Sheriff's Report Revisited

It's been awhile since I've seen anything worthy of blogging in the Mason County Democrat. 

Today there was only one, but the naivete of the wording alone is worth a mention. 

10-16 at 8:53 pm, Rural Topeka: Complaint about strong odor of gas coming from house. 

I wonder who was walking past our house and made that call...

Is there no other way to say that?

Flow charts rock!

Ever notice how your life can best be described by a flow chart?  No?  Just me?  That's cool. 

Here's how my flow chart would go right now (minus the cool boxes and arrows):


October--> rain--> no harvest--> cranky husband--> serious shortage of Busch Light in the immediate Havana area

Or maybe this:

October--> Christmas planning begins--> mind-numbingly ridiculous behavior--> serious shortage of Captain Morgan in the immediate Havana area

October is way too early to be dealing w/ Christmas planning.  It happens every year, yet every year I'm surprised when my birthday hasn't even rolled around, but we're discussing Christmas plans. 

By "Christmas planning," I mean arranging which family gets which day, etc.  Here is the thing about planning Christmases...ok several things:


1. The very nature of the phrase "planning Christmases" shows that the purpose of Christmas has already been defeated.  At least if you're a religious person.  The supposed purpose of Christmas is to celebrate the birth of Jesus.  You do this by going to church with your family.  Therein lies the problem: family*.  Here's a new flow chart:
Christmas--> family-->drama

2. Once you realize that you're planning how to arrange your life so as to piss off the least amt. of family members, you also have to accept the following chart:
Family--> drama--> guilt
No matter what you do, you cannot win.  You will inevitably be guilted by members of one or all parties in question when you cannot perform to the appropriate "standards," none of which are set by or accomodating to you.

3. You cannot plan Christmases based on the theory that "we don't know how many Christmases we have left" with a certain person. That is ass-backwards.  You could argue that theory every single year, considering that none of us know the number of our days...just that they are numbered.
Guilt--> bending to the will of the masses--> having no say in said planning-->serious animosity

4. The meaning of Christmas does not start or stop on Christmas Day.  Jesus was supposedly not even born in December.  More like spring.  So I don't think Jesus would mind if we remembered the REASON we are celebrating, rather than the reason we are celebrating on Friday.
So instead of this flow chart:
Serious animosity-->resenting every second of all 5 straight days of Christmas "celebrations"

Perhaps we could end with this one:
Compromise for the sake of the family (without complaining about how much you are sacrificing)--> family togetherness at Christmas for either the last, or the beginning of many more, Christmas CELEBRATIONS to come.



*Sad that I even need to state this, but this is in no way directed towards any member of my family.  It is meant as a social commentary on the sad state of affairs in many families during the "holiday" season.  Might as well call it the damn present season, because that's all anyone cares about.

Havana Wine Fest

My friends and I attended the Havana Wine Fest this weekend.  And, in case anyone was wondering, we did drink some "new" sangria.  :)

The highlight of events like this in Mason County isn't the food, the booze or the weather (last year people were sweating, this year people were freezing).  No, no.  The highlight of these events is the people-watching.  Those of you who read this blog regularly will probably not be surprised to learn that I've spent a large portion of my life being the snarky bitch in the corner; probably laughing at you or someone you know.  The Havana Wine Fest was no different.

What I truly enjoy is watching the upper and lower classes interact. 
"Excuse me man with no teeth and Carharts, can you please hand me an ashtray?" 
"Sure thing, wouldn't want you to ash on your new Uggs, princess."   LOVE.IT.

There were the usual suspects, of course:
1. Crazy Red @ the piano, tripping to her own acidic beats, and showing some major jazz hands
2. The Owner, trying to get my friend to give back some of her wine tickets since she had to work later that evening (He was unsuccessful in his attempts, by the way.  Do not stand between this woman and her sangria!)
3. The Ringmaster, who spent the majority of the day looking lost and hitting on his "girlfriends."

This really wouldn't have been worthy of a blog, however, had it not been for the one new face I captured on film.  Havana Hollywood.

So many problems with this situation. 

1. Who wears fur?  Seriously.  Gross!

2. I'm no fur expert, but if you are going to wear fur, shouldn't it be a pretty color?  It's kind of hard to tell here, but what HH is wearing is this weird yellow/brown color...very reminiscent of dog vomit.

3. If it's cold enough to wear fur the color of vomit, perhaps you should not be wearing a sleeveless cotton shirt, short skirt and bare legs under the coat. 

4. If you're going to have bare legs under the coat, perhaps you should make sure they're not covered in cuts, bruises and scars to the point that people wonder if you're using drugs or just played football.

Aside from all the fashion policing going on here today, one person deserves a major shout out. 

David Zalaznik, a staff photographer for the Journal-Star, held a book signing at the wine fest for his recently published book Life Along the Illinois River.  He kept us girls entertained for the entire wine fest, despite the freezing cold weather.  His book is available for purchase on Amazon.com.  You can view more of his work on his website http://www.davidzalaznik.com/

Some secrets are too good to keep

Despite what it may seem, I don't share every juicy/embarrassing story on this blog.  Some things need to be kept private.  This story was going to be one of them, because I assumed the story was over.  It's not. 

Saturday night, Adam, some friends and I went to the Sportsman's Club in Spring Lake.  For whatever reason, Adam decided it was a good night for large draft beers.  (Adam normally gets ridiculously long headaches from draft beer.)  We all had a really great time and headed home around 11. 

At 1 AM, I was awakened by Adam getting out of bed and heading out of the room.  Given past experiences with this type of behavior (New Year's, anyone?), I stayed awake listening to see where he was going.  I thought maybe he was headed to the bathroom...but he got to the laundry room, turned on the light, and stopped.  I couldn't hear any more footsteps, so I thought maybe he'd fallen asleep.  By the time I got to the laundry room, he'd opened the front-load washer and was peeing on it.  I freaked out!  I finally dragged him to bed, where he remained for the rest of the night. 

Sunday morning I filled him in, and he bleached the washing machine.  I was still irritated, but moved on.  That is where I thought the story ended.  We've all done stupid things when drunk, so I was gonna keep that one off the blog.

This morning, my dirty clothes hamper was overflowing, which explains why I couldn't find anything to wear besides pajamas.  I decided to head over to the laundry room and assess the situation.  It reeks of pee.  Really, really, really strong pee.  But I saw Adam bleach the areas he'd peed on, so I couldn't figure it out.  Mice, perhaps?  Either way, the "self-clean" cycle was definitely in order. 

I opened the washer to make sure I wouldn't ruin anything w/ the self-clean cycle (it uses straight bleach) and immediately started gagging.  Apparently Adam did not pee ON the washing machine, he peed INTO the washing machine, and there were 2 pairs of socks in there, that have been there, with the door shut, for 2 days, soaked in urine.  I got light-headed and couldn't stop gagging, so I poured some bleach in and ran out of the room.

My mom called while the washer was running, so I didn't notice that the washer stopped.  When I went to check, it had the F light on, which means the cycle failed.  There was water on the floor, suds on the washer's drawer, and suds behind the washer.  Uh oh.

After careful inspection, I also noticed the ENTIRE washing machine was full of suds, as if you'd put liquid dish soap in the dishwasher.  Turns out, this is basically EXACTLY what I did.  I was gagging so much from the dirty pee socks that I didn't pay quite enough attention to the bleach I used.  You see, we have 2 bottles of bleach.  Both are blue, both are clorox, both are similar in size and shape.  In my rush to get out of there, I must've grabbed the kind that's more like detergent w/ a bleach additive, instead of the straight bleach.  Whoops.

Nothing more fun than spending a Monday morning scooping pee suds out of the washing machine. 

How early is too early for straight vodka?

Jesus laughs, I cry.

Friday has been an FML kind of day. 

I slept like crap Thursday night, so I was screwed before I even woke up (for the 56th time).

When I did finally wake up, I looked at the clock and bolted out of bed because I thought the exterminator was coming any second, and I didn't want to be in my pajamas and braless.  Not a pretty picture, I assure you.  Nothing like jumping for joy over the exterminator.

Then I bugged Adam about whether he was going to work because it was 9 am--pretty late for harvest.  He politely informed me that it was 7:55.  No WONDER I was so sleepy.

Since I had this newfound extra time, I decided to complete my Wii workout before the exterminator arrived.  (All thoughts of looking presentable promptly went out the window.)

Everything was going great.  I finally thought I was making progress and actually LIKING the exercise, which is a major development.  Apparently, Jokester Jesus was bored, because my Wii just up and froze, right before I finished the workout.  I guess I was supposed to watch Project Runway after all!  :)

The exterminator showed up and, as predicted, I was smelly, sweaty and overall gross.  He came to get rid of the mice that live in our attic and drive the dog b-a-n-a-n-a-s.  The entrance to the attic is in the garage ceiling. The exterminator is afraid of heights.  Great.  So now Adam and I have to decide who is going to climb the ladder and brave Mice Mountain,  Thankfully Adam was honored with that responsibility.

Adam left for work, and I was left to deal with the broken Wii.  Nintendo customer service is AMAZING!  Although it's always annoying, when you know something is broken, to have to go through all the "troubleshooting" (such an ironic term!) only for the customer service department to eventually say exactly the same thing you said when you called: "My shit is broken.  You need to fix it."  Nintendo is mailing us a brand new Wii, which we will keep permanently, and we send back the broken one in the same box the new one shipped in, for $5.  I love Nintendo.  All it took was a 10 minute phone call.  By the time I hung up the phone and walked to the computer, I had an email w/ a tracking number and instructions.  LOVE them.

Pottery Barn, however, is pushing my limits of sanity.  We ordered curtains, rods and tie backs for the living room and bedroom.  $77.49 just for shipping.  REGULAR STANDARD SHIPPING.  How freaking heavy are linen curtains?  FML.  But I'm the dumbass that hit "confirm purchase" even after I knew what was up.  Now, you may be wondering why I haven't taken the potential weight of the curtain rods into consideration.  They were ordered with the curtains and tie backs, but are in a separate box.  I get that--they're big!  The problem is, if all of this was ordered, all of it was in stock, why are the curtain rods not scheduled for delivery until Monday? 

Can't hang the curtains, because there are no rods.  Can't screw in the ends of the rods, because there are no rods.  Can't hang up the tie backs to tie back the curtains...because there are no curtains.  Why?

Color.  We ordered silk curtains for our room, in a color called "clay," which looked to be a medium cool beige, similar to our paint.  At the time I thought that was funny, since clay is red, but I went with it.  The "clay" curtains arrived, and they are gold.  WTF?  Back to the box.  The "espresso" "linen" curtains are some weird cotton basketweave, and if that's what color PB's morning espresso is, they must be using a crapload of vanilla Coffeemate.  Back to the box.  I am becoming more and more glad by the minute that I spent so much $ on shipping a load of turd colored fabric I can't use.  I bet everyone reading this can imagine what color "turd" colored fabric would be.  But PB can't figure out "espresso."  Were these people high? Maybe they should start naming their fabrics after "funyuns" and "nacho cheese doritos" bags. I'm sure they know those by heart.

Why is it so hard to get what you paid for?