Tag Archives: humor

Perpetually Pursuing Perfection

Posted on by
Reply

Like most of my family, I am an over-achiever. If I do something, I don’t want to be pretty good. I want to be an expert.

png-yarn-and-knitting-needles-describe-your-image-1164

When I was a journalist for Indy Car Racing Magazine and essentially lived at the Speedway the entire month of May, I could tell a Lola chassis from a Penske from the other end of the straightaway, and even the model year. I could identify a Chevrolet engine from a Cosworth the second it fired up.

You’d think this kind of obsessive, determined, perfectionist nature would make me a great athlete. I guess it could have, but I dislike perspiration, and competition makes my stomach hurt.

My brain needs to be busy all the time, learning and perfecting new things. Editing is the perfect job for me, because I learn something new with each manuscript, whether it’s a fact learned from the story itself, or a better way to structure a sentence.

Which, as I described in this post earlier this week, is how the whole knitting thing started.

I’ve crocheted since I was a kid, meaning I have 40+ years of experience. I briefly experimented with knitting maybe seven or eight years ago (probably longer, since I’m old and even 1990 doesn’t sound like that long ago) but never pursued it.

Now I’m back at it, and the over-achieving perfectionist in me is getting mouthy.  “I’ve been knitting for almost an entire week! Why is this not perfect? Why can’t I knit intricate cable designs yet?”

Never mind that I can’t change colors yet, add or decrease stitches, or any of about a million other skills I still need to master. I want to know it all. Right. Now.

Why can’t I make these yet? Why??????

I’m purposely, against everything I stand for, moving slowly in my knitting evolution, trying to refine basic skills before tackling the next thing. As you can see from the images below, the white stuff being some practice swatches and the green one being my first soon-to-be-completed piece, I’m working on straight, flat, single-color skills at the moment, nothing more than knits, purls, and casting on and off.

The green thing is allegedly a dishcloth, according to the pattern. I don’t understand why anyone would spend hours making something so pretty just to scrub melted cheese and congealed grease from a plate, though, so this is something else. Not sure what yet. Maybe a hot pad or trivet. Or the first item in Lori’s Knitting Museum. I also didn’t use kitchen cotton yarn. It’s regular old acrylic.

I went to the craft store a few days ago and bought a beginner’s kit. It has a couple different size metal needles and a lot of little gadgets and gizmos of which I do not yet know the purpose, but I’ll get there. I also got a pair of bamboo needles, in case I decide I like them better. I have a full set of bamboo crochet hooks, which I have never used. They were free, though, so I don’t feel too badly about that. Who knows? Maybe knitting needles are different.

intro-to-knitting-needles

One thing is certain. There are zillions of needle options. Metal, plastic, or wood. Long, not-so-long, double-pointed, circular, in sizes from itty-bitty to bigger than a broomstick. I just know every new project will involve new tools, because it’ll be a while before my knitting kit is as comprehensive as my crochet kit. Anybody have old knitting gear they don’t use? I will accept donations! 🙂

I’ve learned this all by myself, using website diagrams, YouTube tutorials, the book that came in my knitting kit, and trial and error. Which means I’m probably doing a shit-ton of things wrong.

I was texting my friend Jess, who is an experienced knitter, a few nights ago. I need to get her on a plane to NC to tutor me. She asked me if I was an English or Continental knitter. How the f*** should I know? What does that even mean? 

Sigh. Google.

Turns out I’m a Continental knitter, using my left hand to handle the yarn, which is an easier method for crochet people to learn. And then my brain was happy because I learned something new.

The pattern I got has three “dishcloth” patterns, which could be hot pads or place mats or scarves, depending on how long it takes before I get bored and want to make something else. I’ll make one of each, then move on to something with another challenge in it. Color change, adding or decreasing stitches, something pretty or fancy.

I need to hurry up and become an expert knitter, though, because about five years ago I bought a set of Tunisian crochet hooks and two books, tinkered with a few basic stitches, but sort of lost interest. Now I want to be an expert at that too.

That Time I Might Have Been Replaced By An Alien

Posted on by
1

These two posts appeared a few days apart in 2010. The only significant changes since then are I do cook and bake more often, I now prefer rum to wine, I no longer apply eyeliner to go to the store, and we did escape Minnesota for the more hospitable clime of eastern North Carolina. Oh, and no aliens or clones showed up to help us pack. Stupid aliens.

If It’s Not Aliens, It’s Something Just As Bad

 

Dear FFFans,

Try not to panic, but I have reason to believe Lori has been abducted and replaced by a simulacrum.

Erth

Creatures of interest in possible abduction

Earlier this morning, she professed her determination to remain on the Sofur, reading smut on George-the-Kindle all day. In fact, last night, she had this conversation with Tom:

Lori: I worked my ass off today. I’m not getting off the Sofur at all tomorrow if I can help it.

Tom: Do you really have to get off it? You’ve got the computer and George right there.

Lori: Yeah, I love it. It’s like Command Central.

Tom: So, why get up?

Lori: (points to the right) Because the bathroom is over there. (points behind) And the kitchen is back there. (pauses, considering) But seriously, if I had a mini-fridge and a potty-couch, I’d never have to move.

She is, obviously, quite committed to her Sofur Slugdom.

Yet this morning, she did some disturbingly out-of-character things. Before 10 a.m., she put on jeans. While it is true many people leave the house in their plaid flannel jammie pants, she never does that.

She also applied eyeliner, because if she doesn’t have on her terribly dated eyeliner, she claims to be unable to recognize her own face.

Then, she put on shoes. Shoes.

She drove to SuperTarget and began buying (brace yourselves) ingredients. She has a powerful, nearly pathological aversion to ingredients, because those imply an intent to cook, which she avoids at all costs. Yet there she was, with her red shopping cart, cruising up and down the aisles, selecting ingredients.

She is now, as we speak, in the process of making vegetable bison soup. And chocolate chip banana bread. Both. From. Scratch. Read those last three words again. It’s the only way you might start to believe them.

I don’t know how she’s going to accomplish this, but must assume by the end of the day there will be a huge cauldron of soup (because she can’t make a small batch) and a loaf of chocolate chip banana bread.

It’s terrifying, actually.

On top of that, she was seen emptying the canister of the vacuum, implying that she may actually make use of it sometime today, probably when BroZarkWin are outside. Why would she do that? She’s developed the inability to see dog hair on the carpet, much to Tom’s everlasting disappointment. But the evidence speaks for itself.

Are you hiding under the bed yet? Should we suspect a doppelganger? Alien possession? Pod people? Some sort of personality-altering brain worm?

If you weren’t already prepared to barricade yourself in the basement, you should start collecting boards and nails and enough supplies to last you till this situation is resolved. (There’s no telling who might be next!)

And the most unsettling part of the story is about to be revealed.

She did not stop at the Liquorette on the way home, despite having barely a single glass of wine left in the fridge. True, there is bourbon, but still. Wine is yummy. She loves wine. Currently, Alice White Lexia, to be exact. Yet she did not stop to visit Tim and Bill and Young Guy and Woman With The Long Hair, or any of her other Liquorette friends.

If this bizarre behavior continues, I’m going to count on you to mobilize the Men In Black. There’s no way Tom is going to do it. He’s going to think this impostor is a definite improvement.

The fate of this household – or possibly the world – is in your hands.

 

 

All Clear

For those of you who took Tuesday’s advice and boarded yourselves in the basement and are reading this on your smart phones, it’s safe to come out now.

It seems I entered some sort of fugue state a few days ago, and while there I – or someone impersonating me – made a full cauldron of soup (Yes, a “cauldron.” What else could it be?) and chocolate chip banana bread.

She/It also vacuumed copious amounts of dog hair from the carpet, and did not guzzle any wine. I know – it is still freaking me out a little bit.

I’m still unsure if it should be attributed to alien abduction or a doppelganger, but the point is I’m back now. I’m sure you remember me. The cynical, self-centered, apathetic, lazy, wine-swilling, reclusive bitch with all the dogs. Yep, that’s me.

I was probably returned because I had to go to the dentist yesterday, for what was the final time, regardless of the opinion of the staff at Otsego Dental. What alien or doppelganger wants to sit through a “full mouth debridement?” Probably none, and definitely not the one who had gained temporary control over my brain.

Hell, I didn’t even want to be there. I don’t know how long a regular dental cleaning takes. I can, however, testify that a full mouth debridement takes an hour and a half, and leaves your gums looking and feeling as if you’re suffering from an advanced case of scurvy.

This is what happens when you have not had your teeth cleaned in eight years. The procedure is apparently only slightly less involved than excavating a pachycephalosaurus from a 75-million-year-old fossil bed. I can definitely confirm that it uses many of the same tools.

So, I have returned. The best part about the whole situation is that there is still plenty of soup and some chocolate chip banana bread left. Whoever was handling things in my absence sure made some yummy stuff.

And if she’d show up again for a while when it’s time to bulldoze junk out of my house so we can get ready to sell it, that’d be awesome, because that’s one part of the whole “Leaving Minnesota” adventure that I’m dreading.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled, non-basement-hiding activities.

 

Classic: Fun For the Frozen

Posted on by
Reply

This post appeared on Fermented Fur nine years ago today. Since it’s currently approaching 80 sunny degrees here in eastern North Carolina, I’m enjoying the contrast of what February used to be when we lived in the Frozen North.

When you both have the day off, and you’ve been in sort of a rut, it would seem to be a good thing to say, “Hey! Let’s go out today and do something fun!” There are three reasons why this is not true.

  1. This is Minnesota
  2. It is February
  3. I am neither a polar bear nor a Siberian husky

When going anywhere involves donning a coat that is essentially an Everest-rated sleeping bag with sleeves, just so you don’t freeze and start dropping appendages in various parking lots, your options are somewhat limited.

Yes, many Minnesotans thrive on winter activities, such as ice-fishing (two problems, ice and fishing), snowmobiling (don’t have one, don’t want one), cross country skiing (talk about excessive physical exertion), or skijoring. This involves dogs pulling you on skis, like a sled dog race without the sled or the diptheria. However, my dogs would take off chasing a squirrel or something and drag me into a river.

Lemans20031

They look like they know what they’re doing. I’d be face-down being dragged through the underbrush.

Bowling. This is technically a physical activity, and I avoid those whenever possible. However, it does take place indoors, and there is the possibility of snacks and adult beverages, so I’m occasionally willing to consider it.

Still, there are a couple of problems. Bowling alleys have started to get all militant, at least around here. It’s hard to find a place where you can still eat and drink at your lane. They want you to go back behind the rail to the area designated for eating and alcohol consumption. This adds way too much inconvenience (walking), and when combined with the physical exertion inherent to the activity, drops bowling way down my list of desirable “fun day” activities.

30-bowling-is-the-ideal-sport-funny-quote

The bowling alley closest to us isn’t there anymore. (Try not to choke on the irony…) A few winters ago it got so much snow on the roof that it collapsed. Winter in Minnesota. Sigh.

If you choose the bowling option, it will burn maybe four hours of your day before your bowling arm is limp with painful exhaustion and you can’t drink any more and still get home without a DUI.

The Mall. I am not a recreational shopper. I haven’t even set foot in a mall in several years. When I need something, I go to the nearest retail establishment that has it, make the purchase, and come home. Walking around a local mall might kill a few hours, but even if you don’t buy anything it will still cost some money, since lunch is a requirement. Otherwise I could have just stayed home and not bought stuff on eBay.

As you are probably aware, Minnesota is the home of the Mall of America. I’ve lived here for 13 years, and I have been there several times. But no more than necessary, believe me. It’s an easy way to kill the better part of the day, if you are so inclined, but there’s a lot of walking. Like, Appalachian Trail amounts of walking. And since I don’t shop for fun, it would be a lot of totally unrewarded walking.

Factor in lunch, and little to no alcohol since the Mall is 45 minutes away, and I’m seeing an outlay of cash that is not providing sufficient amounts of fun.

636096796911731983-1405657170_mall-33

Oh, and there are people there. Lots of people. Many of them children. Another valid reason to avoid MOA.

Going Out To Lunch: Simple concept, right? But we have the time/money ratio dilemma again. A nice lunch (because I ain’t going to Denny’s), with drinks, is going to cost at least $50, maybe as much as $75, depending on whether we have appetizers and the number of beverages consumed. If there are significant drinks (which in my book determines the quality of any lunch date), we have to be close to home. I mean like close enough that we could walk if necessary, which leaves all of maybe 2 options, and “going out” somewhere that you could still see your house from the parking lot is kind of pathetic.

002580_thumb01

Rockwoods…close to home and super delicious

Even the nicest yummy, drink-filled lunch close to home is going to kill perhaps two hours of a long, dull day.

The Casino. On the surface, this would look like a stupid idea. When you don’t have a lot of money, why would you want to go out of your way to give it all to a bunch of happy, smiling Ojibwe? Allow me to explain our reasoning.

When Tom asks if I want to go to the casino, I never want to.

Tom: Wanna go to the c–?

Me (cutting him off): No.

He likes to throw this randomly into any conversation or period of silence, just to see if I’m paying attention.

I am.

It’s about an hour and twenty minutes to the casino, and the drive is boring as hell. The drive home is even more boring, because it’s usually dark and I can’t read without the map light, and that’s just annoying. But after I run the other “day of fun” options through my head, I sometimes give in.

We never take money we can’t afford to spend, so it’s usually around $100. A typical day goes something like this. One of us does well in the morning, cashing out machines for more than we put in. The other one can’t hit anything to save their life. We consume many free Diet Pepsis, then we break for the buffet lunch, for which we have a coupon for a free or discounted meal thanks to the players’ card.

After lunch, our fortunes usually change. The person whose luck was good in the morning is suddenly swearing at machines or wandering around muttering, looking for a machine that seems like it would like to give us a bunch of money. The other one is now on a roll, making up the deficit. At some point, we go, “Oh, hell, the dogs have got to be starving by now.” Then we cash out and go home with almost the same amount of money we had when we got there.

True, sometimes we end up spending everything we brought, but not usually. It tends to be a break-even day, and we’ve killed 8-10 hours, and had lunch. No drinks, though, because the casino is on Ojibwe land and is dry. Unless you’re staying the night and keep a bottle in your room. Which we’ve done. But not recently.

grand-casino

It’s like a teeny-tiny, alcohol-free Vegas. Sort of.

Since we have such a long drive home, though, day-trips to the casino can’t be a drink-fest, so the whole “dry” thing is fine. I can always drink when I get home.

I don’t care what you say. You never, ever leave the mall with more than you had with you when you got there, unless you have a gun and a ski mask and a competent get-away driver.

Since I have none of those, and the whole “running away” part is too much physical activity, I’ll stick with the casino.

 

Taxation Procrastination

Posted on by
Reply

My job is handled as freelance or independent contractor, which means nobody is withholding anything toward my taxes, and this is the time of year I dread. Time to do the tax return. I’m putting it off as long as possible, but I’ll need to cave soon because we need to know how much more money we need to funnel into savings to pay what we’ll owe.

snoopy-irs-cartoon

I’ve always done our taxes, which is kind of insane, given that I could most kindly be called mathematically remedial. I lost checkbook privileges in 1990, shortly after we bought our first house. We were buying a lot of stuff, and I neglected to write down about half of this and couldn’t be bothered forgot to balance the checkbook for four months. This resulted in some unfortunate consequences.

This task was a lot less difficult and unpleasant when I worked a regular, tax-withholding job. Now, I know I can deduct certain expenses related to my job, such as my Office 365 subscription, book marketing and promotion, and theoretically part of my internet charges and mortgage. I’ve never figured out how to do this because it seems very complicated and I suspect it involves numbers.

All year, I funnel as much of my income as possible into savings, so I can give it all back in April when I pay taxes. I leave enough in my checking account for my personal expenses. I also keep enough on hand to pay for a lot of dog stuff, including vet visits, grooming, their freeze-dried raw dog food, and the spendy but healthy chew treats I order from Best Bully Sticks.

At times, this all feels really stupid. I work long days simply to save enough to pay the taxes on the money I earn. I look at the savings account, and think, “Wow, that’s enough money for a really nice vacation, or a new deck, or to upgrade the kitchen, or do some landscaping.” But…no vacation, deck, kitchen, or landscaping for us. The savings account will by empty on April 15, and the only thing I’ll have to show for it is not being in federal prison.

Um…win?

04aac58f9e0cfa59cf99670957ffd766--taxes-humor-accounting-humor

I know I get benefits from the taxes we pay. Roads, parks, schools, a military to defend me, social security (which would be extra great if I could foresee any time we would actually be able to retire), public libraries…

But I also get arrogant, self-serving, clueless politicians with hidden agendas. And I do not get any sort of guaranteed healthcare, aside from a small subsidy to assist with my insurance premiums.

Friends in other countries are horrified when I tell them how much I pay per month for my health coverage, and how little I actually receive for this. Yes, I have insurance so if I am struck by a meteor or contract leprosy, we might not lose the house. But a minor hospital visit is still a hardship.

No wonder people go to Canada for prescription drugs and Mexico for surgical treatment.

I had a paragraph here about the current political climate and administration, but it made my guts feel like they were full of ground glass and barbed wire, and the last time I went to the doctor for that it cost me $4000, so…

Sometimes, I think about giving up the job and just taking a few private editing jobs for “pocket money.” But I’m in that gray area where that would mean paying a lot less in taxes, but I might not be able to help out as much or afford some of the dog-related luxuries–like regular grooming and vet care–that I currently finance.

I don’t know. If I were better with math, I could crunch the numbers and calculate whether working as much as I do is as beneficial as it should be. I do enjoy the job itself, and it keeps me busy and (mostly) out of trouble and allows me to feel less irresponsible when I hit the “buy now with one click” button on my Amazon cart full of a bunch of new dog toys.

17308961_10210982214843797_5634067294033451514_n

Click it. Go ahead. Cliiiiiiiick it. It’s for us, right? Of course it is. Click!

Maybe I can get Mozzie and Oliver designated as editorial assistants, then all their food and toys and treats could be business expenses. Oliver is a standard poodle and Mozzie is a golden, so they collectively have enough intelligence that I should probably just hire them to do my taxes.

Worst case scenario, if the IRS comes to haul me away, they could distract them with their cuteness and give me time to escape.

Spring Is In The Air

Posted on by
2

Flowers

It’s my favorite time of year–spring in eastern North Carolina.

We moved here from Minnesota for exactly this reason. Sure, there are times summer feels like a sauna inside a blast furnace, but I still prefer that to putting on seven layers of clothes, boots, and a hat just to get the mail.

During those brief chilly months–generally mid-November to about now–my daily wardrobe consists of leggings and long-sleeve shirts. Remember I work at home and leave my domain as infrequently as possible. If I do go out, I wear jeans because nobody I’m not married to needs to see me in leggings, comfy though they might be. The rest of the year it’s stretchy shorts and t-shirts or tank tops and bare feet.

The warm weather wardrobe change has begun, which brings certain issues to light. Yes, the leg and shoulder tattoos will be able to breathe again, but now dry, scaly winter skin must be dealt with.

perfect-dalek-shower-curtain-for-your-shower-curtain-exfoliate-custom-printed-4-weeks-delivery-of-dalek-shower-curtain

Since I’ve started watching Doctor Who, you can expect a lot of these…

I remember being a teenager, when spotting one missed hair on your supposedly shaved legs was a crisis. Now, if I don’t look like a bear from across the room, I’m okay. Still, I want to go to the beach soon, and some standards must be maintained, so I need to locate a razor that won’t shred my legs like a cheese grater.

Beach weather also means sandals and flip-flops. After three months during which I remember to trim toenails only when they threaten to poke holes in the toes of my socks, it’s time to check the nail polish basket in my bathroom and get to work.

We’re also in that brief window during which we have warm weather but few bugs. And letting the dogs in and out (and in and out and in and out and inandout) means no matter how careful I am, some of these bugs will get in the house. They hitch rides on the dogs, or fly in while I’m telling Mozzie no, I do not have a towel or a brush in my hand and nobody is standing within reach of the freezer and it’s safe for him to come in. Some of my most annoying bug bites have occurred on my own couch by insect sneak-attack. They itch more when you’re not expecting it.

24zh8q

The good thing is I already have my beach body. Meaning I have a body, and it will be at the beach as often as possible. Period. Nobody expects me, at my age, to have sleek thighs and firm upper arms, perky boobs, and a flat tummy. I wear my one-piece suits with a skirt and a sun hat, and all is right with my world. I no longer strive for a dark tan, as I don’t tan so much as I turn to leather, so when I’m not walking or swimming, I’m under my umbrella, often wearing a cover-up.

ca5404febb58a44b46162afe62dc94d4--television-doctor

Oh, look. There’s another one!

If we were still in Minnesota, we’d have at least three more months ahead in which it could snow.

No. Just…no.

If you need me, if I’m not here on the couch in my World Headquarters and Petting Zoo, you’ll find me here…

19030747_687326928117701_1743087196746981669_n

And if it’s not too hot, I might have company.

Beach Boys

 

A Knack For Knitting?

Posted on by
3

Kinitting-Yarn-Needles-Heart.jpg.653x0_q80_crop-smart

Never stop learning, right? Years ago, I taught myself basic knitting, but other than my sample swatch, I never pursued it, and it’s now thoroughly forgotten.

I crochet. In fact, I’d go so far as to call myself an expert. If I can find a pattern, I can crochet it. I’ve made countless afghans, hats, bags, doilies, decorative items, even a 62-inch lace tablecloth. I love taking a ball of yarn and turning it into something useful or beautiful.

I decided I needed a new skill, another hobby, preferably something I can do on the couch while watching Netflix, so rock-climbing or paddle-boarding were immediately ruled out. I’m 53, out of shape, and my bones are probably as brittle as stale bread sticks, so knitting is really more my speed.

75863a29dfbe18220d62555aeafa6813--knitting-humor-crochet-humor

I should’ve decided this five years ago when I still lived in Minnesota, because my friend Jess is an excellent knitter, and having someone show me and help point out flaws in my technique would be valuable. My daughter-in-law was here a few months ago and knows how to knit, but she’s a leftie, and I suspect that could present difficulties in teaching me. Besides, I didn’t know I wanted to learn to knit at the time.

I don’t really know anyone in North Carolina well enough to do the “hey, teach me to knit and I will reward you with rum and puppy snuggles” thing. I don’t even know if any of my acquaintances know how to knit, which tells you how well I don’t know people.

Enter the internet. You can learn anything online, often things you’d be better off not knowing. I started watching tutorials, but most of them are extremely annoying.

First, it’s too much like interacting with a human, which I avoid. I don’t even watch people’s video posts on Facebook.

Second, even when they’re going slowly, they can be hard to follow. Every time I need to pause or rewind to play again, I have to put down the needles and then try to get them positioned correctly again, which is still hard.

And third, every single damned knitter seems to have a unique way of holding the needles and guiding the yarn. Seriously, Google “how to hold knitting needles and yarn,” and you’ll see 145,990 different ways.

Yes, the result is the same. This needle has to go here, in this way, and the yarn has to go around here and through there, but everyone has a different method of achieving this. My crochet style is technically incorrect by some standards, the way I hold the hook and maneuver the yarn, but I’ve made it work, and I know I’ll have to do the same for knitting. I have a feeling if I had someone to show me, though, I could make changes to my technique that would make this a hell of a lot easier.

I know how to cast on, knit, purl, and cast off, but so far I’m only practicing the knit stitch. I want to be able to produce neat, uniform rows of stitches, and then I’ll move on to something else.

20180219_114302

I clearly have a long way to go, possibly several light-years. I think I should watch some more videos (grumble) and instead of trying to follow along, just observe how the instructor works, how they hold the needles and manage the yarn.

I’ve been crocheting for around 40 years, and I know it’s unreasonable to expect to be knitting lacy wraps or complex cable work in a day. But I hate not being great at something, and I want to be able to download everything there is to know about knitting directly into my head right this minute.

lace knitting stitch 55 - Copy

I could make this by this weekend, right?

I feel like I need an extra hand or three extra fingers. I also know if when I finally get a grip on this, I’ll spend a stupid amount of money on knitting needles and knitting accessories, because I never do anything by half. Maybe I should go ahead and start shopping–online, of course–because even if the whole Queen of Knitting thing never pans out, the needles would be handy in the apocalypse.

Do you knit? When did you learn? Do you have any favorite resources for beginning knitters?

So far, my biggest accomplishment is not poking myself in the eyeball with one of the needles, but it’s been close a couple of times, and it’s a good thing I wear glasses.

A Rare Visit to the Out

Posted on by
2

I see people on Facebook post things like, “I twisted my ankle and I’ve been stuck at home for three days. I’m losing my mind!” I do not understand these people.

stay-home

Accurate.

We took Oliver to the groomer on January 11. Yesterday, Tom once again persuaded me to leave the house for a couple of hours. Nothing exciting, just a few errands and checking out some local businesses. The previous day’s weather was summery, but Saturday was chilly, so no walking the dogs along the river or heading to the beach.

We went by the Colonial Capital Humane Society flea market to drop off more crochet 26841165_10208037040323626_336358591896336060_obags and see what was selling from the things I’d donated previously. The volunteer I talked to was friendly and enthusiastic, but there was an awful lot of stuff still there, which is a little discouraging. Maybe I need to make different things. I didn’t see the signed books I donated, so hopefully they sold.

Village-Butcher-gallery9We went by The Village Butcher and ordered more shank bones for Mozzie and Oliver, and now I know where it is. You’d think this would mean I could go and pick up bones for the dogs by myself, but you’d be wrong. It’s much more likely Tom will continue to do this.

The main reason I went out today was to stop by our wonderful Farmer’s Market. It’s not produce season, but there are always artisans of all sorts in attendance. Bakers, knitters, wineries, jewelry makers…and soap makers.

Shortly after we moved here in 2014, I discovered the fabulous goat milk soaps, lotions, sugar scrubs, body sprays, and other products from The Beaman’s Fork Soap Company. I head straight to this booth every time I visit the market.

I discovered the Farm at Beaman’s Fork is only about a mile from my house. I haven’t been there yet, because even though Krisann is super friendly and we chat at the market and online, I am socially challenged. But one of these days I definitely need to go meet the goats, as well as her Pyr Casey and German shepherd Seife (which means “soap” in German). Baby steps. It’s only been four years.

Check out the Facebook page for lots of pictures of the dogs, goats, horses, chickens…and this spring’s brand new baby goats!

My reason for the market today was to pick up my Spring BFF Box from Krisann. For each season, she designs four limited edition signature scents for new soaps. I pre-ordered mine and couldn’t wait to see what was in there.

These are the only bath products I use now. The goat milk soaps, lotions, body spray, a new foaming sugar scrub… It kind of makes you want to take three baths a day and try a different scent each time.

20180217_124350

Beautiful, right? I wish you could smell it! I have the vanilla-lime wax melt in my melter now, and it is heavenly.

Here’s the card that describes the contents:

20180217_124646

I pre-ordered the Summer BFF Box also, and I’m already dying to know what fragrances await me. They do have an online store, too, so you can experience these handmade artisan delights firsthand.

Then I came home, after only about two hours, and Mozzie and Oliver tried to murder me with their love. It’s nice to be adored, but their wild, unrestrained welcome home routine is going to put me in traction one of these days. I’d hoped to bribe them into submission with bones from the butcher, but he only had knuckles today, no shanks, and Oliver can’t be trusted with the softer knuckle bones. He has poodledactyl jaws and breaks off chunks, swallows them, then barfs them up on the bedroom floor at 6 a.m. This is not how I prefer to start my day.

And now, having conquered work email and not having a new edit for a day or two, it’s time to resume my exploration of Doctor Who, to discover if I am destined to join the ranks of Whovians, or if the appeal will elude me. I’ll work on more bags for the humane society, but I also think I might dig out the one set of knitting needles I have and see if I can re-learn how to knit.

Because, you know, I need another hobby I can pursue without leaving the couch, much less the house.

The Valentine Reciprocity Deficiency

Posted on by
Reply

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day. In the past, we made a fairly big deal of the occasion, since our first date was supposed to be for a Valentine’s dance at our high school. The dance was canceled, but we still went out on February 13, 1982.

The last 5-10 years, though, we haven’t really done much. This is fine with me, as I’m not really a holiday person. Last year, we adopted Oliver on February 13, so our first-date-anniversary has now been usurped and shall ever after be known as Oliver’s gotcha day.

Last year’s Valentine

While we don’t officially make a big deal of Valentine’s Day, Tom doesn’t always uphold this unspoken agreement. Or maybe it’s spoken, a little, when I say, “I’m not getting you anything. Don’t get me anything. It’s just a day.” I’m either very low-maintenance about holidays, or a terrible wife.

According to Time Hop, three years ago, Tom violated this agreement thusly:

export2040188328

If you know me at all, you’ll see how well my husband gets me. I do love all things zombie apocalypse, and I definitely love chocolate. And distilled beverages. I even wrote two zombie apocalypse books, The Dead Survive and Fallback, and you should absolutely read them if you’re into that sort of thing.

I still have the bottle. The vodka undoubtedly didn’t survive the weekend. Valentine’s Day was on Saturday.

This year, he did this:

20180214_083900

Let’s break down the elements.

  • Heart-shaped bowl and tray. Very cute.
  • Nice, sweet card. No puppy-butt, but still a winner.
  • “Love” decorative accent. Deciding where it will go.
  • Note the bowl is filled with Kisses (classic) and a stuffed elephant. I love elephants, and have elephant artwork in the house, and an elephant tattoo on my right forearm. Bonus points because it looks like the elephant is taking a bubble bath in candy.
  • It’s hard to see, but those caramel M&Ms (a recent discovery and new favorite) are in a skull mug. Along with zombies, I like skulls. Because I’m quirky. Not strange. No, not strange at all. I have several skull bottles which formerly held liquor. (RIP, liquor. Your sacrifice was not in vain)

20180214_114033

Every girl has three pairs of skull leggings, right?

All very thoughtful, yes? It’s especially generous when you factor in the fact that Tom is being quite careful about his eating habits, including not having a lot of sugary snacks. Which means I will need to hide the chocolate and give him a few pieces in the evening, so he can enjoy a treat without the temptation of over-snacking.

This probably sounds strange, one spouse monitoring and rationing something in which the other might tend to over-indulge. Until you know he also does the hide-ration thing for me, only in my case it is the liquor bottle.

Sometimes I find it, and those days do not go well, because I am mind-bogglingly bad at self-regulating in this particular area. If I locate the stash, the answer to “How much alcohol is in the house?” is “None, because Lori drank it.” But mostly, Tom is an extraordinarily good thing-hider, and he provides my evening nightcap ration, so I can chill and watch some mindless TV and try to get my head to slow the hell down enough that I can go to sleep.

Yes, I have a pretty awesome husband, still adorable even though this is our 37th Valentine’s Day together. However, I did maintain the “do nothing” policy for the occasion, and now I feel like Sheldon Cooper does about Christmas.

Sheldon: Oh, Penny. I know you think you’re being generous, but the Bigbangtheory_bathitemfoundation of gift-giving is reciprocity. You haven’t given me a gift, you’ve given me an obligation.
Howard: Don’t feel bad, Penny, it’s a classic rookie mistake. My first Hanukkah with Sheldon, he yelled at me for eight nights.
Penny: Now, honey, it’s okay. You don’t have to get me anything in return.
Sheldon: Of course I do. The essence of the custom is that I now have to go out and purchase for you a gift of commensurate value and representing the same perceived level of friendship as that represented by the gift you’ve given me. It’s no wonder suicide rates skyrocket this time of year.

So, yeah. Also, I keep wondering what I’m going to do with that giant skull mug, and it occurs to me it would be pretty awesome if it was full of a massive dirty martini, but only moderately dirty, because I’m not a tramp.

And if it were full of martini, I’d probably feel a lot less bad about the gift reciprocity issue.

Canine Co-Dependency

Posted on by
Reply

It takes a lot to get me out of the house, and very little to convince me to stay home. The last time I was out for more than a couple of minutes was January 11 when we took Oliver to the groomer, over a month ago. I’m totally okay with that.

Now, more than ever, it’s leaning toward “can’t” leave the house rather than “don’t want to.” Because…

Boys Outside 11 16 17

These two.

The last dogs to join our pack prior to Oliver and Mozzie were Brody (2006) and Darwin (2007), and I still worked outside the home at least a few days a week until 2010, so they were used to me being gone from time to time. But since Mozzie arrived in November 2016 and Oliver in February 2017, I have literally not spent one night away from home.

My sister and her husband weren’t both out of the house simultaneously for years, because their dog had health issues, and they didn’t want to stress her or have her get into trouble while she was alone. I’m not sure I fully grasped the reality of this until now.

Our son gave us a camera so we could check in on the dogs on the rare occasions we’re out, and it does help a little. At least I can be sure they haven’t decided to eat the couch or engage in a doggie death match. But I also now know Mozzie paces much of the time, climbing up to my spot on the couch and looking around forlornly, and Oliver howls. A lot. “Mamaaaaaaaaaa, where are yooooooooooouuuuuuu?”

alone

A still from the camera footage. Note Mozzie on the left, in my spot on the couch. Oliver, by the sliding door, is in mid-howl, nose up and sending his cry to the heavens.

I can always come up with reasons not to go out. It’s raining. It might rain. It just rained so it would be splashy and muddy. Cloudy with a chance of meatballs. It’s hot, cold, windy, or buggy. The tide is wrong. There’s an event downtown and it would be crowded. I haven’t washed my hair since Tuesday (and it’s currently Friday). It’s Saturday night and the wait for a table would be too long. The dogs are due for grooming, and if we take them to the park, people will think we don’t take care of them.

You see where I’m going with this. It doesn’t take much.

19059255_1488853057801684_982193248073681685_n (2)

Besides, Mozzie says I can’t get off the couch. Don’t argue with him. Cute wins every time, and he’s even bigger and cuter now.

While I generally dislike excursions into the Out, I do like vacations, though, and a combination of “what to do with the dogs” and “all our money seems to be missing” has resulted in no away-from-home time for me since we went to Walker Stalker Con in Atlanta in October 2016.

If you love The Walking Dead and have a chance to go to a Walker Stalker event…DOOOOOO IT!

Even if we nailed down funding for a trip, how would that work? Mozzie is a twitchy, anxious dog, and a strange kennel would stress him out way more than would be good for him, and probably the kennel staff.

We have a reliable petsitter who was great with Darwin and Brody, and has stopped to check in on these two once when we had to be gone all day for a family event, but that’s the extent of it so far. I’m not sure Mozzie and Oliver would be okay with only three daily check-ins like the older two were. And leaving them alone overnight…? That’s a wildcard.

One solution would be someone to stay at the house while we were gone. Sort of a rent-a-mama. The key is for someone to be here a good bit of the day, and overnight. But how to find such a person? I dislike having people in my house. Oddly, though, I find it slightly less objectionable if I’m not here and required to interact.

The other, possibly better idea is to simply take the dogs with us, but again, there are some factors to consider. If we were going on an overnight trip to attend an event, that would mean leaving them alone in a hotel room for a minimum of several hours. If Oliver howls in hotels like he does at home, we’d quickly wear out our welcome.

But if we were, for example, on a beach vacation, they’d be with us all the time, other than when we went out to dinner, and a beach house offers more privacy and a better howl-buffer than a hotel room. We frequently vacation with dog-loving friends, though, and managing stranger-dog interactions elevates the stress levels and sucks the fun right out of things. I need to be able to relax and enjoy myself, not spend all my time as a dog referee, so we don’t typically take our dogs. Except…

We took Brody with us in September 2016, because he was rapidly declining, and it was either try taking him with us or skip the trip. He had issues with our friends’ dog, and she had to hide out in the bedroom the whole time to prevent Brody barking us all deaf and traumatizing the poor dog for life. We gave up and came home after only a couple of days.

This probably boils down to taking them with us, provided they are the only dogs present in a shared house, or finding our own separate accommodations.

Or simply staying home.  Aside from the lack of beachy-ness, it’s where I usually prefer to be, anyway.

dogs-are-personal__29748.1506633978.190.285

 

Congratulations, It’s A Poodle!

Posted on by
1

Surprise poodles are the best poodles.

One year ago today, I woke up as the mom of one six-month-old golden retriever puppy. The plan was already in progress to find him a nice young adult golden or Labrador retriever brother.

Within eight hours, previous plans were tossed right out the window and we welcomed an almost four-month-old standard poodle puppy into the family.

Colonial Capital Humane Society posted this photo and a description, stating he required immediate rescue.

Before2

I texted Tom to ask how we felt about standard poodles. I knew I loved them, but figured I should at least have the courtesy to ask before informing him we now had one. He responded positively, and the wheels were in motion.

The fabulous Lisa Lee of CCHS left work to go take possession of the puppy. She even stopped by Tom’s store and told him she was there with his “son.” Now, Tom had never met Lisa before, and our son and his wife were currently on a plane back to Minnesota from a cruise vacation, so he was a bit perplexed. It was sheer brilliance on Lisa’s part, though, because if any part of Tom was having second thoughts about adopting the poodle-puppy, the point was now moot. He was immediately a poodle-dad.

meeting oliver

We met Lisa after Tom got off work, and this is when I met the puppy we would name Oliver

The poor pup had had a very traumatic few days, and was a bit overwhelmed. Within a day, though, he and Mozzie were playing and bonding, and adopting Oliver was probably the best pack-building decision we’ve ever made.

 

header3

Oliver will be 16 months old next week, and Mozzie will be 18 months on the same day. We’re looking forward to many years of fun and frolic with our two boys.

Happy gotcha day, Oliver! We love you!