Friday, July 30, 2010

Bats in your hair

So, I'm sitting outside enjoying the ear piercing shrieks of cicadas when I see our 2 usual bats doing their supersonic moves through the air in our yard, hopefully sucking up all of the mosquitos from Malaria Pool next door... and it totally weirds me out.

In my head, I hear my grandmother warning me: "watch out for the bats because they'll swoop down and get tangled in your hair". Yes, this from the woman that thinks pregnancy comes from toilet seats, but still... why risk it?

I KNOW after a gazillion years of watching Discovery Channel, and National Geographic channel and every channel but lamestream media, that bats don't swoop down and get tangled in hair. I think that even lamestream media would have a story about that, along with a video where the news puppet would laugh at the poor person with a bat stuck in their hair... but no, nothing.

Even though I KNOW for a fact that a bat won't swoop down and intentionally tangle itself in my hair... I'm still weirded out by them. They're fast. They zoom around all erratic. What if they made a silly mistake and jinked instead of twisted and BAM... bat in the hair? Then where would I be? I'd be apologizing to my long dead grandmother and also explaining to all of my former facebook friends who would post that video of me getting a bat cut out of my hair by EMTs that all I was doing was sitting on my deck listening to annoying cicadas and they all should DIE!

So, if you are a parent... tell your kids that a bat will swoop down and get caught in their hair, and they'll get pregnant if they sit on a public toilet seat, and make them pull your finger, and that chewing gum will stay in your stomach until you die, and you'll get worms if you eat cookie dough raw... because I shouldn't be the only one with mental problems in this world.

... and I still can't get any Xanax.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Saturday, July 17, 2010

We Interupt our Regularly Scheduled ...

Normally I would be posting a "Iced Latte with Lobsterman" post here, but instead I'll tell you what we did this morning.

This morning, it was an honor and privilege to provide a welcoming group, and motorcycle escort to World War II veterans from Dayton, Ohio.

Honor Flight Network is a non-profit organization that was created solely to honor American's veterans for all their sacrifices.

Members of the Old Glory H.O.G. Chapter, of which I am a member, gather at the Chapter, and then ride to airport (wherever an Honor Flight is landing), greet the WWII veterans when they exit security with clapping and hand shakes, thanking them for their service and sacrifice to keep our country free. We then escort the bus down to Washington DC, to the WWII memorial, help out the Honor Flight volunteers, and help educate tourists and other visitors on what these special men and women did to help preserve our freedom.

Listening to their stories and just being with these soldiers is awe inspiring and an honor. Seeing the effect the memorial has on them brings tears to my eyes. These brave men, who went through so much for us and our country, thank us for what we do... but all of the thanks goes to them.

Thank you veterans. Although I served in our Armed Forces during the Cold War, your contribution to our freedom is a debt we shall repay by keeping our country free and great!

God Bless America and God Bless the members of our Armed Forces!

Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Pants Rant

I strongly believe that captured terrorists should be forced to wear Vera Wang pants.

So, there I am at work, working... no really, I was working... seriously, stop laughing. I'm wearing my comfy pair of black Vera Wang pants that collect ridiculous amounts of dog hair, but as usual, I don't care, they're comfy and stylish.

I'm pretty sure that Vera (since I wear her pants I feel that I can be on a first name basis with her) designs her pants for people who have no hip bones, such as herself. While most pants have a fly and button, Vera goes for a very secure closure that includes a zipper, two gigantic hook things, a flap and a button, all craftily hid inside the waist band and nearly impossible to manipulate. I'm pretty sure that when I purchased the pants, they weren't in the modern chastity belt section, just the average women who have hip bones but want to look as though they've had their hip bones removed so they can be just like Vera section. The only thing missing is a combination lock.

Having successfully navigated the bathroom on several occasions throughout the day with minimal difficulty, I thought nothing of taking an afternoon bathroom break stroll after 3 cups of coffee and a venti iced latte, 4 packets of sugar. Stroll probably isn't a good word, more like hurried walk. As usual, once one enters the bathroom, their bladder has a certain expectation that shortly upon entering the stall, blessed relief will begin. This is where the trouble started.

For some odd reason, the secure gigantic hook things had somehow become welded together. This seemed problematic, especially because my bladder was tapping impatiently waiting for the "go" signal. I pulled and manipulated some more... to no avail. I then began frantically pulling, twisting, and tearing at the hook things.

This was getting serious! Its not like I could just give up and go back to my desk, my bladder clearly knew where we were, I had to go, but I couldn't get my pants off. I dimly recall seeing the shoes of a co-worker/friend in another stall when I came in. As I respect the privacy of those I blog, we'll call her Sylvania. For a fleeting moment I thought of yelling out to Sylvania for help, but then I thought... well, what the heck would she do? Do I leave the stall while trying to tear open my pants and perhaps have Sylvania take a go at them, and what happens when another co-worker comes into the bathroom and sees two women trying to rip one's pants off? I mean I doubt we'd even get the pants open before security came, tasered us, and dragged us (me with peed pants) to jail or signed us up for a Cinemax at night gig.

There wasn't any guarantee that Sylvania would take one look at me, call security and have my pee stained self dragged from the building, and what would happen if those WEREN'T Sylvania's shoes in that stall, what would that person think of me screaming for them to rip my pants off. Just thinking about that made me laugh, which made things even worse because now I was thinking about the other people in the bathroom who could probably see my feet pivoting around as I tried to rip my pants off and now I was laughing, so it was only a matter of time before the security tasers came to get me... but then I got the hooks undone and I could pee, so life was good again.

And captured terrorists should wear Vera Wang pants.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sunday, July 11, 2010

The Tuna Rant

All right everyone, pull up your pants and get ready for a "when I was a kid" rant about tuna.

When I was a kid, canned tuna was chock full of big meaty tuna pieces with a little bit of water (or oil, if you were one of those that preferred the oil).  You would plop out a huge glop of tuna meat, add half a container of mayo (Helmans... none of that Miracle Whip crap), and make the entire family a freakin tuna sandwich.  Half the time there was enough left to feed some homeless feral cats and most of a high school football team.

Hard to believe that such a tiny little can of tuna could provide that much tuna, but it did, and the tuna was delicious, and it was chunky, and it was plentiful.  I'm pretty sure you could feed a whole impoverished country with one can of tuna back then, it was just that good.

Now look at it!  You open up a can of tuna and its nothing but a bunch of glop in water (or oil if they even make it in oil, since oil is probably the major cause of obesity or death or something), its the consistency of the hair that gets stuck in your bathtub drain and sits there for about 6 months because you are either too lazy or didn't even realize you had 6 pounds of congealed hair in your drain until the water wouldn't drain and then you are left with a handful of slimey nasty crap that you could just as well slop onto a slice of bread and have a much better sandwich than the gooey crap in that tuna can... it doesn't even smell fishy anymore (the tuna, not the hair). 

Its so gooey and nasty and chunkless that adding ANY mayo into the goop makes it even goopier and nastier, and then try spreading that crap on bread, it just sucks the goo right up!  You can barely even make one sandwich out of that mess, and even then its like eating two slices of bread that have been soaked in a neglected aquarium.

What the hell happened to canned tuna?  I vaguely remember some sort of hoopla over the whole catching dolphins in the nets by mistake and since dolphins are cute and apparently as smart as humans (but apparently not so smart that they can't swim around a fricken tuna net, or have the wherewithal to carry a pocket knife to free themselves if they found themselves in a stupid net and before you point out that dolphins don't have pockets, I'll trump that with "oh yeah, what about that stupid blow hole thing?") and shortly after that, tuna started to suck, which leads me to this horrific thought:

What if all of this time we weren't eating tuna, we were actually eating FLIPPER!!!!

Um, frankly, I say we need to start Flipper farming because this real tuna stuff totally sucks.

Friday, July 02, 2010

Fond Childhood Memory

One winter, when I was in Elementary school, I wanted to wear shorts to school.  My mother, of course, thought this was incredibly silly.

Mom: You can't wear shorts to school, its winter!
Me: why not?
Mom: Because its winter, you don't wear shorts in winter, your legs will freeze.
Me: but its ok to wear skirts and dresses to school and freeze your legs?
Mom: Well... but you wear tights or pantyhose and those keeps your legs warm.
Me: Pffft, are you kidding me?
Mom: Don't mouth off, you just can't wear shorts to school in winter.
Dad: oh let her wear shorts to school in winter if she wants

Gosh I loved my dad!  So, off I went to Chandler Elementary School in shorts.  As the normal routine, all of the kids played in the school yard until the bell rang and then we'd line up and walk into the school and into our classrooms.  None of the other kids seemed to have noticed that I was wearing shorts in winter, but as soon as the bell rang and we lined up, one of the teachers pulled me out of the line.

Teacher: What are you wearing?
Me: shorts
Teacher: Does your mother know you're wearing shorts to school in winter?
Me: yes
Teacher: (speechless for a few seconds) You're Jon's daughter, aren't you?
Me: yes
Teacher: get inside

One winter I asked for iced tea instead of milk.  Everyone thought I was insane.  You simply don't drink ice tea in winter, it was against the law.. or something.  My argument was that people drank sodas in the winter, and they drank other juices in the winter, what's the difference between that and drinking ice tea.  Its as if it was physically impossible to make ice tea during the winter or something, it was a "seasonal" drink.  I would like to think that I had something to do with the fact that you can get iced tea any time of the year now. 

The beauty of living in a small town is that most of my teachers also taught my father, so they pretty much knew what they were getting into.

Like the time I got a little magnet in a book, and for show and tell I talked about how magnets worked.  My teacher asked me to demonstrate, and since she was wearing a metal watch on a necklace, I plopped that sucker right on the watch... I didn't realize that putting magnets on watches was a bad thing.  Apparently it was an heirloom passed down from a few zillion generations.  She just looked at me and said "Yep, you're Jon's daughter".

I loved that.