Archive for the ‘Fun’ Tag

It’s Been Awhile

An Open Letter to My 8 Subscribers:

I’m sure you have all been sitting at home, wondering each and every day when I was going to post something again.  It’s okay, you can admit it. I know there’s been a deep and aching void in your heart because of my lack of posts recently, and I apologize for being the cause of such pain.  The truth is, friends, I can’t think of a damn thing to say.  I’ve taken some pictures and tossed around some ideas, but nothing seems to click into place.  And if it doesn’t click, in my opinion, then it’s not worth writing about.  I did feel, however, that I needed to post SOMETHING, which is why this letter is happening.

Since I still seem to be unable to come up with anything of substance, here’s a look at a few of the people/places/things (i.e., NOUNS.  What? I’m an English person) that have been keeping me occupied and thus unable to form a coherent post:

We went to the City Market a few weeks ago, and I gotta say, I love that place.  I wish we lived closer so we could go more often.  I doubt I would even buy stuff every time, because most of the appeal for me is the people.  I love watching the people; in fact, I have something of a staring problem.  Thank God for dark sunglasses.

Also, I found this drawing interesting.  It was in sort of the main walkway area of the market:

Clearly, this is the work of a master.

The next two pictures represent essentially what my life has become in recent weeks:

The kids in the first picture have chosen an activity that takes up all my time, and the kid in the second picture has chosen an activity that takes up all my money.  I’m not complaining….I’m just saying.

By the way, there was a post on here yesterday called “Please Stop Just Saying,” and it was about the most annoying pop culture phrases.  “I’m just saying” was included, as was “epic fail,” “I know, right?” and “ridic.”  I thought it was funny, and quite true, even though I am totes guilty of using some of these phrases from time to time.  I would point out though, that the #1 most annoying pop culture phrase for me personally is “It is what it is.”  Ugh.  Please don’t ever say that in my presence.  It’s stupid, and annoying, and redundant, and everyone already knows that it, whatever it may, actually is what it is.

But I digress…

Okay, so finally, I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to come up with vegetarian dishes that won’t taste like shit.  Since we have basically switched over to a meat-free diet (with the exception of a few times, like yesterday when I temporarily lost my mind and somehow found myself at Wendy’s ordering a spicy chicken sandwich), I’ve had to try out a lot of new recipes.  Some of them have been pretty tasty, while others have been EPIC FAILS.  This book has yielded some good ideas:

I’ve made a couple of different dishes from here, including a butternut squash and potato side dish that ranked somewhere between okay and good.  I thought it just needed more cheese, which also cemented my belief that I will never, ever be able to live as a vegan.  Sorry, Trent, but it’s not happening.

Here’s one of the meals from the book:

This would probably be easier to see if it were on a plate, but I didn’t have any clean plates so you’ll have to use your imagination.  It’s pasta (I used rotini) topped with sauteed eggplant, onions, tomatoes, garlic, and I can’t even remember what else.  I put some fresh basil and spinach in there too, and then a sprinkling of grated Parmesan.  I rather enjoyed it.  My kids didn’t, but I don’t care, because I also rather enjoy the dramatic expressions they make and the impassioned cries of “Mom, you’re killing us!” while I force them to eat it.  Dinner and a show, as far as I’m concerned.

And that’s pretty much all I’ve got right now.  I hope to be feeling the writin’ vibe again very soon, and trying out some new recipes to blog about in more detail.  In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this:




I Love Camping….Psych!

First of all, sorry for the “psych!” I was just reading something about bad trends from the 90s, and while it talked about stuff like Jnco Jeans and tribal tattoos, I’m remembering all the really bad slang from that era.  Booyah!

Okay, so we went camping last weekend.  Actually, technically, it was a float trip, but there was camping involved.  And I’m fine with the floating part, but it’s the camping that I’m not quite as much in love with.  It totally bums me out too, because I like to think that I’m comfortable wherever I am – in the city, country, suburbs, the ghetto, the backwoods of Missouri – wherever.  But the truth is, I’m not.  I’m definitely not comfortable sleeping in a tent in the backwoods of Missouri (cue banjo music from Deliverance).  And if I’m going to be totally honest, I’m probably not super comfortable in the ghetto either.  Just saying.


We camped.  We canoed.  I survived.  Barely.

Rather than give y’all a run-through of the whole weekend, I’m just going to highlight a few adventures and happenings from the trip.

1. The Bathrooms

Unfortunately, this picture doesn’t really do the bathroom justice.  I couldn’t get a good angle for the photo, plus I was sort of scared to go in any farther.  What you can see, though, is the moldy shower curtain that served as a door on the stall.  Behind that moldy curtain was a teeny, tiny space with a toilet, an empty toilet paper roll, and a whole bunch of grody (90s slang alert!) bugs.  Oh, and these instructions:

The fact that they find it necessary to tell people to do something as basic as flush the toilet says a lot, I think. 

2.  The Accommodations

This really wasn’t that bad, as far as tents go.  Not that I’ve stayed in a lot of tents, but it was pretty comfortable.  There was plenty of space, and once I got past the heat and humidity inside the thing, not to mention the rank odor of 4 unshowered people, it wasn’t THAT bad.

3. The Food.

This was my second favorite part of the whole trip.  Why?  Because it involved s’mores and campfire pies.  Duh.

Here’s a s’more:

And here is Trent transcending reality and going to an otherworldly place where only chocolate and marshmallows and joy exist:

Oh s’mores….how I love you. 

My dad, who organized the whole trip, also introduced me to campfire pies.  I have no idea if this is what they’re actually called, but it fits.  You take two buttered pieces of bread, put them in the two halves of a pie iron (butter side out), sprinkle both pieces with cinnamon and sugar, top one slice with pie filling, then put them together and stick ’em in the fire.  And then magic happens.

Buttery and crunchy on the outside, and warm pie filling on the inside.  Oh mama.  By the end of the weekend, I think I put away a record number of s’mores and campfire pies.  I also cried when I got on the scale after we got back.

4. Ricky Danny

This is my dad, Dan.  After driving like a maniac throughout the Missouri hills this weekend, he’s now known around these parts as Ricky Danny.  Never in my life have I felt as car sick as I felt driving through the Ozarks with this man.  Even 3 pregnancies with weeks of nonstop nausea had nothing on this ride with Ricky Danny.

5. The Canoeing

This was….interesting.  There were some definite good parts, but there were some definite bad parts too.  Here’s some of the good stuff:

There was tons of natural beauty here.  People can make all the jokes they want about the Ozarks and the hillbillies that live there, but maybe they’re onto something.  When you look around and all you can see for miles are trees, mountains, caves, rivers, lakes, and about a million stars at night, it sort of makes all the ugly things in the world disappear.  It puts you in a state of bliss.

And then, while you’re riding peacefully in your canoe in that state of bliss, overcome with the beauty of the scenery, your husband suddenly steers you into an overturned tree at the edge of the river and your peaceful world comes crashing down because spiders fill your canoe, sending you into an absolute shrieking panic that nearly overturns the boat, and then said husband yells at you to “calm the f**k down!” and then you get pissed at being told to calm down when clearly the situation calls for mayhem, and becoming completely freaking unglued is the only logical response.  Whew. 

So that was the bad part of canoeing.

Obviously, I didn’t get any pictures of the spiders or of that particular moment because I was too busy screaming and trying to eviscerate the icky spiders with my oar.  Please accept my apologies.

6.  Going Home

My favorite part of the whole trip.

These Are Real

This has nothing to do with food or kids or sweatpants or anything else I’m necessarily interested in….and yet, I have to talk about it.  I feel compelled to share these.  Because the truth is, I’m VERY interested in these….these….Shreddies.

First off, let me state that I’m not interested because I suffer from excessive flatulence.  Rather, I’m interested in the concept of these.  I want to know how they work, why they were made, and who in the hell buys them.  That’s all.

So there are several things I find disturbing about this ad.  I hardly know where to focus my attention first.  Let’s start with the headline. Fart With Confidence, it says.  Well, now there’s an interesting grouping of words.  What do people normally fart with?  I mean, I get it that maybe the majority of folks probably aren’t blasting off their gas with confidence, but does that mean that they’re farting with shame?  I’m not sure I buy that either. 

The other feature on the ad that is truly mind boggling to me is, of course, the woman who looks like she’s trying to smell her legpit.  How does that even work?  I get that there are flexible people in the world, and I know what contortionists are.  I think my issue with this picture is that here is an average woman (if you can overlook her flexibility), and she’s lying in grass trying to look sultry, and she’s obviously farting like it ain’t no thing….because she looks pretty confident to me.  Her flatulence is clearly being filtered, hence her relaxed demeanor.  I mean, this is what the makers of Shreddies are trying to tell us, right?  And….are her jeans tight rolled?  I believe they are.

Finally….Shreddies?  When the makers of these fart filters were sitting around trying to come up with a clever name, who said, “Hey! How about Shreddies?!”  I’m just confused.

Okay, so I had to do some investigating about these miracle panties.  Here’s their website if you want all the details, or let me just point out some of the highlights:

  • Excessive flatulence is an embarrassing problem that doesn’t just affect men, but women too.
  • Shreddies use a carbon cloth to filter the rank smell of the foulest flatulence.
  • They also sell Shorties, which are basically fart-filtering boy shorts, for contemporary gals.
  • Anybody who suffers for malodorous and excessive gas can benefit from Shreddies.

Those are just a few of the high points from the website.  There are also pictures, videos, and customer testimonials.

I don’t know, guys, I just think it’s kind of weird.  I hope they’re helping someone, especially since they cost £22.00, which equates to about $36.  Those are some expensive undies in my book, which is unfortunate because those would make a great present for the office gift exchange this Christmas.

Anyway.  I’ll leave you with this.  Here’s to hoping that Bovine Shreddies are the next great invention.



So Trent came up with this new workout that is not only fun, it’s also useful and even has an element of danger about it.  It’s a cross between tennis, dodge ball, and baseball (because there is a lot of boring downtime when you’re just sitting there waiting for something to happen).  The only equipment necessary is a tennis racket, a nest of carpenter bees, a set of adequately-sized cajones, and sheer determination.  Here’s how you do it:

Get your tennis racket.  Any kind will do.

Find an active carpenter bee nest.  Check under eaves, looking for small round holes about the size of a dime.  (Hint: A good indication of a nest is the lovely spray of poop that is underneath their entryway.) This hole had already been filled when I took the photo, but you can see the vague outline of it directly above the poop spray.

Next prepare for your impending work out.  You may want to do a few practice swings, jumps, and lunges to loosen up.  Maybe practice sprinting inside the house a few times too, because that could be in your near future.

Now you wait for the bees to come.  Go ahead and grab a beer and make yourself comfortable on a pink child-sized lawn chair, if you like.  You could be here awhile.

Wait some more while giving your spouse a look that says, “Really?”

Decide that waiting sucks and fill the bee holes with caulk, because that really pisses them off and makes them come out and participate in Whack-a-Bee.

When the bees show up and realize that their homes have been barricaded with caulk, they will start to hover underneath, growing more and more incensed. 

This is when you strike, swinging your tennis racket wildly and with no coordination whatsoever in a vain attempt to hit a bee.  Miss several times while bees angrily swarm you, continue swinging frantically, scream, and run into the house.  Wait, that only applies to me.  If you’re a normal person like Trent, swing your racket with force and grace, connecting solidly with a bee and sending it plummeting to the ground. 




Now it gets really ugly.  The bee, because it’s the size of a small car, will likely still be alive, no matter how hard you hit it.  It will probably be crawling on the ground, thinking “wtf just happened here.”  Because you’re a good person and feel that no living things should suffer, smush the bee with the tennis racket until it stops moving.  Then smush it some more just to make sure.  (Note: I don’t typically like killing things, but when they eat my garage, I feel like they’ve brought it onto themselves.)

(The picture of the bee being smushed is much to gruesome to post.)

Congratulations, you just finished Round 1 of Whack-a-Bee while simultaneously working your biceps, triceps, lats, shoulders, quads, and more depending on many times you swung, missed, had to swing again, and eventually ran away.  Me, I had a very good work out.  Trent?  He didn’t break a sweat.

P.S. Carpenter bees live in nests of something like 54,873,390 bees, so there is potential for this activity to take many, many rounds.  You may just want to get some bee killer unless you’re a really dedicated individual, such as myself.

Weekend Debauchery

I was really bad this weekend.  Really, really, REALLY bad.  I’m still feeling the effects of it actually.  I’m tired, sluggish, and…….blah.  BLAH.  BLECK.  BLUGH.  And it’s all because the following foods/drinks/people/items/activities were included in the last 48 hours.

  • Pizza
  • A tropical, pina colada, and grape flavored snow cone
  • Roller coasters
  • Pinot noir
  • Pinot grigio
  • Bagel Bites
  • Champagne
  • Beer
  • A policeman stripper performer named Cody
  • A wad of one dollar bills
  • A funnel cake (O. M. G. I love funnel cakes.)
  • Dippin’ Dots (O. M. F. G. I love Dippin’ Dots.)
  • Bacon
  • Mini corn dogs
  • A $50 cab ride with an Ethiopian named Sagay
  • A chicken sandwich off the dollar menu
  • Numerous other unmentionable….stuff

That made me even more tired just typing all that.  But seriously….to the 4 people who read this and know what I’m talking about….thank you.  That was a wonderfully fun, exciting, somewhat embarrassing, hilarious, raunchy, delicious, grease-filled time, and I had so much fun.