Life With the Poop Brigade

Today is day three, or is that day four with the Poop Brigade.  So far, fingers crossed, knock on wood, don't step on a crack, spin three times in a circle and count to ten, all is quiet on the western front.  (Well technically this is the eastern front.) The kids have been good, well goodish.  One or two melt downs but that is to be expected from a three year old and a one year old.  The oldest one has asked where mom is about once a day and seems satisfied when I tell her that she is still on her trip.  The youngest, and by far poopiest, seems satisfied to accept me as a surrogate mom. 

I've done a few things to make life a bit easier for myself.  First I packed up about three thousand small bits and pieces of toys, which is about 3/4's of what they actually have to play with, and put them downstairs so I wouldn't have to spend two additional hours a day picking that shit up.  So far neither of them have noticed anything unusual or missing, and are quite contented with the remaining crap.  Second I took the Tent of Death and put that downstairs with the rest of the toys.  The oldest one decided to carry it out of the play room for the hundredth time and went ass over tea kettle down the stairs.  Lucky for her I was just coming up to yell at her about it for the hundredth time and was there to catch her before she did serious damage to herself.  And third, I have been making sure that they are hydrated, fed, and clean the majority of time.  Well clean when they are in the house at any rate. 

Actually the dogs have been more of a pain in the butt then the kids.  Which reminds me, Thing One and Thing Two are both sleeping, the sun is shining, so instead of sitting here and typing I will leave hubby in charge and go for a walk. 

Day One

Today was day one without my coffee.  I survived.  In fact, it wasn't anywhere near as sad as I thought it was going to be.  (Yes I said sad and not bad...)  In fact, I didn't even think about it.  I had tea, and another cup of tea, and another cup of tea.  It was all good.  Although I did go pee, and then go pee, and then go pee some more.  So yay me. 

Tomorrow is the last day of classes which will make me a bit sad.  :(  I have rather been enjoying my weekly stint out of town to hang out with some like minded people, and enjoy getting out of my comfort zone, as well as doing some writing which is also out of my comfort zone.  All in all it has been a very enjoyable ten weeks. 

Next week will be a week that will test my mettle as a guardian of little bitty, sticky, and sometimes smelly people.  Yes you heard it here first folks, I will be babysitting the Poop Brigade all by my onesies for an entire week.  Hmmm, I wonder what the going rate is on the black market for two little blond haired, blue eyed babies these days?  "Be good kiddies or it will be scientific experiments for you!"

I wonder if it was a good idea to go off the bean just before?  Well at least I didn't give up the rum!

A Need a Good Camera

Today would have been a kick-ass day to have a great camera.  The lake was covered in this thick mist, the fog was so heavy that the bush looked like it had cotton batten stuck to it.  Man the pictures I could have taken! I'm 73.2% sure that I would right now be sitting on a picture worth millions, well maybe hundreds of thousands, at any rate a lot of money. 

Yesterday as I was puttering around the kitchen doing Dora Domestica stuff and I happened to notice the sunset being all blood red and having the wow factor.  Then I continued to putter around some more before that thought eventually lead to "Hey I should grab a camera and take a picture of it."  Which I did, but by the time I got out there the sunset wasn't quite as spectacular, and now as I am looking over the pictures the first three were all fuzzy and crappy.  The last two were a little more crisp but by then the sunset was just plain old sunsetty...and less than spectacular, but you are still getting a picture of it.  Seeing as I went to all that trouble and everything.  But don't expect too much because my camera just seems to be taking craptastic pictures these days. 

Coffee the Elixir of the Gods

Why oh why does coffee have such a hold over me?  For the life of me I do not understand it.  I remember vividly how much I despised the stuff as a child.  Of course truth be told it was probably because of the way my dad use to drink it, two heaping spoonfuls of instant coffee, five heaping spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of milk.  It was disgusting, repulsive, revolting, and nauseating.  It was also yucky.  For some reason the sweet tea he drank wasn’t nearly as gross to me so I was okay drinking that.  The irony of it is that because of my dad’s hot beverage preferences today I drink both without sugar.   

As I sit here typing and sipping on my coffee, which I can’t seem to get enough of, I contemplate why it has such a hold over me.  It is bitter, although not as much since I started using cream in it again, it makes a fidgety person even more fidgety, and anyone who knows me knows that I do not need help with my fidgetiness.  It makes me want to eat cake, or at least a good chocolate chip cookie or twelve.  And seeing as I managed to put on twenty one pounds while stress eating through my mom’s illness, and then death, I’m pretty sure that my cake and chocolate chip cookie days should be left well behind me.   

Yesterday I was sitting in the living room trying to warm up in front of the fireplace and playing a bubble game on my iPad when it occurred to me that I had been playing that insipid game for almost an hour and a half and was wasting valuable time.  My best friend had been down the month before for my mom’s memorial service and showed me the game. It looked like fun so I loaded it up.  Unfortunately I’ve been playing it almost non-stop since then, so I decided to stop myself.  I certainly don’t want to develop another bad habit, so I deleted the game from my machine.  Problem solved.   

This of course leads me to the thought that if I can be tough on myself with some things then why can’t I do it with others?  Such as coffee?  Even if it is the elixir of the gods.  Dam Flying Spaghetti Monster and his twisted sense of humour.  Obviously the answer is that I can.  According to Eckhart Tolle it is my ego that is trying to control me.  Dam ego; the insidious bastard!  So I have decided, starting tomorrow, I will once again be off the bean for two months.  I can’t start today because I just brewed this pot of coffee and I don’t want it to go to waste.  ;p

 

The Iron Bess Rules for Going Beanless

1.       Coffee will be permitted one day a week.

2.       On those days where Bess drinks coffee it will be limited to two cups (not pots).

3.       Tea will be an acceptable substitute for hot beverages. 

4.       Allow myself one regretful thought about not drinking coffee, but follow it up with five thoughts about how much better life is without it. 

5.        Rejoice in the fact that I control my ego not the other way around!!!!!!

Baby She's Cold Out There

It certainly got a bit chilly out there last night.  We didn't get any snow but the frost was thick on the ground.  I hate to say it, being the winter hating girl that I am, but it sure was purdy this morning being all sparkly like.  Typically I would be getting into the depressed, woe is me, winter is coming doldrums around this stage but some days I can't but help marvel at how beautiful the world can still be at all times of the year.  I'm sure I will get over that sentimentality once we have our first snowfall.  (And no you cannot point out to me when I wax poetic about how lovely the branches look with the snow on them how much of a hypocrite I am.)

Yesterday I put life and limb into jeopardy and took the hell hound for a walk in the afternoon.  We were all decked out in our fluorescent orange, hunters please don't shoot me because I am not a deer, outfits and wandered around for an hour but still sticking close to the house.  Most recently I've been taking Spanish lessons while going for my walks, but yesterday I spent the time working on a story I have brewing in my head.  So instead of sounding like a dork saying, "perdon senor entiende ingles?" out loud to the trees, and underbrush, I was saying things like, She stood shivering in the afternoon light, not from cold, but from fear and confusion...Hmmm...is she confused or just truly screwed up in the head because of what just happened to her?  Lucky for me I live in the sticks and there isn't anyone around to call the men with the funny jackets and padded trucks. 

Today the hubby is all gungho about going out and cutting up some trees.  "Come on," he says as he tries to get me motivated.  "It will use up some calories and get those flabby arms into shape."  Oh yeah that's motivating.  It motivates me to want to smack him up the side of the head with a neon orange glove, or kick his skinny hiney with a neon orange rubber boot. 

We have a saying here at the Old Shoes and Tea Society, "Don't piss old Iron Bess off before she had her morning coffee or you may not wake up again until next week." 

But putting my violent thoughts aside I will in fact pick up my trusty little chain saw and stealthily sneak up on a maple, or poplar, and pretend I am from Texas, but not until I've had another cup of coffee. 

How to Perform Phone Sex in One Easy Lesson

I just got off the phone after getting sucked into taking a survey about natural, organic, free range, vegan foods which have died naturally surrounded by singing angels in a loving environment and I'm feeling a bit violated.  You see typically I am not a fan of talking on the phone so normally when someone asks me to take a survey I quickly press the disconnect button. 

I will make exceptions for some people, but if I were to use my fingers to count those people I would not use all the digits up on one hand. 

The following is an example of conversations which I don't mind -

Me: Hi
Caller: Hi.  What time are we meeting for linedancingogratingballhoops?
Me: I booked townhall for twelvity clock.
Caller: Okay see you there.  Bye.
Me: Bye.

Short, to the point, and no long awkward pauses. 

On the other hand I hate feeling pressured into having to carry on conversations because if I didn't it would just end up with the two of us breathing at each other until our receivers got all steamy.  That's just plain old phone sex and frankly I've had all the phone sex I can take.

Of course there are even worse types of calls, people I don't know, but who think they know me. 

Me: Hi.
Schoolmate I haven't spoken to in thirty years: HI!  OMG I can't believe I finally got a hold of you on the phone.  I've been calling, and calling, and calling, and you've never picked up before. 
Me: Yeah my caller ID isn't working.  Who did you say it was?
Schoolmate: It's me silly, Jenna-Jean Pink-Pants-Backstabber, remember we used to sit in the same classroom in kindergarten.  I was the one who always showed off her underpants to the boys.
Me: No.
Schoolmate: Don't you remember we once wore the same colour pants on the same day?  My mom was so traumatized that she burned all my clothes.
Me: Um...no. 
Schoolmate: Anyway it's so great hearing your voice and I can't believe we get to catch up this way.  By the way I was wondering how much I could put you down for a donation to pay for my daughter's bible college...
Me: Click.
Schoolmate: Hello?  Hello? 

You see I used to work for a big company in Materials Management, first as a buyer, then as a Purchasing Agent and essentially being a buyer/agent means spending a LOT of time on the phone.  And when I say a LOT I mean A LOT!  I have spent more time than any human being should ever spend speaking to other human beings.  Five life times worth.  Karma will probably bring me back as a mute in the next lifetime and then deaf for the next after that.

Unfortunately almost all that time on the phone involved....salesmen. Yeech. (Karma will be bringing those guys back as cockroaches.)

Salesmen speak - You are so lucky we happen to have a sale on for the nosepickingenometer which you are calling about for 75% off but the sale ends today.

Real Meaning - Wow I can't believe someone is calling about this piece of crap that I was about to throw away, it's worth nothing but I will see if I can get her to pay me thousands of dollars by not giving her time to think about it. Plus she is a woman and consequently stupid. 

Salesman speak - Me love you long time so this offer is only exclusive to you my favourite of all favourite buyers who is pretty, and smart, and talented, and who I want to marry and have children with. 

Real Meaning - I will make sweet, sweet love to you over the phone therefore you will buy anything from me because you are a woman and not too bright.  And in no way, shape, or form will you feel violated after I am done with you.  Not until I actually am done with you that is and have taken bilked you out of a fortune.

These days most of my social activities involve email, or Facebook.  Those options are a joy to yours truly, Ms. Antisocial Introvert.  My favourite button these days is the, Ignore, when Jenna Pink-Pants or her ex husband Marvin Slimy-Toad sends me a friend request.  Although I do have to admit that I wasn't always this particular, in fact, when I first got onto Facebook I was somewhat naive and I happily allowed all and sundry through who wanted to be my friend, but after one too many - Click, Like, if you heart rainbow coloured bunnies who love Jesus and eat pink crayons - and I was done.  Now I am much more particular who I Friend.  (When did friend become a verb anyway?)

But to tell the truth I would still pick the pink crayon eating, Jesus loving, bunnies over most phone conversations because there is this other button that allows you to Block Updates...or better yet, Unfriend! 

I Axed You Where It Was

Hubby informs me that I have to write a little blurb in here saying that I could not find the small hatchet that I bought for chopping kindling, and he did.  He is feeling very vindicated, most especially after reading my post about him searching for his nudgemashtacator and how I was all about saying that he looks like a man then blames me so I will start looking for it.  The truth is that I did not find it.  The truth is that it was in fact in the closet where he said it would be.  The truth is that after looking and not seeing I went in search in other places.  But let me add a few more tidbits that also may come into play here.  1) It was in the closet, up on the top shelf, far in the corner.  2) The fact that he knew it was in the closet and I didn't may possibly mean that I was not the person who put it there.  3) He is six foot three, I am not.  He can see up in higher places a little easier than me. 4) Even if it all boils down to me being unable to find it that would mean that in the thirty some odd years we have been together torturing each other, Me - 2, Hubby - 44,671.  I rest my case. 

Hubby also indicated that he was against receiving a pirate name for these posts.  He doesn't like any of the ones I've come up with to date.  Hmmm, methinks that hubby is starting to get a little bit big for his non-pirate britches and starting to dictate a little too much of what I can, should, and can't be blogging about.  Maybe hubby should start his own blog, that way he can write whatever the hell he wants.  Maybe his name should be Meddling Marvin of the Seven Sticking Your Nose Into Places Where It Doesn't Belong Seas. 

So...sigh...today is drizzly and cold, gone are the plus 21 degree days.  Which means I will have to dress like a Nipper-Snipper today when I go for my walk.  Yesterday we cut some of the pine we have been letting dry all summer and it turned out to not be so dry.  It was a pretty big assed tree that got blowed down this spring and we figured that it would make great kindling.  But the chunks we had split it into obviously weren't small enough because when we put it in the splitter oozy stuff came out.  So we decided to split it up to smaller and smaller pieces then stack it in the basement where it will have a better chance of drying out, most especially now that it isn't raining inside but it is raining outside.  Good thing we did that yesterday cause today the rain would have washed away our hopes, and crashed our dreams on the shores of disappointment. 

I've decided to apply for a couple of on-line writing jobs so I will be spending the afternoon writing up my bio.  (Hahahahaha...the person who reads it may be able to use it as a sleeping aid unless I manage  to insert some humour into it.)  I also have to submit a couple of sample pieces, so I will be polishing up a few things I have kicking around.  I hope I can actually do that because typically when I polish stuff I get seriously caught up in the nuances which usually results in me eventually having to have a really strong rum and coke to settle my nerves.  So either we can raise a mug of grog together and celebrate, or we can raise a mug a grog together and commiserate.

Asshats and Other Hairy Beasts

Have I mentioned the fact that my cat is an asshat?  You see old Iron is a tiny, teeny bit not liking hairy, purring things hanging out on her bed.  (Thought I would throw in the purring part there just so you understand that it's not the hubby we are talking about here.  Not that he doesn't purr, he just doesn't do it in bed, usually it is reserved for occasions when the tractor is running particularly well, or if he finally got the goblabster working after friking for hours with the narkling crank chamber.) 

I figure I have enough hair to deal with the three times I have to sweep the floor because the short and furries haven't figured out that when it starts getting toward the fall/winter time of the year it would be best to hang onto their hair so they don't freeze their asses off.  But no.  Fall to them means that they have to start shedding even more.  Where was I?  Oh yeah furries in my bed.  Anyway I am not a fan of cats hanging out on, in, or near my bed. 

So let me show you exhibit A.  Methinks that perhaps some cat of the small, black, and furry kind may have left some clues that she is in fact an asshat. 

 

 

As I may have mentioned yesterday the temperatures were warm and I was loving it.  Today, well today was just crazy.  It wasn't warm, it was hot.  Like take off your jacket and run around in your bra hot.  Hot enough for me to say, "WTF?"

 

Me - Is it really this hot?

 

Hubby -  Yup.

 

Me - Did we somehow actually end up hibernating and sleep through the winter?  I know I've been threatening to do that, but really?

 

Hubby - It's hot. 

 

Me - But did we sleep through the winter?

 

Hubby - (sigh) Let's go make some kindling. 

 

Me - Seems kind of redundant now, what with it being summer and all.  

Holy Crap On A Cracker

I really, really, really hate starting these posts with a weather report but I can't help it today.  It got to 20 degrees of the Celsius kind here.  Like spring.  Like summer.  Like wow man.  Global warming of the best kind.  It was beautiful and warm and lovely and sunny and all kinds of other things related to warm weather in November. 

The poop brigade, the kidlet, two dogs, and me went for a stroll in the back forty.  Unfortunately the youngest didn't quite do that well seeing as all he wanted to do was nap.  The oldest was wired for sound, and the dogs were like crazy things screaming back and forth through the bush.  But hell, it was a nice day and even though short and whiny, and short and hairies were trying their best to put a damper on things it wasn't happening.  This kind of weather is a gift from the weather faerie at this time of year so a body has to take advantage of it when it comes along. 

Yesterday hubby and I were out with our trusty chainsaws and cutting up some trees.  Man I sure could have used some of this weather then.  You see I sweat no matter what the temperature is when I do any kind of activity at all, even rolling over in bed, which means that when I stop even for a short break I am soaking wet, and if it is chilly I immediately start freezing.  Not fun.  Plus my safety glasses were constantly steaming up.  How safe can it be when you are using a high powered contraption with a lethal rotating blade on it and you can barely make out what you are cutting?  "Oh sorry.  Didn't see your leg there.  Quit your whining you have another one."  So had we waited until today I could have chainsawed (chainsawn?) in a Tshirt and sweated buckets-o-water all over the back forty, but when I dropped from dehydration I wouldn't have gotten cold.  That's all I am saying. 

Also note worthy - even though my back and ass were hurtin units after bucking up a few trees yesterday, today I was actually moving around with very minimal amounts of discomfort.  The way I figure it that is either a good sign, or it means I am on the way out as I can no longer feel anything below the neck.  Either way it was a warm day in these here parts and I'm not adverse to admitting that I loved it. 

Read At Your Own Risk, Foul Language Resides Here

Hallelujah the lost has been found!  The fluxmegatron loobesque bean grinder is back in the flock and all is right with the world.  Hubby found it in the lake.  Don't ask, I didn't.  So he is once again well ensconced in his deer blind where no doubt he is fidgeting and dreaming of better hunting days.  (Thank dog for fraking spell check this morning!  For the life of me I couldn't spell fidget.  It must be a sign.)

As I've mentioned earlier in this blog, my mom, who used to be an avid reader of my posts, passed away in August, so I kind of feel like I no longer have "Big Brother" watching while I'm writing.  I just get this urge now and then to type in a couple of fucks just because I know I won't have to listen to the lecture afterward.  The funny thing is that while she was alive I did feel restricted the whole time I was writing my blog and always thought that maybe I should start a super, secret, radical blog and not tell her about it and then I could write whatever my little heart desired.  Funny thing that.  Now that she is no longer being the, content police, my style and content haven't changed.  Plus it looks like I don't have radical, crazy, foul things to write about.  So perhaps she wasn't really the content police after all, maybe all that was just in my head.  Although she did admonish me for my language on occasion.  So if you will bear with me here - fuck, fuck, fuck.  Ah, I feel so much better now. 

Posting R Us

Hubby, or a.k.a., Frownin Fred is outside with a metal detector looking for a lost clip in the leaf covered grass.  Today is probably the first time ever in the history of our union where Frownin Fred did not accuse me of stealing, losing, or throwing away his lost item.  And the only reason he isn't accusing me of this dastardly deed is because the probability of me even having seen it in the past 20 years is so low that Fred hasn't got it in him to drag me into the interrogation room and question me under the bright lights.  I'm not quite sure how this works in his mind but whenever something goes missing around these here parts Frownin Fred immediately jumps to the conclusion that it was my doing. 

Hubby - I can't find my truck keys what did you do with them?

Me - I haven't touched your keys.

Hubby - Well they aren't where I always put them so consequently it is your fault. 

Me - Have you looked in your hands?

Hubby - Oh.  Here they are. 

********************

Hubby - What did you do with my fluxmegatron it isn't where I thought I left it?

Me - What is a fluxmegatron, and what do you use it for?

Hubby - (rolling his eyes) Obviously you use it to fark a waichmat before tightening the loobesque shot.  Don't you remember I used to use it all the time when Billy Bob Joe Dunce used to get his loobesque hooked in the bean grinder. 

Me - No. What does it look like.

Hubby - (rolling his eyes) Its round on one side and grey on the other and makes little ping, ping noises. 

Me - Oh that thing, I used it to clip the cat's claws. 

Hubby - Don't be a smart ass. 

************************

He ALWAYS  accuses me of taking his stuff, 98.5% of the time not only do I not take it but I haven't got a freakin clue what the hell he is looking for.  Typically I don't have those kinds of problems with my stuff because I do this really weird freaky thing when I use it, I put it back where I got it from.

I'm not really sure why he thinks I lose his stuff because I do the same freaky thing after using his crap as well.  Perhaps he thinks if he accuses me then I will get annoyed and start looking for it.  Of course that makes sense because typically I will find it because I look like a girl, and he looks like a boy.  Meaning I actually move shit around and look over, behind, under, beside, and on things.  Boys usually allow their gaze to sweep across the room before announcing loudly that it isn't anywhere in the room.  You're standing on it.  Sigh. 

Mouth Breather Will Be Shot On Sight

The post weather report for today was rain, rain, rain, rain, and more rain.  I drove to a small town about 35 minutes away this afternoon in the rain.  Then while in class I was listening to the rain fall onto, into, and around the building I was in.  On the way home it rained a LOT, and then once I got home it rained some more.  I think you get the picture.  It was damp. 

Anyway on my drive home I was listening to the radio and heard that many Republicans said that if Obama got elected they would be moving to Canada.  I said, "Hunh?"  Then they went on to say that there was no way that they could live in a country which promotes socialist medicine, Obama Care goes against everything that is right and decent in the world, so they threatened to pack up and move up north.  These people are obviously mentally challenged so not only should they be heavily medicated they should also be locked up for their own safety.  And for the safety of all Canadians they should also be made to wear identifying signs so when they approach the boarder they will be shot with a tranquilizer gun and returned to the point of origin. 

The immigration policy for Canada is that mouth breathers need not apply. 

Please Not The Cartoons, Anything But That

Today involved going to the city and doing a Costco run with the kidlet and the two screaming banshees.  The banshee most often associated with the majority of the screaming was the quiet one today.  The female banshee was wired for sound and hopped up on cocaine, or possibly over stimulated from playing with a tea set.  Seeing as she is three it would be safe to assume that it is the tea set, but based on her actions this afternoon I wouldn't rule out the possibility that a little bit of cocaine found its way into her pablum.  I wonder what would happen if some crushed up Valium were dumped into her sippy cup the next trip out?.  Not that I'm advocating drugging small baby types.  I would never do that.  Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. 

On the way into the city, the Mesmerizer, also known as, the Mesmetron, was on and the banshees were watching Beano & Toupee.  Please kill me now.  Is it me or do little kids shows suck so bad that you would actually rather hear said kids whining and sniveling more then listening to the crap that they've created to stop the whining and sniveling?  That's a close a draw as the US 2012 presidential polls were. 

Having spent the last thirty years or so not actually watching, listening to, or being around any of the cartoons they have created for children it has been a real eye opener.  If this world goes to hell in a hand basket I swear it's going to be because when this generation of children grow up they will have been warped.  And not in a good way. 

I'm An Earthling

I’ve decided on a title for a new book; Women Are From Earth, Men Are From Penis.  Seeing as I haven’t been able to come up with even a working title for the book I’m writing I thought if I came up with a title before I started my next one it would work out better. 

So here’s the premise, men come from the planet Penis.  They call themselves Dickwadians, well maybe it’s just the women that call them that, and instead of living in communities they live in penile colonies.  They call their moon Beaver, and fly in phallic shaped rockets and try to land them in the deepest hole where they try to mine for gems but actually just end up daydreaming all day.  The hubby thinks it is a kickass idea.  His exact words were, “That’s about as close to man’s psyche as you can get.” 

The hubby has featured on and off in this blog and I think I have to come up with a better name for him then “the hubby”.  Me thinks that he needs a pirate name.  A good one.  Like Iron Bess’s Man, or Sid the Parrotless, or Frownin Fred, or No Neck Nick.  I think I will try out a few and see how it rolls off the tongue, or the fingers, so to speak.   

So Frownin Fred went out hunting this morning.  Hunting here means sitting in a “blind” (see Bunch of crap leaning against a tree) and waiting quietly, and still, for an unsuspecting Bambi to wander by.  Ha-ha-ha!  If I know one thing about No Neck Nick staying still is not in his vocabulary, his genes, or his jeans.  This is the guy who will work himself to death, whine, snivel, and bitch about it, then when he has about four hours of rest immediately becomes restless and has to go out and build his self a gee-rage, or pour a concrete floor.  I’m thinking that Bambi may possibly be safe this year.  I’m sure he is out there right this minute dreaming of the days in the mountains when he could wander around the bush looking for game.  Sitting there must be killing him.  Poor Sid the Parrotless. 

 

Bess Contemplates Bizarro-Land

I was reading an article earlier this week about a police officer who was turned into the authorities by his estranged wife for planning on abducting, raping, torturing, killing and then eating a bunch of women.  He claims that it was just a fantasy and he wasn't going to act on it but when they seized his computer he had plans laid out, he had used the police records to obtain information about specific women, and he had lists of what he would need to carry out his "fantasy". And the article goes onto to say that there are a community of people on the Internet with those same desires.  A) What the hell kind of fantasy is that?  and 2) I have this theory about why people are so monumentally fucked up these days.  It is because we happen to live in the land of milk and honey.  Well not exactly milk seeing as there are a limited amount of cows wandering around our streets, and honey, well the bees may not be so thrilled knowing that we can eat whatever the hell we want, including each other, and somehow we are coveting their hard worked for supply of food.  And besides why is milk and honey so great anyway?  Why isn't the saying "the land of burgers and iPhones" or "coffee and cake"?  Hmmm, coffee and cake. Yum. 

Where was I again?  Oh yeah fucked up.  Okay so for millions of years mankind wandered around the planet hiding from almost everything (because we haven't exactly been endowed with the best defensive attributes) and looking under rocks for food.  Burger King was when we would stumble on a saber tooth's kill and manage to rip off a chunk of mammoth without becoming dessert.  Heat was huddling together in damp caves, and washing was when someone accidentally fell into the river and made it out without drowning.  So pretty much everyone spent all of their days skulking, stealing, and shivering, this left little time to be an asshole.  Flash forward a few millennium and you have kids who's one job may be to take out the garbage, or load the dishwasher, grown ups who go to work and stare at a computer screen all day, or put widget A into slot B, and you can see how things can go a little sideways.  People are bored and have too much time to indulge in all their bizarro-land fantasies.  Then other people realize that they could make a lot of money by developing games about this weird shit...and the cycle gets worse. 

It is pretty obvious to me how to fix the world's problems.  Scientists need to figure out how to bring back mammoths and saber tooth tigers.  Then instead of guns they could give everyone a spear, put them into a cave, and stripped down to their boxers.  Then poof, no more time to dream about chewing on someone's leg, coveting your neighbour's new car, or being bored on the couch.  People would have to band together for protection so the majority would have a chance at survival.  Pretty quickly the whiners who do not want to work together, or contribute so everyone has decent health care would be kicked out of the community and left as fodder for the beast. 

Well I'm off to fire up my little chainsaw to buck up some wood that got blowed down in the winds.  And I'm pretty sure while I am doing that I will be concentrating on the fact that my back is sore, my arms are aching, and how much this work will help heat Kitpu Estates next winter.  Not once will I be wondering how tasty the hubby's rump roast would be. 

Squeaky

Cleaning day today!  Well every day is a little bit of a cleaning day around these parts it has to be unless you don't mind living in forty feet of dog and cat hair that is.  I'm relatively certain that any calorie that my dog consumes goes directly into making fur for her body.  It has to otherwise the glut of hair covering every square inch of surface in the shack could only have sinister implications.  For instance aliens could be using it as a test to see how long it will be before old Iron Bess goes insane.  Or Satan has a hole leading straight from hell into my house and when the three headed dog sheds too much he just gets his minions to sweep it directly into my house.  Bastard! I knew there was a reason I should hate that asshole.  Fucking aliens.  Fucking Satan. 

My vacuum cleaner always smells like an old wet dog whenever I fire it up even if I had just changed the bag on it the time before.  I am looking forward to the day when we install the built-in vacuum and the air is shunted outside.  Let the neighbours put up with the stink.  The bonus today was that the temperatures were on the warmish side and I was able to open up all the doors and windows and allow the stink to get herded outside by the breezes passing through.  So now instead of dog it smells like fall in here. 

Now that I am done cleaning, and have dinner on the go, I may take some time and brew a pot of coffee and do a little bit of homework.  (I’d go for a walk except it is prime time for hunter madness outside at this time of the day, and seeing as I like my body a little less ventilated I think I will just stick around the premises.) 

A Lot Less Squishy

I just returned from a walk with the hell-houndicus and it is a lot less squishy out there.  The flood waters are receding and the roads/trails are starting to dry out a bit.  So I am pretty much "woo-hoo" about that.  But these days I have to be careful.  You see walking outside at this time of the year means me putting on my walking gear plus a neon orange vest and hat.  Even the houndicus has a glowing orange and yellow vest to wear.  Not only is it fashionable, but it is my paltry attempt at disguising myself as a human being and therefore not good to target practice on.   

You see around these here parts people are a little jumpy and shooty during hunting season.  And hunting season means losing control of all your faculties, going out into the bush, and being trigger happy to the point of thinking that every single object within a forty kilometer radius of your position is a legitimate deer so is filled with so much lead that civilizations for hundreds of years afterward will be sick from all that lead leaching into the drinking supply.  Although even if they did shoot you and got arrested for it they would probably get off because the judge would be all, "Well she was asking for it by going out onto her own property and walking around in the bush dressed up like a neon orange Sasquatch with matching hat.  Had she been more responsible and worn a large flashing sign above her head which read 'Do Not Shoot I Am Not A Deer' and hired a marching band to follow her around playing 'Paradise By The Dashboard Light' wherever she walked then I may have reprimanded you for shooting her."  It's not like there is any rules about being able to clearly see the animal and count the tines on its antlers.  Oh wait a minute....  No wonder the animals, and people, in these here parts are jumpy all year round.  (It's the tainted water.)

I had gone out for a walk just before, Sandy, or Sandzilla, the storm to storm all storms, hit the eastern seaboard and rained on it, and had taken a few pictures.  I really loved the look of the light on the leaves, it made me feel all squiggy inside. and all artsy outside.  I also added one with the hound in her fashionable attire because hey, there really aren't too many pictures a person can take around here without a large moose-like dog running through it.  (Unless of course you actually want the dog in the picture then it would be nowhere to be found.)

Click on to make bigga

Aftermath

I am happy enough to report that here at Kitpu Estates all the denizens survived the storm of the century, called Sandy.  Lucky for us the storm didn't actually quite make it this far.  Well maybe the outer edges did a little.  We had a bit of wind, a lot of thunder and lightning, and a LOT of water.  I think the lake may have actually risen about a foot.  The back forty is waterlogged, and we walked through the water which was flowing profusely over the road which leads into the property.  Through some miraculous intervention we never did lose power, although reports of power outages all around filtered in through my daughter's eleventh appendage, her iPhone.  We kept all electronics turned off, and unplugged during the majority of the storm so circuits wouldn't fry.  A hardship, but somehow it was endured, most especially by the help of 500 Rummy. 

Monday (or was it Sunday?) we prepared for the storm by picking up all items that may have been blowy away things, or blowy into things, and securing all doors and windows, and generally battening down the hatches.  We stocked up on supplies like water, food, and gas, then we went out and did the same for the kidlet and the Poop Brigade.  Then we all retired to Kitpu Estates to wait out the screaming and howling, as well as the winds.  We ended the storm by a rousing round of trick or treating and consumed questionable candy which we did not want the kids to eat.  Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. 

Today all electronics have been turned on, the hatches have been unbattened, and the Poop Brigade departed.  Quietude has returned to the land of the Bess that is Iron. 

I am hoping that everyone else managed to get through the storm with a minimum amount of problems as well.  :)