Skid Goes to Canada

People always ask me if Adam ever gets offended by me blogging about his adventures.  The answer is no.  Believe it or not, I never publish anything without asking him, and usually reading it to him, first.  He might do some crazy stuff, but I'm not a jerk.  So rest assured, the following story is rated AA, Adam Approved. 

Adam's dad is turning 60 this year, and for his birthday, Adam's mom planned a really cool 7 day fishing trip in Canada.  No girls allowed.  (No worries, there is nothing about 17 hours of driving, outhouses or mosquitoes the size of a fist that appeals to me!)

Adam is notorious for being an "efficient packer," however that is partially due to his tendency to underestimate the amount of things you will actually need on your trip.  He suggested that I help make a packing list so he wouldn't forget anything.  Ok, sure, sounds reasonable...until we sit down to make the list.  Keep in mind, I've never been to Canada, never been on a fishing trip, etc. 

Me: Ok, so let's start with the basics.  Underwear.  You're gone for 7 days, so that means you'll need 7 pairs.

Adam: What?  7?  Why?
Me: (Silence)  Um...why not?
Adam: Well, whatever, I'm only packing 5. 

(Anyone beginning to see why I wasn't too sad to be missing out on this shindig?)

As he is loading the car, I realize his packing includes: 5 pairs of underwear for 7 days, 12 rolls of toilet paper and he's mad because his new Playboy has not come in the mail.  I'm like...are you going fishing or spending a week in an outhouse?  But I digress.

In the Canadian woods, there is obviously no cell phone reception, so this was the first time in our relationship that I didn't hear from him for more than a day.  That was a little tricky, but booooooooy am I glad.  The following story is worth it.

The boys arrive in Canada.  Adam meets the Canadian man who helped organize the trip on their end, for the first time.  And after 17 hours of driving, really, whose first question upon meeting someone for the first time wouldn't be "Uh, where's the restroom?" 

This is the shirt Adam was wearing while making his "special" first impression:

In case you can't read it, it says "Merry Christmas, Shitter Was Full."  (For those of you not in the know, that's a line from Christmas Vacation.)

Adam uses the restroom, comes out, and (while wearing said shirt) has to find his Canadian contact and report that he is in need of a plunger...because the "shitter was full."  The poor Canadian man was quite embarrassed and sent Adam off to the kitchens to track down two women who could help him locate the plunger.  He found one, and remedied the situation, but I think he ended up being the most embarrassed one there.  After Adam came home, he told me he didn't think he'd be wearing that shirt anymore, as it's "cursed."

Hate to break it to you, honey...it's not the shirt. :)   

On their way home, he called me from the road, just to let me know they were all alive and uninjured.  Thinking I was being funny, I asked him if he ran out of underwear.  He not only didn't get the joke, but reported that he actually still had an extra pair. 

Ladies, hands off!  He is MINE! :)

You Might Be a Redneck If...

I'm not in the burbs anymore. 

Last week, I woke up at 6:45 AM, because the dog was in the yard, barking like a maniac.  I realize most people reading this are probably thinking "So what?  Dogs bark."  Perhaps.  But not this dog.  And not this loudly or viciously.  In a way, that's the guard dog you hope for, right?  The one whose every bark means something is awry? 

Adam went outside to check out the situation, came back in and told me to put my glasses on because I was "not going to want to miss this."  Our vicious attack dog was right.  Something was awry. 

There was a horse in the front yard.

A HORSE. 

It had no saddle, no rider, no owner...just a stray horse, munching on our lawn like it owned the place. That is, until Bella's barking spooked the horse and he began to walk down the street towards the main drag.  I had no idea what to do, initially.  My first thought was to call the pound...until I remembered we don't have a pound. 

I thought perhaps some of our horse-owning friends might recognize the horse, or at least know what to do, so we called them and they called around as well.  Nothing.

Eventually I called the County Sheriff, because I was out of other options and I was afraid either the horse would get hit and injured, and/or someone would be injured hitting the horse.  Sure enough, I'm put on hold w/ the sheriff, only to have him come back and say someone reported a similar horse missing earlier that morning, and they would take care of it.  I never heard back, but I hope the horse made it back home safely. 

Thinking about the situation later, I realized I am beginning to assimilate into the local culture in ways I am not entirely prepared to admit. 

For example, imagine this situation had happened in a suburb.  In fact, I called my mom and asked her what she would've done if she'd woken up to a horse in her front yard.  Her reply?  "Oh honey, someone would've called that in long before I woke up and saw it."  Touche.

A few years ago, I would have called animal control, PAWS, a horse rescue...something.  Last week, I could think of at least 5 people to call, off the top of my head, BEFORE animal control or the sheriff.  What's happening to me?!

But that was not the end of my day o' weird.  Nooo no.  Later that same afternoon, I was speaking with a friend from a large metropolitan area, when I was forced to interrupt my own story about the horse, to inform her that I had just driven past a local restaurant which loudly proclaimed (via sign) "GATOR IS BACK ON TUESDAYS!"  Gator.  As in...alligator?  I thought it was a hot dog stand!  I guess you never really know what's in your hot dogs, but geez! 

As I continued my drive, I noticed something coming towards me from the opposite direction...It turned out to be a rusty Ford Escort, painted a delightful shade of spray paint red...on the parts that had paint, that is.  But this rusty ride was extra special.  Apparently its owner thought so too, because he took the time and energy to replace his front bumper with a 2x4 and spray paint "FRANK" on it.  In mirror-reverse...like on an ambulance.  This way, should "FRANK" come up behind you as you sail down Goofy Ridge Road, you'll be able to read his name.  Right.  Because the first thing I think when that steel shitbox comes up behind me is, "oh, that's Frank" and not "Dear Lord, WHAT IS THAT?!" 

I'd like to think I'm not a redneck, but all signs are beginning to indicate otherwise.  In the meantime, I've compiled a short list of how to tell if you might be a redneck, for those of you who aren't quite sure.

10. If you have ever had to stand on the side of the road and have someone pick sand burrs out of your butt.
9. If you've ever gotten out of a hot tub to pee, then decided you'd rather "go" on the deck.
8. If you have an ATM in your driveway.
7. If you see a restaurant sign advertising "gator" and you actually stop to try it.
6. If you know the difference, just by looking, between a frog and a toad.
5. If you no longer notice the sound of a crop duster flying over your house.
4. If you don't think it's weird to ask your friend whether they ate their pet rabbit after it died.
3. If you can think of 5 people off the top of your head to call regarding a random horse in your front yard, and none of the 5 are animal control or law enforcement officials.
2. If having a paved driveway means you're rich.
1. If this is your church:

Little Bunny Foo Foo?

No matter how long I live in this area, certain things still surprise me.  The following is no exception.

A few weeks ago, at our weekly gathering, a friend mentioned that her 16 yr old went out to feed her pet rabbit one morning...and found it half dead.  It lives in a nice outdoor cage, and something had burrowed under the cage, and eaten the rabbit's feet, leaving it to bleed to death.  By the time the girl got to the rabbit, it was too late. 

My husband, Mr. Sensitive, asked if they ate the rabbit. 

No, no, they did not. 

This was determined for certain not because my friend said so, but by my neighbor, who said they probably couldn't have eaten the rabbit anyway, because it likely wouldn't have been good after being kept in captivity like that. 

WTF?  Where AM I? 

Did I seriously just witness a conversation about why you should/should not eat your dead pet? 

You might think after the frog vs. bullfrog incident last year, that this kind of reaction towards animals wouldn't surprise me...but you'd be wrong.

Public Service Announcement

Trashy people go to Walmart.  Not everyone who goes to Walmart is trashy, but every person who is trashy...well, they're also a Walmart shopper.  Henceforth, I will refer to them as Wal-martians.  I frequently joke that the only explanation for the Ridge rats is that a UFO must've landed and replaced all the normal people who once lived there with martians.  In case you can't make the drive to the Ridge, to see these "individuals" for yourself, just head to your local Walmart.  You'll find 'em. 

Because my sister is in social work, I've learned some valuable things.  Her most important piece of info so far was to avoid grocery stores, but especially Walmart, on the 1st day of the month, maybe even the 2nd.  Why?  Because LINK cards get filled up the 1st day of the month and the stores get crowded, have really long lines, and sometimes are short on food. 

This isn't a judgement on anyone who has/had a LINK card.  I'm all for it.  I don't want to be at Walmart on Black Friday either, for the exact same reasons...crowds, lines, no inventory. 

Anyway, I decided that May 3rd would be safe.  In many respects, I was correct.  The lines were normal, crowds were normal, the inventory properly stocked.  I walked to my car quite pleased with myself...until I actually saw the car. 

You see, I'd forgotten one major rule: Walmartians are ALWAYS at Walmart, not just the 1st day of the month. 

Normally, I park near a cart corral, because I'm lazy, and it keeps at least one side of the car from potential cart dings.  This particular day, however, all those spots were taken, so I just parked further out.  I get to my car and what do I see?  Two things:
1. A cart right up against my bumper
2. A big white scratch halfway across the bumper.

Now I'm pissed.  I've never been one of those people who freaks out over door dings, parks way out to avoid stuff, etc etc.  But this made me mad, if for no other reason than the sheer ignorance of the situation.  For one thing, there was a cart corral 2 spaces over, and one across the aisle and down.  It would have been very easy to just walk your happy ass over to the corral and deposit the cart.  There is no way the cart could've blown into the position it was currently in, so someone did this on purpose.  And what really pissed me off is that my car is black.  So if it was a bad scratch on a regular car, having black paint just made it stand out even more. 

I actually know a person who leaves their cart in the parking space near theirs when they leave...because it's the "cart attendant's job" to put it away for you.  No, it's actually not.  You walk right past the corral, you are just as capable of putting it away as the attendant.  These are the same type of people who leave their popcorn buckets and empty sodas behind in the theater because it's "the ushers job" to clean up after you.  No, it's not.  They're not your babysitters and they're not your mother.  You walk past the trash can ON YOUR WAY OUT OF THE THEATER.  You cannot avoid the trash cans.  Assholes.  But I digress...

So, due to the cart incident, I avoided Walmart and the Walmartians who don't know how to properly dispose of their carts for a few weeks.  Time to cool down. 

Last week, I put my big girl underoos back on, went to Walmart, still no next-to-corral spots.  Again, aside from the Walmartians, the store was great.  Quick, stocked, still able to rape my account blind...everything I've come to know and love about Walmart.  Then I began my walk to the parking lot with baited breath.  My car was fine (thanks God!) but my eardrums were assaulted when as I was putting my stuff in the trunk, I heard the longest, loudest burp I have ever heard in my life from across the aisle.  Because I am 12 years old, I burst out laughing.  The assailant looked up, smiled, waved, and got in his crappy car.  I went about my business, until the jackass rolled down his window, sticks half his body out and yells, YEAH!  YOU KNOW YOU LIKED IT!  Riiiiight.  Then he proceeds to sit in his gross vehicle and stare at me until I pull out of the lot which, I can assure you, was not nearly fast enough. 

All the way home I sat there thinking about what is wrong with people these days (I've shifted from 12 to 95), and it hit me...WALMARTIANS.  They can't help themselves. 

So let this be another lesson to you all...a public service announcement if you will.  Stock up on groceries before the 1st, but mostly...just avoid Walmart.  They know not what they do.

Name Nazis

Just to clear the air before I even get going on this one: I am not pregnant.  I am not trying to become pregnant.  I have never been pregnant.  Whew.  Ok.

A few weeks ago, Mom and I were discussing little tidbits of our lives.  Just general chitchat.  I mentioned that I heard an acquaintance of a friend is naming their son Emmett and that I thought it was a cute name. 

Ever have one of those moments you wish you had your camera ready? 

Oh the horrors. 

Mom: "EMMETT?  AS IN...EMMETT THE CLOWN?" 
Me: I guess...who's Emmett the Clown?
Mom: Oh you know him.  EVERYONE knows Emmett the Clown!
Me: Nope, sorry.
Sister: Yeah, no.
Mom: Oh don't act like I'm just an old fart.  Maybe it's a generational thing, I don't know.
Me: Ok, let's ask Dad.  Dad, what do you think of when you hear the name Emmett?
Dad: I don't know...Emmit Smith, the football player?
Me: Not Emmett the Clown?
Dad: No.  Who's that?
Sisters: (hysterical laughter)

In a very informal survey of every person I encountered of that "generation" during the following week, no one had heard of Emmett the Clown.  Before you all go ape shit and wonder why I didn't just google him, relax.  I did.  Apparently ETC was a popular hobo clown back in the day.  Like...back in the 5-decades-ago day.  Whatever.

I didn't really think much about it when I heard the name originally.  Maybe a passing "oh that's cute," but that's about all the brain cells I devoted towards the situation.  I guess I figured the name came from either a baby book, Twilight or the NFL player.  Who cares, really?  My mom. :)

Other names were discussed but, in an effort to keep you all interested, I'll just skip to the lesson I learned from all of this.

I'm not trying to pick on my mom here.  She was doing what she thought was right by informing me of a possible poor mental image/pre-judgement people may have if we named our imaginary future child Emmett.  What it made me realize, however, is why all those people (who I previously thought were crazy) keep their kid(s) names a secret until they're born.  To avoid this exact situation.

Because I am ignorant in all things baby, I assumed that maybe you would keep it a secret from most people, but tell your siblings, parents, in-laws, etc.  Wrong.  You see, if you tell a stranger your baby's potential name, they don't know you well enough to critique, so they say "oh that's cute."  End of conversation.  But your family, noooooo no.  They feel like they have an obligation to make sure their future extended family member has a proper name, not something that turns their initials into PMS or ASS, not something that makes them sound like a stripper or doesn't grow into a good adult name. 

The problem is they don't have that obligation.  That is the job of the parents-to-be.  And, I would guess that all the parents-to-be want is approval.  They don't know what they're doing.  They don't know what they're in for.  They want the one thing that will differentiate their child from every other child in the world (their name) to be loved and accepted by everyone.  Expectant parents don't need one more thing on their plate to worry about. 

I hope this has proved as valuable a lesson to all of you as it did to me.  Personally, when this day does come, I don't think I'll be able to keep my mouth shut...but I sure hope everyone else does! :) 

A big thank you to my mom and all the other ladies (you know who you are) who debated this subject with me, provided insight, guidance, horror stories and, last but not least, said it's ok to tell your Vietnamese nail lady because she doesn't speak English anyway. :)

God Bless the Internet!

For those of you who don't follow me on Facebook or Twitter, my apologies for not posting these blogs I keep blathering about!  As I mentioned in the last blog, there is some kind of technology-busting cloud hovering over our house.  I thought perhaps the cloud burst because my car's bluetooth randomly started working again...and basically in the same fashion in which it stopped working.  I turned the car on one day and it didn't work.  A few days ago, I turned the car on and, much to my surprise it announced I had an incoming call--it worked!  I'm not getting my hopes up, but Honda is minus one unhappy customer for now! 

Of course, I'm not lucky enough for the cloud to have completely dissipated.  It's back again.  Yesterday we had more unexpected storms, and I came home to find the modem would not receive power...meaning the internet was out.  I called CenturyLink (could they change their damn name any more frequently?) and they informed me that someone would contact me within 24-48 hours to get it replaced.  I hung up and thought...48 hours (or potentially more, if they think they're going to schedule an appointment to bring me a modem) without internet?  No freaking way.  Say what you will about all the Gen Yers being technologically-dependent, but I really cannot fathom how people live without either the internet, a smart phone, an iPad...SOMETHING.  How do you check the weather if your satellite is out, you have no internet/phone/whatever and a bad storm's coming?  I honestly don't know what I would do.  Oh wait, yes I do.  I would FREAK.OUT.

This morning I decided that 14 hours w/o internet was long enough and I called the "local" CenturyLink office, 30 miles away, to see what I could do in the meantime.  They informed me that just like the previous 2 times our modem went to crap, I could just bring the dead one to their store and they'd swap it out for free.  God bless them! :)

I feel as though I have so much to discuss.  My mind is buzzing.  Last week I was a little sad because I felt like I didn't have much going on that was blog-worthy.  God laughed.  If it seems like I'm posting a lot in the next day or so, it's because I am!  But they're fun blogs, so check them out!

Techno Terror

Two years ago, I didn't have a shred of doubt regarding my technological abilities.  I majored in something that requires you to keep up with the media and technology, and I really enjoy checking out the latest gadgets.  No one wants to become the person who relies on 20 yr. old technology simply because they refuse to learn new things.  No one wants a record player instead of an iPod.  Unfortunately, it seems as though my life heads that direction more and more lately...against my wishes!  It's almost like I possess some kind of internal magnet that destroys every gadget, every electronic device, every thing I own that includes a computer chip, battery or electric power.  Or, more likely, there's a giant cloud of meth smoke hovering over Goofy Ridge and THAT is what's causing all my troubles.  Seriously, this is the one time I'd hedge my bets on the Ridge Rats.

I compiled the following list of things that have gone bad spontaneously, through no fault of my own, in just the last year:

1. Bluetooth in the Pilot: worked fine since I bought the car, then one day I get in and it will not connect to any phone call...but phone's GPS connects just fine. 
2. The Camry: we drove to Lombard to visit Adam's brother and sister-in-law, everything worked great.  We get home, park the car in the garage, realize we pulled in too far, go back to the car to turn it on and back up...car won't start.  Battery's dead.
3. Bluray: got a new movie for Christmas, put it in, bluray needs to update, but can only do so through the internet, which it can't connect to.  After TWO HOURS of dicking around with the stupid thing, it finally works, problem solved...until this weekend when it suddenly will play movies...so long as you can read lips, because there's no sound.
4-7. Router, modem, kitchen TV and kitchen directv box: lightning struck the house and ruined all of them.  I know this because I picked up the modem and it sounded like a can of sprinkles.
8.   Office TV and Wii: Props to both Samsung and Nintendo on this one, because the tv's issue was repaired within 2 weeks and Nintendo mailed us a new Wii in 4 days.
9. Blackberry Tour: Still working on this one.  It sends texts 3x to some people, and there's no rhyme or reason as to why it chooses specific people.  It also clicks before the phone's about to ring or receive a text.  Verizon gave me a new phone, but now it's back to its old tricks.  Whatever.
10.  Laptop
11. Ipod: Miraculously, once I got an iPod Touch for Christmas, the old iPod worked perfectly.
12. Hot tub
13. Lawnmower

And, last but not least, 14. THE HIGHLANDER...do i really need to explain what went wrong with Toyota this year? :)  Needless to say, I'm glad I ended up with the Pilot!

Lord only knows what is happening around here, but I think I better hold off on purchasing any new appliances, gadgets, etc. for awhile!  Good thing shoes can't go bad! :)