I must admit that I am somewhat of a facial hair aficionado. Eyebrows are the clear winners by far, but I am more than willing to give beards and mustaches their props.
Props to you beards and mustaches.
Now, that being said, don't let my husband know. Though his job requires he keep his face as smooth and hairless as possible, he would much rather include himself in the ranks of people like this.
Again, props to you.
Like I said, I appreciate and admire facial hair but for some reason I don't want it that close to me. Perhaps I have seen the Skittles commercial too many times. Creepy, in my humble opinion.
Maybe I should institute a four-foot rule where a beard is not allowed to get any closer than four feet to me at any given time. A sort of look but don't touch policy. And God help it if it reaches across a table to touch my face. That is not what beards are for. Purely aesthetic.
So to reiterate: I like facial hair. It is good to look at. Hell will break loose if it tries to communicate with me. Yay eyebrows.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
If You Don't Stand For Something You'll Fall For Anything
For longer than I can remember there has been one thing I have believed with all my heart. It seems so fundamentally simple that I am truly shocked not everyone feels the same way on this one matter.
I, with every fiber of my being, believe if you don't know what something is you do not pick it up.
If you have the need for someone to help you identify what this something is you should ask the person to come to the unidentified object - not pick up the object and bring it to the person on the other end of the house.
Example one: When my sister and I were younger, say I was 9 and my sister was 5, her cat was pregnant. No one knew because she was black and black is a very slimming color. Anyway, the moment of the blessed event came and I was doing something somewhere when my little sister came to me.
In a shaky voice she put her hand up to me and said, "What is this?"
Being the logical person I am and half awake/half asleep and seeing something not readily identifiable to my bleary eyes I shout, "Oh my God, drop it!"
Because you don't pick up things if you don't know what they are.
My eyes focused and I realized that my sister had panicked when I shouted at her and dropped the kitten. The kitten survived and went on to become a lawyer and raise a lovely family of kittens that never picked up things they couldn't identify.
Example two: This next example is gross and thoroughly illustrates that I have a long way to go on my road to domestic goddess status, but get over it - it was an oversight and it hasn't happened again.
My cat throws up. This one time I was busy and didn't clean it up right away. So, I did what any right-minded person would do and covered it with a bowl so I didn't step in it and no one else mucked around in it or something.
Then we left for Tennessee.
Then we came home 3 or 4 days later and my dear, sweet husband was straightening up.
He comes to me and put his hand up to me and said, "What is this?"
"Oh my God, put that down!" I immediately shouted as everything came back to me and my amnesia was cured.
"What? Why? What is it?"
"It's cat vomit," I explained as he freaked out.
Yes, I know. Gross. But it was one time. And more importantly, he shouldn't have picked it up if he didn't know what it was, which would have kept me from having to include it in this post.
And so on and so forth as it were.
The thing is that my belief not only saves you from grossness but it saves you from disaster too. Trojan horse anyone?
I, with every fiber of my being, believe if you don't know what something is you do not pick it up.
If you have the need for someone to help you identify what this something is you should ask the person to come to the unidentified object - not pick up the object and bring it to the person on the other end of the house.
Example one: When my sister and I were younger, say I was 9 and my sister was 5, her cat was pregnant. No one knew because she was black and black is a very slimming color. Anyway, the moment of the blessed event came and I was doing something somewhere when my little sister came to me.
In a shaky voice she put her hand up to me and said, "What is this?"
Being the logical person I am and half awake/half asleep and seeing something not readily identifiable to my bleary eyes I shout, "Oh my God, drop it!"
Because you don't pick up things if you don't know what they are.
My eyes focused and I realized that my sister had panicked when I shouted at her and dropped the kitten. The kitten survived and went on to become a lawyer and raise a lovely family of kittens that never picked up things they couldn't identify.
Example two: This next example is gross and thoroughly illustrates that I have a long way to go on my road to domestic goddess status, but get over it - it was an oversight and it hasn't happened again.
My cat throws up. This one time I was busy and didn't clean it up right away. So, I did what any right-minded person would do and covered it with a bowl so I didn't step in it and no one else mucked around in it or something.
Then we left for Tennessee.
Then we came home 3 or 4 days later and my dear, sweet husband was straightening up.
He comes to me and put his hand up to me and said, "What is this?"
"Oh my God, put that down!" I immediately shouted as everything came back to me and my amnesia was cured.
"What? Why? What is it?"
"It's cat vomit," I explained as he freaked out.
Yes, I know. Gross. But it was one time. And more importantly, he shouldn't have picked it up if he didn't know what it was, which would have kept me from having to include it in this post.
And so on and so forth as it were.
The thing is that my belief not only saves you from grossness but it saves you from disaster too. Trojan horse anyone?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
All I Really Want is Squirrels
I love squirrels. First they fall into the category of jelly-bean shaped animals which I am so fond of. Second, that fluffy tail, yeah the one that separates them from rats... it really does make a difference.
I was talking to my mom the other day about how I wanted to be a squirrel. I made sure to clarify that it had to be on the best day ever for a squirrel. I wanted to be one on the day she gets a promotion at work and finds all the nuts she had stored and wins the lottery - the day that all the good things that could happen to a squirrel happened.
Seriously, it would suck to get to be a squirrel and become just another statistic of "This just in: Squirrel maimed in hit-and-run accident. Squirrel authorities have no leads but said the vehicle must have been large because there is almost nothing left of Ed."
This leads me to the, "If there were one thing I would change about them it would be..." part of this entry. If there would be one thing I would change about them it would be their indecisiveness.
Squirrels are notoriously squirrely especially when it comes to crossing the roads. They need to be trained to stay the course and keep charging ahead. I really think if they didn't practice so much of the whole "I'm crossing the street now... Oh did I shut the garage door?... Yes, I see it now... Damn, I forgot my... No, I have it here... What is that noise... It's getting louder... Best stay put... AARRRggh..." mentality they would have a much higher survival rate when it came to crossing the road.
Unfortunately, I have been on the driving side of the hit and (attempted) run. This is my story:
One day as I was driving to work, my car was attacked by a squirrel. I realize that being broad-sided by a squirrel doesn't compare with a deer, but the event was traumatic nonetheless.
I was listening to the radio when from the corner of my eye I noticed a small gray squirrel with a bright, bushy tail and small shifty eyes. I looked deep into the squirrel's beady eyes and noticed a look that could only be described as crazed. It was then that I knew there was going to be trouble.
I tried to go into stealth mode, but I drive a Ford, not a Stealth Bomber, so this attempt was thwarted. I then decided to drive as quietly as possible in hopes that the squirrel would not notice me. Since I haven't mastered the art of driving quietly this was also unsuccessful.
I decided to take my chances and drove past the squirrel while avoiding eye contact, under the pretense that if I can't see you, you can't see me, of course.
Next thing I knew, an irate squirrel was charging my car. I tried to stop. I tried to swerve, but all attempts were futile. What lasted a minute will weigh on my conscience for a lifetime.
That squirrel was dead set on hitting my car though. Even though I had never met that squirrel before, he had a score to settle. Hurling itself at full force towards my car the kamikaze squirrel ran into my tire.
As I continued driving with the hope that what had happened hadn't happened I looked into my rear view mirror. All I saw was the squirrel lying on his side with his tail straight up in the air; the white side facing me as if to say, "I surrender; you win." Then, slowly, its tail fell to the ground.
I turned around and drove back by the little guy, maybe I was hoping he had trotted off back to his family or maybe I thought I was going to give him CPR. I can't be sure; I was too shaken.
To help myself sleep at night I have convinced myself I didn't kill that squirrel. Sure it was fool-hardy for the squirrel to take on my car, but it is my belief that is what he did. He was defending the millions of squirrels taken out by cars each year by taking a stand against my car. So I have come to the conclusion that it wasn't me. The squirrel clearly had a heart attack upon running up to my car to attack. His poor little jelly bean shaped rodent heart couldn't handle what his brain was making him do.
I mean he must have been really worked up.
The point is I don't want to be a squirrel on a day like that.
I was talking to my mom the other day about how I wanted to be a squirrel. I made sure to clarify that it had to be on the best day ever for a squirrel. I wanted to be one on the day she gets a promotion at work and finds all the nuts she had stored and wins the lottery - the day that all the good things that could happen to a squirrel happened.
Seriously, it would suck to get to be a squirrel and become just another statistic of "This just in: Squirrel maimed in hit-and-run accident. Squirrel authorities have no leads but said the vehicle must have been large because there is almost nothing left of Ed."
This leads me to the, "If there were one thing I would change about them it would be..." part of this entry. If there would be one thing I would change about them it would be their indecisiveness.
Squirrels are notoriously squirrely especially when it comes to crossing the roads. They need to be trained to stay the course and keep charging ahead. I really think if they didn't practice so much of the whole "I'm crossing the street now... Oh did I shut the garage door?... Yes, I see it now... Damn, I forgot my... No, I have it here... What is that noise... It's getting louder... Best stay put... AARRRggh..." mentality they would have a much higher survival rate when it came to crossing the road.
Unfortunately, I have been on the driving side of the hit and (attempted) run. This is my story:
One day as I was driving to work, my car was attacked by a squirrel. I realize that being broad-sided by a squirrel doesn't compare with a deer, but the event was traumatic nonetheless.
I was listening to the radio when from the corner of my eye I noticed a small gray squirrel with a bright, bushy tail and small shifty eyes. I looked deep into the squirrel's beady eyes and noticed a look that could only be described as crazed. It was then that I knew there was going to be trouble.
I tried to go into stealth mode, but I drive a Ford, not a Stealth Bomber, so this attempt was thwarted. I then decided to drive as quietly as possible in hopes that the squirrel would not notice me. Since I haven't mastered the art of driving quietly this was also unsuccessful.
I decided to take my chances and drove past the squirrel while avoiding eye contact, under the pretense that if I can't see you, you can't see me, of course.
Next thing I knew, an irate squirrel was charging my car. I tried to stop. I tried to swerve, but all attempts were futile. What lasted a minute will weigh on my conscience for a lifetime.
That squirrel was dead set on hitting my car though. Even though I had never met that squirrel before, he had a score to settle. Hurling itself at full force towards my car the kamikaze squirrel ran into my tire.
As I continued driving with the hope that what had happened hadn't happened I looked into my rear view mirror. All I saw was the squirrel lying on his side with his tail straight up in the air; the white side facing me as if to say, "I surrender; you win." Then, slowly, its tail fell to the ground.
I turned around and drove back by the little guy, maybe I was hoping he had trotted off back to his family or maybe I thought I was going to give him CPR. I can't be sure; I was too shaken.
To help myself sleep at night I have convinced myself I didn't kill that squirrel. Sure it was fool-hardy for the squirrel to take on my car, but it is my belief that is what he did. He was defending the millions of squirrels taken out by cars each year by taking a stand against my car. So I have come to the conclusion that it wasn't me. The squirrel clearly had a heart attack upon running up to my car to attack. His poor little jelly bean shaped rodent heart couldn't handle what his brain was making him do.
I mean he must have been really worked up.
The point is I don't want to be a squirrel on a day like that.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Infestation
My house has been infested. I should point out it is nothing new; I just sort of realized how big of a problem it is.
The realization dawned as me as I watched the 18-month old wonder-child pouring his breakfast Cheerios (as opposed to his lunch and dinner Cheerios) onto the floor and into a new bowl. He then picked select Cheerios up and put them carefully into an oven mitt.
Now, I can''t be 100 percent sure, but I can be as close to that as possible, that if he is doing these things while I am watching he is doing this when I am not watching. Well, that is when he's not too busy climbing to the top of a bookcase, petting the animals with his face, and throwing everything I hold dear away with his diapers.
I have heard time and time again a story about my husband putting his Cheerios in the hay loft of a Little People barn and down in the air conditioning vents. So, this leads me to believe one thing and that is: these innocuous little 'O' shaped finger foods have been infesting people's houses for generations.
So, I know there are Cheerios in oven mitts and twice a day (Hehe) I vacuum them up off the floor, but the infestation begins past that point. I don't even know where to begin looking for stashes of Cheerios. They could be anywhere. I'm growing wary of putting on closed-toe shoes, looking too carefully into my way-too-often open dresser drawers and so on, but I know if I don't the infestation will get worse. Way worse. A worse I don't even want to thing about.
I have one saving grace on my war against the infestation of Cheerios and that is my cat that likes to eat anything that ends with 'O' - Frito's, Doritos, and, thankfully, Cheerios.
The realization dawned as me as I watched the 18-month old wonder-child pouring his breakfast Cheerios (as opposed to his lunch and dinner Cheerios) onto the floor and into a new bowl. He then picked select Cheerios up and put them carefully into an oven mitt.
Now, I can''t be 100 percent sure, but I can be as close to that as possible, that if he is doing these things while I am watching he is doing this when I am not watching. Well, that is when he's not too busy climbing to the top of a bookcase, petting the animals with his face, and throwing everything I hold dear away with his diapers.
I have heard time and time again a story about my husband putting his Cheerios in the hay loft of a Little People barn and down in the air conditioning vents. So, this leads me to believe one thing and that is: these innocuous little 'O' shaped finger foods have been infesting people's houses for generations.
So, I know there are Cheerios in oven mitts and twice a day (Hehe) I vacuum them up off the floor, but the infestation begins past that point. I don't even know where to begin looking for stashes of Cheerios. They could be anywhere. I'm growing wary of putting on closed-toe shoes, looking too carefully into my way-too-often open dresser drawers and so on, but I know if I don't the infestation will get worse. Way worse. A worse I don't even want to thing about.
I have one saving grace on my war against the infestation of Cheerios and that is my cat that likes to eat anything that ends with 'O' - Frito's, Doritos, and, thankfully, Cheerios.
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