Well, duh

So Momma's blog had a "What kind of flower are you?" questionnaire and I'm a sucker for being told what I am. I'm not sure how relevant the Canna flower itself is to me, but the included description certainly doesn't sound far off.

You stand up for what you believe in, even if it gets in the way of what other people think. You are proud of yourself and your accomplishments and you enjoy letting people know that.

But not, snotty, like that sounds. I hope I don't give off the "look at me!" impression. I just like to be unique. Marriage, kids, a college degree, that's all...ubiquitous to me. Yeah, I'll probably be that crazy, old, cat lady spinster who lives down the street, but I'll be the crazy, old, cat lady spinster who: 1) hates cats, 2) rides a sportbike, 3) plays her music loud, 4) reads just about anything, 5) loves useless information, and 6) occasionally skydives. Oops...and also finds farts funny after all those years.

Facebook's version of the Taurus zodiac had this to say (with an abhorrent misuse of the apostrophe...Crazy, old, cat lady spinster is also OCD when it comes to spelling, grammar and punctuation. Seriously, it's all I can do to leave the mistake in here for you to see):

According to her Zodiac sign, Denise's patient and reliable, warmhearted and loving, persistent and determined, placid and security loving, jealous and possessive, resentful and inflexible, self-indulgent and greedy.

Hmm. To a tee. In a nutshell. Dead-on, balls accurate. Guess it beats being a stink cabbage.

Because you just NEVER know when...

This might come in handy one day. I'm just sayin'.

When the rest of the world thinks you're nuts.

Is THIS what it's like when hell freezes over?

I just got home from my dad's house. I love LOVE the man, but he's spent the better part of his home-owning time living by the mantra, "White walls are better for resale." I like to think I finally, gently nudged (read: bullied) him into painting a wall in his house a color other than a shade of white. Granted, I do recall suggesting a lighter color weeks before, but he backpedaled and I let it go. So last night when the subject came up again, Fahjah said, "But I've registered for Back to the 50's up in the Twin Cities, and I have to get the coupe done. If I spend any time working on painting..." To which I blurted out, "Look. Get the paint, buy a brush and I'll come over tomorrow and do it myself." ....wha...? I did it again. This is how I ended up riding 30 miles around town on my sweet, sweet beach cruiser with Mostly Naked. Sometimes I think my inner voice is Sam Kinison. Of course, I knew he wouldn't let me do it alone. We of the Kuj Tribe have control issues of varying degrees after all.

This morning, when he opened the can of paint, I said, "Whoa! That's a little (no it's a lot) darker than what I thought you were going to go with." He said, "I got tired of trying to decide and just told the paint guys to give me this one. As I was walking out with my two buckets of paint, I noticed in their clearance section one color called 'Caramel Apple' and I thought...oh, I like that one. Oh well."


At this point (the first wall), he was making manly shrieky noises and exclaiming, "But it's poo brown!" I was as encouraging as I could be: "Oh my god, that's dark. But it'll be fine. Keep painting. Hey, how hard it is to go back and paint a lighter color over a poo brown one?"

Ten minutes later:
"But it's poo brown!"
"It's 'Espresso.' Shut up and keep painting. What if we paint the trim that 'Caramel Apple" color you were talking about?"
"No, that'll look like shit."
"Hmm. Good thing this doesn't."
"What??"
"It's fiiiine. Keep painting."

When we got all done, Faj couldn't wait for the paint to dry and peeled all the tape off. I suspect he was slightly excited about the new color, because we cleaned up and set off for stores to purchase light sconces and bedding immediately after.

Brother, ever helpful as always, suggested painting "corn" randomly on the walls.


Now that it's done, I suggested we run out and pick up smoking jackets, cigars, club chairs and snifters of cognac, and contemplate the marvels of the universe in this room. I can't wait till it's done. I think it'll turd....er turn out just great!

Well done, Fahjah. Way to Jump. Both Feet. Even if I pushed. :)

'Scuse me while I kiss this guy

Brother sent this to me the other day in an email titled, "Why Men Don't Take Notes."

I think I know a couple of guys who went to the Gyna Colleges. Boy, were THEY surprised to find it was an ALL-GIRLS school.

Valiant, Brave Trish

Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside. - Mark Twain

Ah, the flu. I only had one dance this year with the plague and it was all...um, below. That was after Brother had the two-way flu. For me, it only lasted for about 12 hours, but food was so unappetizing after that, it was a few days before I actually started eating solid food again...and it was Guinness, unholy stout of ubiquity. Blech. I've have apparently depleted the Chippewa Valley of all Beamish, and there's really not a lot around to begin with. Oh yeah, I forgot about my first Sonic burger. That was my second round of solid food, post-pipe cleaning.

I haven't had the flu for years and I avoid the shot. For some reason, I thought I had read somewhere that you should really only get the flu shot if you are elderly, very young or have a compromised immune system, which doesn't sound right. Whatever. No flu shot for me.

By comparison, it seems to me that Trish and her family are sick constantly. It took my mom to point out that two little boys and two school teachers make for a fluish window of opportunity for exposure.

A few days ago, I start receiving a stream of text messages on my cell from Trish. Does she abbreviate? No. Is she laconic? No. I get a blog post's worth of feverish outpouring from the wordy one. Blah blah blah, "I'm dying." Schmala schmal, "Everyone's barfing." Yadda yadda, "What does a spleen look like? Is this my spleen?" Jeez.

If you read Trish's last post, I'm sure you imagine a svelte, young mother in designer shoes, standing on a thoroughly defeated, giant microbe, with her hair, cape, and Chanel Tyvek suit blowing in the wind, her jaw set with determination under her bio hazard mask, and wielding a bucket and hand sanitizer.

Sure, so did I. Until the flood of text messages was finally punctuated with this (no, I didn't rotate this picture):

"That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion." So says old Billy Shakespeare. Oops, no that's not a flea on that lip. Ugh...breakfast...eggs...uuurrp. Ack. Excuse me...gotta run.

Silly boy...you have so much to learn about being a geek

Brother and I were watching "Big Bang Theory" last night. In the show, dork uber alles Sheldon mentions something about fusing adamantium to his skeleton like Wolverine. To which, Brother barks a laugh and then looks at me as I look curiously at him.

"Did you miss that?" he asks.
"What?"
"Adam. Ant. Ium?"
"Oh...I never thought of it that way."
Brother hesitates. "Why? What were you thinking?"
I answer, "How you could possibly know what adamantium is when you haven't played a video game since 'Space Invaders?'"
"Huh? What is it?"

..."Nerd Metal."

What The Hell? Round One

I'd like to find:

a rodeo clown
a DMV employee
a "sanitation engineer"
a proctologist
a cop
a luchador
a snake milker
a Milwaukee Brewers Polish Sausage mascot

...and ask, "What the hell?"