ok, so we're all suppose to be disgusted by this blatant disregard for history and wanton destruction of ancient pictographs... until Lobsterman put it into better perspective:

Prehistoric times:

Modern times:

Yep, its all perspective.

Shopping With Lobster Man

Before Thanksgiving I had to run to the store and pick up a few things so we could survive 5 whole days without leaving the house.  Nothing says holidays like stocking up on supplies and pretending the whole world has ended and your whole existence is the inside of your house... which is pretty much how we see the "holidays" between November and January.

Ok, so its not like the whole world has ended, its more like the whole world has lost its mind and in the spirit of giving and love, will shoot you for a parking spot at the mall.

I will spare you the usual whining and complaining of going to Costco, then Bed Bath & Beyond, and that's just what I was saying, you have no idea what Lobsterman was keening and screaming about, and frankly I won't put you through it.

Needless to say, the highlight of our trip was standing in line at BB&B with an arm full of k-cup boxes.  BB&B always tries to sucker you into buying some strange item or another by filling their checkout counters with so much crap, that invariably you'll knock something over and be forced to buy it when it breaks.  You barely have enough room to slap up that gargantuan comforter or pillows for scanning without buying half the "as seen on tv" crap they're trying to get rid of.

This time, I actually saw something that looked promising and pointed it out to Loberster Man:

"look, there's something you need! Its a Lotion Applicator Back Brush!"

Lobster Man is always complaining about having itchy dry back skin so I figured that would be the solution to all of his problems and one less thing to complain about.

He looked at it carefully and then said:
"But that's what you're for".

AWWWW!  Nothing says love like realizing that I'm only around to slather lotion on his dry scaly back!  He knows just the right things to say to win over a woman. 

In my head:

The Comfort Zone, Explained

I'm a Hoosier.  I grew up thinking that the rest of the world operated with an arm's length comfort zone, and only hugged very close family members, and typically we only hugged at funerals, when someone was moving away, or to perform the Heimlich Maneuver.  Even the Heimlich Maneuver required a lot of thought and imminent death before the comfort zone was breached for strangers.

Color me surprised when I went through Air Force basic training in Texas and found a whole new culture of people that hugged perfect strangers for no reason whatsoever, and thought nothing of standing mere inches away as they talked to you.  The typical response was to take a step back, but they would take a step toward you, step back, step forward.  Sometimes I would be trapped against a wall with no way to flee.  At desperate times, I'd push out my arm and physically move them away from me, which always brought on the whole discussion of "comfort zone" and how silly it was and then some kind of hugging attempt and then violence.

Seriously, I'll just flail at you if you penetrate my comfort zone boundary.  I can't help it.  Its in the DNA, hard wired, no control whatsoever, so there have been incidences.

This whole blog post is to explain my recent Facebook status of: Dear Old Lady at the Grocery store: Get the F out of my way.

I like old ladies.  I like old guys as well, especially because most old guys are WWII vets and deserve respect and an easy life... but I draw the line at old ladies who:
1.) toddle down the middle of a supermarket aisle, stop in the middle of the supermarket aisle, block the entire aisle while trying to figure out what brand of bread crumbs to pick up.
2.) wander right in front of you, stop suddenly, back up without looking, then sneer at you because you are in their way
3.) Stop in the middle of the beginning of an aisle and won't let anyone pass until they figure out if that's the aisle they need to go down, then walk slowly in front of you
and the most important one:
4.) appear suddenly behind you without any warning (or waft of too much perfume) and are so close you could share a jacket.... then follow closely behind you as if any moment she would jump on your back for a ride down the aisle.


No matter where I fled, no matter which aisle I turned down, that old lady was riding my ass every step of the way.  It was like being stalked by... an old lady.  I managed to lose her in the canned vegetable aisle and didn't see her for the rest of my visit, but I'll be damned if she didn't toddle out of the store, walk slowly behind my truck, left her cart behind my truck as she freaking parked right next to me and sloooooowly took each bag out of the cart and carried it over to her trunk.

So... I'm sure that justifies my Facebook status, and I do think that I should get some credit for not posting the follow up:

Dear Old Lady in the parking lot of the grocery store: sorry about running you over.

My Work Day Exercise Plan

Some people have asked how I manage to keep my stick-like figure all these years.

Simple, I go to work where my exercise routine consists of:

1. Crawling out from under the bus that somebody throws me under, and

 

2. Dodging bullets

That's just a typical Monday. 

At the Airport

Last night I was at the airport waiting to pick up Lobsterman.

I'm standing at Gate C.

A guy walks up to me and says "Do you know what gate this is?"

I say "C"

He says "Oh my gosh, do you speak english?"

It was then that I realized I was in a Jack Benny skit

Another Threat to Mankind

Just when I thought it was bad enough that I had to fight my way through roving gangs of feral Girl Scouts hawking their crack-laced cookies at supermarkets.

There came a knock on my door... a tiny little Boy Scout, looking very optimistic and eager... until I opened the door.  For some reason he took a few steps back and looked toward the street (where I'm sure his enforcer mom was waiting in a idling car, ready to flee the scene if trouble ensued... or mace me).  Sensing his fear, I tried to put on my nicest "kid" voice, which sounds similar to my "give me the dead squirrel" voice I use on the dogs (typically neither get the desired effect).

"Can I help you?"

The little kid (who was clearly puntable in case he came at me with his clipboard) asked if I wanted to buy a tin of popcorn... for TEN DOLLARS.

Ok, I was thinking those gargantuan-sized Costco tins that can fit one or two little boy scouts, so I figured, what the hey and marked myself down for one... then clearly by the look of utter expectation, I surmised that he needed the money up front, then I would have to wait months for the carmelly goodness, no doubt mass produced by children his age in some foreign country sweat shop.  FINE, I go get my wallet and discover I only have a freakin 20.  Guessing that the future Bill Gates of carmel corn doesn't have change, I decide to be all nice and put myself down for two of the stupid buckets of popcorn.  He grabbed the money and ran.

It was only after I got back inside that I realized that I was in full "weekend mode"

Corrupting Boy Scouts, one scout at a time with my stylish Meeshka Justice system t-shirt (available on cafe press), and insane hair.

A few days go by and there's another tap on the door... its the scout, out of uniform, holding two of the tiniest little tins of carmel corn I had ever seen.  We're talking TINY, itty bitty.  Not nearly $20 bucks worth of anything in those tins... not even GOLD and we all know how much that is now.  He literally throws the tins at me (even though I'm wearing normal public clothes because I just got home from work).

The next day I take one of the ridiculously tiny tins to work to snack on.  Just as I suspected, its loaded with crack, and now I'm cruising the neighborhood looking for the little brat with my entire life's savings for another fix.

Bored

Lobsterman is taking another trip, so I'm left at home catching up on episodes of "Hoarders" with a large supply of contractor bags... what to do, what to do?

This weekend was actually boring.  Normally I've got a huge list of things I need to do (that hardly ever get done), and the compelling need to do things, but this weekend I lost all will to do anything, so I did nothing... and you know... that can get contagious.

Oh sure, I did THINGS.  I had a dermatologist appointment to inspect my skin.  Being a redhead prior to the invention of SPF anything, chances of my fair, easily cooked skin to generate all sorts of nasty big "C" things is pretty astronomical, and since I had something pre-nasty frozen off my nose (oh how I wish I had one of those freezy container things... that fun I could have at work), the doctor felt it necessary to inspect every epi of my derm... is.

Never having gone through one of them, I could only imagine that you stood on a giant lazy susan and spun around while the doctor peered at your through a gigantic magnifying glass.  Apparently not, although that would have been faster than the guy trying to peer meekly at skin around the crinkly paper gown from hell.  Please someone explain to me why paper gowns are large enough to fit 4 of me, but the little plastic tie wrap thing barely goes all the way around to tie? 

Also, for those of you that go have the derm inspection: wear a bra... even if you are a guy.  You can keep your bra and underwear on (they encourage it) therefore I've noodled it through and have come to the conclusion that bras and underwear keep you from developing skin cancer in those areas because if you can keep them on, then they aren't going to look under there, therefore there's no reason to look under there, therefore bra and underwear material must ward off the big "C".  Where's my Nobel Peace Prize?

As I write this, Lobsterman is texting me pictures of his lobster and prime rib meal that he claims he was forced to eat because Dallas only has lobster and prime rib places... apparently no McDonalds or anything cheaper... how odd...

Which reminds me of the wonderful box I got via Fedex on Friday... Lobersterman's dirty clothes from his last trip.  In case you are wondering, its cheaper to Fedex your clothes to your trip destination than pay the baggage fees the airlines charge you, plus Fedex usually doesn't steal your possessions and try on your underwear and take pictures of it and post it on facebook... not that this has happened... that I'm aware of, but...


Anyhoo, Saturday was spent making stew.  Ok, I threw a bunch of stuff in a crock pot, plugge it in and turned it on (which can be challenging... completing all steps in the proper order) and then sat on my ass all day watching tv.

Sunday I washed all of Lobersterman's dirty clothes and threw them into another suitcase, which leads me to my next topic:  Denny's: the Activia Alternative.

I'll save that for another blog post, as I'm sure that's another Nobel Peace Prize in the making and I don't want to seem selfish getting two awards in one day... and now Lobsterman is telling me that I need to just go eat at this place he's at and order a Venti Au Jus... lovely.  I'd better go up and eat my peanut butter sandwich before that's spoiled by all of the Au Jus drool.

I was going to write about how boring it is here without Lobsterman, but now all I want is a cup of Au Jus.