The Boy sporting his Halloween digs. Should someone try to rob our house, I'm just going to sick my son in this ensemble on them--it's enough to scare anyone. ->
Monday, October 31, 2011
Pseudo SEAL
The Boy sporting his Halloween digs. Should someone try to rob our house, I'm just going to sick my son in this ensemble on them--it's enough to scare anyone. ->
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday Fun
Shorts:
Real Time WWII tweets. How about that?
Real Time WWII tweets. How about that?
Those extras you see in the movies? Inflatable.
More really excellent reasons as to why I am completely and utterly RIGHT when I say spiders are evil.
Where on earth has this photo site been all my internet life? Score!
Medium:
So--what better way to bring family-friendly fun and games into your home than to order a gas mask?
That's right, I said "gas mask." Straight to our front porch, originating in Israel via Amazon. Um, "Israli-civilian issued," to be exact:
Suffice it to say, The Boy is taking his Halloween costume quite seriously this year. Here's a look in context:
Cool look, right? I mean, in a Pink-Floyd- Another-Brick-in-the-Wall-Part-2 kind of way.
Naturally, his sister wanted to give it a whirl. Because I allow him to be such a good influence on her. Disclaimer: Forgive! The following picture is not nearly as good. I could drag her out of bed 90 minutes after she went to sleep for a redo, but believe it or not, I do have some parental sense that rears its ugly head every now-and-again:
She's going to be a "necromancer" this year for Halloween. Which is some sort of creature on some video game that summons the dead.
Again, we are nothing if not wholesome here at Mattek Central.
Not to be outdone by a future Navy S.E.A.L. Dude or a Summoner of Death, The Boy took a picture of me too:
Little Missy, to me: You look like an elephant, Mom.
She does wonders for my self esteem, that one.
By the way, the actual mask is expired. So much for that family vacation to the Izu Islands.
Song of the week:
More really excellent reasons as to why I am completely and utterly RIGHT when I say spiders are evil.
Where on earth has this photo site been all my internet life? Score!
Medium:
So--what better way to bring family-friendly fun and games into your home than to order a gas mask?
That's right, I said "gas mask." Straight to our front porch, originating in Israel via Amazon. Um, "Israli-civilian issued," to be exact:
 |
| Hebrew? Sure! Authenticity. That's how we roll. |
Cool look, right? I mean, in a Pink-Floyd- Another-Brick-in-the-Wall-Part-2 kind of way.
Naturally, his sister wanted to give it a whirl. Because I allow him to be such a good influence on her. Disclaimer: Forgive! The following picture is not nearly as good. I could drag her out of bed 90 minutes after she went to sleep for a redo, but believe it or not, I do have some parental sense that rears its ugly head every now-and-again:
She's going to be a "necromancer" this year for Halloween. Which is some sort of creature on some video game that summons the dead.
Again, we are nothing if not wholesome here at Mattek Central.
Not to be outdone by a future Navy S.E.A.L. Dude or a Summoner of Death, The Boy took a picture of me too:
Little Missy, to me: You look like an elephant, Mom.
She does wonders for my self esteem, that one.
By the way, the actual mask is expired. So much for that family vacation to the Izu Islands.
Song of the week:
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Spiders and Washing Machines
At work, sometimes I have to go up to another building where my electronic key doesn't work. It's a set-up I'm sure you've seen a thousand times: double doors, anterior space measuring in the tens of square feet, another set of double doors to enter into the actual building. In this case I can enter the first set of doors, but not the second. I often go up there to turn in paperwork. My M.O. is to call them when I arrive to the anterior space and wait for them to come and retrieve said paperwork. The paperwork is pretty important and has to be handed off to a person.
That final detail is important to remember when I tell you that two nights ago I got stuck in the anterior room with a spider.
There are spiders.
There are bigger spiders.
There are really big spiders.
And then there is evidence that demons have been let loose to roam upon the earth and terrorize me:
You see those glowing eyes?
Yeah.
Stuck, nay TRAPPED, in an 8 x 8 room with nothing but this mutant, deviant creature chasing me and moving reallyfast in the process is not OK.
NotOKnotOKnotOKNOTOKSONOTeffingOK.
That's right. I said "chased." I'm sure somecertifiable loon arachnologist-type person would say that the spider was running from me. That I was scaring her. I maintain she was circling around so she could take me from behind. Her ultimate plan was to crawl up to the ceiling, spin herself a rope and bungee jump right on my head, thus terrifying me into a faint. Then she could take her sweet time wrapping me up like a tamale. Can you guess where she stopped to break before her initial ascent?
Right in front of the doors leading outside.
TRAPPED.
You how spiders eat, right? You KNOW what they do, right? They don't just mummify you so they can suck your blood. Oh, no. They ingest venom into you which liquefies your insides and then they dine on that mush.
SLLLLUUUURRRRPPPP.
Tanya the Tamale Smoothie.
Say you: Where did you learn that?
These are the tidbits one picks up when, what was in retrospect a clear lapse of judgement, one buys her son a copy of The Encyclopedia of Everything Nasty. Sons then have the audacity to share said book with their little sisters. Don't think for a minute having girls saves you from the abundance of gross knowledge your progeny happily gain, and then tragically share, from this little read. They may like it even more than the boys.
Where was I?
Oh yes.
Mutant Deviant Spider stalking me so she could mummify me and turn me into a smoothie.
Say you: I'm sure it wasn't that big.
Say me: Way ahead of you. I took a special picture so you could get a sense of scale:
The problem here being was that then she was guarding my keys. Every time I bent down to retrieve them, she would move. Towards me. Thinking that perhaps a direct assault would be more advantageous than the stealth, bungee-jump approach, no doubt.
When I showed these pictures yesterday to Little Missy, her immediate response was not concern for her mother's cardiac rhythms from the night before, but whether or not it was a boy spider or a girl spider.
Gee, sorry sweetie. We didn't get around to discussing that.
She made this inquiry several times though, for she couldn't seem to digest the fact that I didn't want to be digested. She even chastised me for assuming devil spider was a girl. Exasperated with explaining to her how close to death I was, I finally asked her why it was so important to know this particular minutiae. The reply:
"Because girl spiders are bigger than boy spiders. There could be bigger ones than that one."
That made me feel much better.
Bigger demon, creepy-ass, mutant, monster spiders roaming the planet gunning for me. Excellent.
And before you get on to me about being paranoid or having delusions of grandeur, or both, I have proof that paranormal forces have my number.
My washing machine, which lives right outside my bedroom door, has been turning itself on and beeping willy-nilly at odd hours for months! Its preferred time is about 3 in the morning.
Beep........beep.........beepbeepbeep..........beepbeep......beep.....beepbeepbeepbeep......beep....
On and on and on, until either I or The Geek is forced to stomp out of bed and unplug the blasted thing.
I tried to take a video of it to prove the random turning-on-and-beeping-phenomena to you not once but twice. I got out the camera while the beeping was going on and as soon as I hit "record" the beeping stopped, never to be heard from again. I'll show you. And pump up the volume on your computer, because it doesn't matter (11 seconds):
Quiet as a graveyard. You know as well as I do that only a machine possessed by something evil and not-of-this-world could be so cunning.
Are the washing machine and the "spider" merely a coincidence? I think not. ->
PS:
The Boy, when reading this: It's really not that big of a spider.
Me: *contemplating ways to get the "not that big of a spider" into his car. Or bed. Or locker at school.*
That final detail is important to remember when I tell you that two nights ago I got stuck in the anterior room with a spider.
There are spiders.
There are bigger spiders.
There are really big spiders.
And then there is evidence that demons have been let loose to roam upon the earth and terrorize me:
 |
| Demon. Shape of: Huge-Ass Spider. |
Yeah.
Stuck, nay TRAPPED, in an 8 x 8 room with nothing but this mutant, deviant creature chasing me and moving reallyfast in the process is not OK.
NotOKnotOKnotOKNOTOKSONOTeffingOK.
That's right. I said "chased." I'm sure some
Right in front of the doors leading outside.
TRAPPED.
You how spiders eat, right? You KNOW what they do, right? They don't just mummify you so they can suck your blood. Oh, no. They ingest venom into you which liquefies your insides and then they dine on that mush.
SLLLLUUUURRRRPPPP.
Tanya the Tamale Smoothie.
Say you: Where did you learn that?
These are the tidbits one picks up when, what was in retrospect a clear lapse of judgement, one buys her son a copy of The Encyclopedia of Everything Nasty. Sons then have the audacity to share said book with their little sisters. Don't think for a minute having girls saves you from the abundance of gross knowledge your progeny happily gain, and then tragically share, from this little read. They may like it even more than the boys.
Where was I?
Oh yes.
Mutant Deviant Spider stalking me so she could mummify me and turn me into a smoothie.
Say you: Why didn't you just open the door and let it out?
Say me: OK first of all, did you catch she was right by the door going outside? Secondly, do you really think I didn't try that? When she moved again, I DID open the doors. The bitch wouldn't leave! And there was no way I was going to touch her. *shudder*
Say me: Way ahead of you. I took a special picture so you could get a sense of scale:
The problem here being was that then she was guarding my keys. Every time I bent down to retrieve them, she would move. Towards me. Thinking that perhaps a direct assault would be more advantageous than the stealth, bungee-jump approach, no doubt.
When I showed these pictures yesterday to Little Missy, her immediate response was not concern for her mother's cardiac rhythms from the night before, but whether or not it was a boy spider or a girl spider.
Gee, sorry sweetie. We didn't get around to discussing that.
She made this inquiry several times though, for she couldn't seem to digest the fact that I didn't want to be digested. She even chastised me for assuming devil spider was a girl. Exasperated with explaining to her how close to death I was, I finally asked her why it was so important to know this particular minutiae. The reply:
"Because girl spiders are bigger than boy spiders. There could be bigger ones than that one."
That made me feel much better.
Bigger demon, creepy-ass, mutant, monster spiders roaming the planet gunning for me. Excellent.
And before you get on to me about being paranoid or having delusions of grandeur, or both, I have proof that paranormal forces have my number.
My washing machine, which lives right outside my bedroom door, has been turning itself on and beeping willy-nilly at odd hours for months! Its preferred time is about 3 in the morning.
Beep........beep.........beepbeepbeep..........beepbeep......beep.....beepbeepbeepbeep......beep....
On and on and on, until either I or The Geek is forced to stomp out of bed and unplug the blasted thing.
I tried to take a video of it to prove the random turning-on-and-beeping-phenomena to you not once but twice. I got out the camera while the beeping was going on and as soon as I hit "record" the beeping stopped, never to be heard from again. I'll show you. And pump up the volume on your computer, because it doesn't matter (11 seconds):
Quiet as a graveyard. You know as well as I do that only a machine possessed by something evil and not-of-this-world could be so cunning.
Are the washing machine and the "spider" merely a coincidence? I think not. ->
PS:
The Boy, when reading this: It's really not that big of a spider.
Me: *contemplating ways to get the "not that big of a spider" into his car. Or bed. Or locker at school.*
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Chaos Abounds
I'm schizophrenic obsessed both schizophrenic and obsessed with blog design this week. I've worked out no less than five different custom headers in the past two days and have rejected them all out of hand.
And before you start with me, YES. That new one up there is a reject, so don't get too attached to it.
So is this blog template, frankly. Don't get attached to it, either. I think the only thing about my blog I'm happy with are my color choices right now.
Therefore it's OK to get attached to them. Although they might change too.
But only if I discard Andy's gun. And I really don't think I'm going to do that. Because I like that too.
So aside from those two items, the color scheme and the gun, I'm unhappy with basically everything about the blog.
Oh, the content. I like the content of my blog. I think that can be pretty entertaining.
So other than those three things: The color scheme, Andy's gun and the content I hate my blog.
Except for the followers and the blog "likers" on Facebook. I LOVE all of you. And I love all of you for regularly returning to what is, essentially, the mess that is my mind.
So I like three things: the colors, Andy's gun, the content, I lurv my readers.
But that's it!
Other than those four things, I totally hate my blog.
When I think about it, though, I do like the fact that I've been blogging for over four years now.
But that's REALLY it!
Other than the color scheme, Andy's gun, the content, my readers, and the time invested, I seriously HATE my blog.
SM: Wanna see the headers I made?
SY: Not really.
SM: I thought not. But I'll throw them out anyway. If you want a larger view of them, click away.
Here was the original one:
Here's what happened when I discovered the other design tools in the program. What? Circles and squares and text boxes? And I can change their sizes and colors? WHEEEEE!!!
I'm not going to lie: It wasn't pretty and never really a contender.
Then there's the one I have now, which doesn't seem God-awful after I've had some time away from it. I'm posting here because it will likely change:
One that's close to what I have now, and I even tried it out. But the tag line clashed with the navigational tabs I have up top:
And one I was seriously considering yesterday but now I'm not so sure:
I just don't know what to do!
Other than whine.
And drink.
But that's not currently an option.
I mean I guess drinking is totally an option...but then you might judge me and think I have an alcohol problem. Can't have that. So I'll just keep popping the dark chocolate covered almonds and guzzling the Diet Coke (to, you know, erase the damage I did with the almond calories) while I wile away my hours working on this Very Important Problem. Because it's totally OK if you think I have a Diet Coke and dark chocolate almond problem.
I suppose I could design my OWN template. The Geek said he would help me.
But that would be work.
Bah. ->
And before you start with me, YES. That new one up there is a reject, so don't get too attached to it.
So is this blog template, frankly. Don't get attached to it, either. I think the only thing about my blog I'm happy with are my color choices right now.
Therefore it's OK to get attached to them. Although they might change too.
But only if I discard Andy's gun. And I really don't think I'm going to do that. Because I like that too.
So aside from those two items, the color scheme and the gun, I'm unhappy with basically everything about the blog.
Oh, the content. I like the content of my blog. I think that can be pretty entertaining.
So other than those three things: The color scheme, Andy's gun and the content I hate my blog.
Except for the followers and the blog "likers" on Facebook. I LOVE all of you. And I love all of you for regularly returning to what is, essentially, the mess that is my mind.
So I like three things: the colors, Andy's gun, the content, I lurv my readers.
But that's it!
Other than those four things, I totally hate my blog.
When I think about it, though, I do like the fact that I've been blogging for over four years now.
But that's REALLY it!
Other than the color scheme, Andy's gun, the content, my readers, and the time invested, I seriously HATE my blog.
SM: Wanna see the headers I made?
SY: Not really.
SM: I thought not. But I'll throw them out anyway. If you want a larger view of them, click away.
Here was the original one:
Here's what happened when I discovered the other design tools in the program. What? Circles and squares and text boxes? And I can change their sizes and colors? WHEEEEE!!!
I'm not going to lie: It wasn't pretty and never really a contender.
Then there's the one I have now, which doesn't seem God-awful after I've had some time away from it. I'm posting here because it will likely change:
One that's close to what I have now, and I even tried it out. But the tag line clashed with the navigational tabs I have up top:
And one I was seriously considering yesterday but now I'm not so sure:
I just don't know what to do!
Other than whine.
And drink.
But that's not currently an option.
I mean I guess drinking is totally an option...but then you might judge me and think I have an alcohol problem. Can't have that. So I'll just keep popping the dark chocolate covered almonds and guzzling the Diet Coke (to, you know, erase the damage I did with the almond calories) while I wile away my hours working on this Very Important Problem. Because it's totally OK if you think I have a Diet Coke and dark chocolate almond problem.
I suppose I could design my OWN template. The Geek said he would help me.
But that would be work.
Bah. ->
Music choice because of this week's earlier entry.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Sharpies! For the Languid Approach to Crafting
Or,
Yet another reason why I'm a Sharpie Slut.
There are people out there who take their crafting seriously.
There are people who make honest attempts and do it wrong.
And then there are people like me. People who like the idea of crafting and like the results of crafting and can sometimes go into a manic-y crafty phase, but for the most part feel it's an awful lot of damn work, not to mention messy, thus laziness tends to trump desire 78% of the time.
To wit:
Why on earth would anyone feel the need to dig out all the paints, paint brushes, cups with water for rinsing the paint brushes, drop clothes for the inevitable mess from the paint and brushes, and cleaning cloths for said paint and brushes and WHY would anyone walk all the way to back of the house to retrieve all that paraphernalia when there's an office right there in the kitchen and said office has what?
Say you: Sharpies!
Say me: YES! Sharpies that hello? Don't drip. And don't spill. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Right here.
So, in continuing with my new, posting-gratuitous-pictures-on-the- blog entries theme, allow me to show you Little Missy's creations from last week.
First though, the step-by-step instructions:
Items you need:
1) Sharpies. If you're particularly indifferent, you can whittle this down to a singular Sharpie. Color: black.
2) Cute little pumpkins
The project
1) Give the pumpkins and Sharpie(s) to your kid
2) Let her draw on the pumpkins.
3)Drink wine surf Facebook surf Pinterest Sit back and watch your progeny create.
4) Feel smug because you run a craft paint free establishment.
Time for the project: 15 minutes. Time for the photos: Well...read on. No matter that I was languid with the craft. Clearly I can't hide my OCD tendencies.
First I took this picture of her creations mid-project, to demonstrate my ability using the uber-close-up feature on the fancy camera. And to be all arty:
I thought it was a nice little vignette. I would have been satisfied with just this picture. But Little Missy's immediate response upon the viewing was:
LM: Aww...you didn't put the Dracula one on top?
Significant oversight on my part, not letting Dracula be King of the Pumpkins.
Bad Mom!
So I told her I would and take another picture.
LM: You need to wait until I get ALL the pumpkins done and then take a picture of all them.
Silly me, leaving those other pumpkins out. As I social worker, I should know better than to exclude and discriminate against certain members of the gourd population.
Bad social worker!
So she set to work getting all the pumpkins decorated and soon enough declared them ready to go. After she took the time to arrange them just so, I snapped the shot:
Say you: Very cute...
Say me: Hold up!
I'm sure you couldn't help but notice that there is something drastically, horribly wrong with this photo. I simply couldn't let it stand as it would enormously affect the overall quality of my blog. Which is exceedingly high, as you know.
Here, let me help you out:
Can you just see how that random brick and the planter in the background simply ruins the snapshot? How can you possibly concentrate on my daughter's little Sharpie wonders with those eyesores completely screwing up the composition?
Right.
You can't.
It's simply impossible.
So I took another picture:
Say you: Very nice! No more brick, no more planter.
Say me: Hold up!
The little fella there on your left is kind of fuzzy and in the shadows. That simply won't do. After already disenfranchising these guys once that day, I was in no mood to deal with the ramifications if I did so again.
Obviously, another shot was in order:
UGH!
And again:
Ew. Disaster.
SY: What's wrong with that one? It looks fine!
SM: SHUT. UP. I can't display a pumpkin pyramid that's off its horizontal axis!
Letting a picture like this stand would imply I have low standards. It would imply that I've used Sharpies on an actual painting project in my home!
Wait...
Never mind.
Moving on.
But before I do, let me just say this: those blasted pumpkins were hardly cooperative during this whole endeavor. Since the earth kept rotating around the sun (can you believe the nerve?), resulting in the sunlight, you know, moving, we had to re-arrange the pumpkins accordingly more than once. Oftentimes there was mutiny:
Little bastards.
Finally, after taking like, 20 pictures, I got one I could live with:
There! Observe, if you will, the finished shiny, Sharpie fun-time Halloween happy, happy, joy easy-peasy-with-no-drips project!
SY: Umm...I hate to point this out...
SM: Don't go there...
SY: ....but....
SM: Seriously? DON'T...
SY: I can see the planter in the background again.
SM: *Looking at the picture in stunned disbelief*
SM:*Now looking at you and wanting to maim you*
HERE! Satisfied?
SY: Well, Dracula's a wee bit fuzzy. And the corner guys are not looking straight...
SM: Get off my blog.
I thought we were done with the project. I really did. But after the impromptu photo shoot on the deck, Little Missy went on a scavenger hunt and found this, not to mention a buddy, not pictured here:
Aw, hell.
Sharpies weren't going to really work on a warty, bi-colored gourd*.
I Really, really did not want to get out those paints.....
.....thought hard....looked around office....
Eureka!!
->
PS: Did you know there was a band out there called The Gourds? Oh, the power of the Googles...
Yet another reason why I'm a Sharpie Slut.
There are people out there who take their crafting seriously.
There are people who make honest attempts and do it wrong.
And then there are people like me. People who like the idea of crafting and like the results of crafting and can sometimes go into a manic-y crafty phase, but for the most part feel it's an awful lot of damn work, not to mention messy, thus laziness tends to trump desire 78% of the time.
To wit:
Why on earth would anyone feel the need to dig out all the paints, paint brushes, cups with water for rinsing the paint brushes, drop clothes for the inevitable mess from the paint and brushes, and cleaning cloths for said paint and brushes and WHY would anyone walk all the way to back of the house to retrieve all that paraphernalia when there's an office right there in the kitchen and said office has what?
Say you: Sharpies!
Say me: YES! Sharpies that hello? Don't drip. And don't spill. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Right here.
So, in continuing with my new, posting-gratuitous-pictures-on-the- blog entries theme, allow me to show you Little Missy's creations from last week.
First though, the step-by-step instructions:
Items you need:
1) Sharpies. If you're particularly indifferent, you can whittle this down to a singular Sharpie. Color: black.
2) Cute little pumpkins
The project
1) Give the pumpkins and Sharpie(s) to your kid
2) Let her draw on the pumpkins.
3)
4) Feel smug because you run a craft paint free establishment.
Time for the project: 15 minutes. Time for the photos: Well...read on. No matter that I was languid with the craft. Clearly I can't hide my OCD tendencies.
First I took this picture of her creations mid-project, to demonstrate my ability using the uber-close-up feature on the fancy camera. And to be all arty:
I thought it was a nice little vignette. I would have been satisfied with just this picture. But Little Missy's immediate response upon the viewing was:
LM: Aww...you didn't put the Dracula one on top?
Significant oversight on my part, not letting Dracula be King of the Pumpkins.
Bad Mom!
So I told her I would and take another picture.
LM: You need to wait until I get ALL the pumpkins done and then take a picture of all them.
Silly me, leaving those other pumpkins out. As I social worker, I should know better than to exclude and discriminate against certain members of the gourd population.
Bad social worker!
So she set to work getting all the pumpkins decorated and soon enough declared them ready to go. After she took the time to arrange them just so, I snapped the shot:
Say you: Very cute...
Say me: Hold up!
I'm sure you couldn't help but notice that there is something drastically, horribly wrong with this photo. I simply couldn't let it stand as it would enormously affect the overall quality of my blog. Which is exceedingly high, as you know.
Here, let me help you out:
Can you just see how that random brick and the planter in the background simply ruins the snapshot? How can you possibly concentrate on my daughter's little Sharpie wonders with those eyesores completely screwing up the composition?
Right.
You can't.
It's simply impossible.
So I took another picture:
Say you: Very nice! No more brick, no more planter.
Say me: Hold up!
The little fella there on your left is kind of fuzzy and in the shadows. That simply won't do. After already disenfranchising these guys once that day, I was in no mood to deal with the ramifications if I did so again.
Obviously, another shot was in order:
UGH!
And again:
Ew. Disaster.
SY: What's wrong with that one? It looks fine!
SM: SHUT. UP. I can't display a pumpkin pyramid that's off its horizontal axis!
Letting a picture like this stand would imply I have low standards. It would imply that I've used Sharpies on an actual painting project in my home!
Wait...
Never mind.
Moving on.
But before I do, let me just say this: those blasted pumpkins were hardly cooperative during this whole endeavor. Since the earth kept rotating around the sun (can you believe the nerve?), resulting in the sunlight, you know, moving, we had to re-arrange the pumpkins accordingly more than once. Oftentimes there was mutiny:
Little bastards.
Finally, after taking like, 20 pictures, I got one I could live with:
There! Observe, if you will, the finished shiny, Sharpie fun-time Halloween happy, happy, joy easy-peasy-with-no-drips project!
SY: Umm...I hate to point this out...
SM: Don't go there...
SY: ....but....
SM: Seriously? DON'T...
SY: I can see the planter in the background again.
SM: *Looking at the picture in stunned disbelief*
SM:*Now looking at you and wanting to maim you*
HERE! Satisfied?
SY: Well, Dracula's a wee bit fuzzy. And the corner guys are not looking straight...
SM: Get off my blog.
I thought we were done with the project. I really did. But after the impromptu photo shoot on the deck, Little Missy went on a scavenger hunt and found this, not to mention a buddy, not pictured here:
Aw, hell.
Sharpies weren't going to really work on a warty, bi-colored gourd*.
I Really, really did not want to get out those paints.....
.....thought hard....looked around office....
Eureka!!
->
PS: Did you know there was a band out there called The Gourds? Oh, the power of the Googles...
Monday, October 17, 2011
Personal Defense
.410 gauge 2 1/2 in 7/16 oz
4 shot
"Personal Defense"
20 units in box, $12.97 at Wal Mart
Norman, OK.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Friday Fun
NEW PHONE ARRIVES TODAY. WOOT!!! Not that I'm all that excited about it. I'm really not. I'm just saying.
While rearranging items in my purse(s) a few days ago, I fished out no less than five gel pens. Plus a package of six that I've yet to open. I think it's fair to say I have a problem.
Geez. I thought The Geek was bad. I wonder what Mr. Blogger would have to say about this particular cloud in the sky I saw this week? Go and click for a larger view:
You know what? Forget it. I can't imagine he would have a pithy, witty response for a mere collection of ice and water particles. Not when compared to his wife wielding a hammer.
Now that I'm in a photography class, I'm going to be uploading gratuitous pictures with abandon. Because it turns out I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing. Lucky you! You get to see all my failures.
Case-in-point:
I blow up Diet Cokes. In the freezer. A lot.
Say you: Come again?
I like my Diet Coke WAY cold. Teeth-hurting cold. Pop-the-top-and-there's-ice-crystals-floating-in-it cold. Until I'm able to install one of these bad boys in my home, the freezer, and more specifically the ice bin, is as close as I can get. Sometimes I sorta forget about them.
Yesterday's explosion was particularly note-worthy for the sheer spread of the beverage post blast. And since my photography teacher told me to "find a scene and capture it" at the end of my last class, I figured what better scene, right? Who doesn't want to see frozen Diet Coke on a freezer ceiling emulating stalactites*? Worthy of Life Magazine, I say.
I studied the inside of the freezer and determined the lighting was low. So I thought I needed to go for a slower shutter speed to, you know, let in more light. The instructor warned us we should probably invest in a tripod post-haste. He told us they were especially helpful when the shutter speed was at a slow setting because humans move despite our best intentions not to. Meaning those teeny, tiny movements translate to blurry, terrible pictures.
Pffftt.
Other humans may move, but I got this staying-still- thing down pat:
Yeah.
After several tries, it turns out whatever settings I had to begin with were the correct ones after all:
Ta-da!! You know you're clicking your "pin it" button right this very second so you can add this to your Pinterest collection and display it for all your friends and followers. Undoubtedly it's going on your board titled "Beautiful Things" or "Our Wondrous World".
I can't say I blame you.
Here, I have another one for you:
This is Bob. His frontal lobe is made of red skittles.
I will thank you not to refer to my coke-exploding episode and make some crack about me having Bob's brain. ->
Song of the week:
While rearranging items in my purse(s) a few days ago, I fished out no less than five gel pens. Plus a package of six that I've yet to open. I think it's fair to say I have a problem.
Geez. I thought The Geek was bad. I wonder what Mr. Blogger would have to say about this particular cloud in the sky I saw this week? Go and click for a larger view:
 |
| Me, to the Boy: What does this look like to you? The Boy: Umm...Jesus holding a baby? |
Now that I'm in a photography class, I'm going to be uploading gratuitous pictures with abandon. Because it turns out I don't have a clue as to what I'm doing. Lucky you! You get to see all my failures.
Case-in-point:
I blow up Diet Cokes. In the freezer. A lot.
Say you: Come again?
I like my Diet Coke WAY cold. Teeth-hurting cold. Pop-the-top-and-there's-ice-crystals-floating-in-it cold. Until I'm able to install one of these bad boys in my home, the freezer, and more specifically the ice bin, is as close as I can get. Sometimes I sorta forget about them.
Yesterday's explosion was particularly note-worthy for the sheer spread of the beverage post blast. And since my photography teacher told me to "find a scene and capture it" at the end of my last class, I figured what better scene, right? Who doesn't want to see frozen Diet Coke on a freezer ceiling emulating stalactites*? Worthy of Life Magazine, I say.
I studied the inside of the freezer and determined the lighting was low. So I thought I needed to go for a slower shutter speed to, you know, let in more light. The instructor warned us we should probably invest in a tripod post-haste. He told us they were especially helpful when the shutter speed was at a slow setting because humans move despite our best intentions not to. Meaning those teeny, tiny movements translate to blurry, terrible pictures.
Pffftt.
Other humans may move, but I got this staying-still- thing down pat:
After several tries, it turns out whatever settings I had to begin with were the correct ones after all:
I can't say I blame you.
Here, I have another one for you:
I will thank you not to refer to my coke-exploding episode and make some crack about me having Bob's brain. ->
Song of the week:
*I had to consult The Walking Encyclopedia, AKA, The Boy, for a reminder of the term.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Y Do I Submit Myself To This?
I was at the YMCA recently, attending the class the I have affectionately dubbed "Cardio Hell". The Y calls it "Cardio Mix" but I frankly think my title has a bit more panache.
One of the instructors isa sadist quite enthusiastic about her job. It is hands-down the hardest class I have each week even though every session is a different format. Each time I walk in there I wonder what on earth is wrong with me. But when I go in there and see that we're going to be using absolutely no equipment during the class, I generally want to tuck my tail under and get out.
Quickly.
I'm not the only who feels this way; no equipment inevitably emits collective groans from thevictims suckers masochists people entering the room. Because no equipment means doing body-weight work and there's just no way to sugar coat it: that shit is HARD. Not to mention the fact that the next day I'm generally extra sore, so any kind of effort I have to exert, like picking up my shoes, is pure agony.
No equipment exercises, for those may not know, involves things like planks. Tricep dips. Supermans. Push-ups. Mountain climbers. Burpees.
Say you: What on earth is a burpee?
Say me: Oh, they're this fabulous method of torture used by the US Marine Corps and exercise instructors around the country. Take a gander (20 seconds):
For the record I still possess some of my marbles and don't feel the need to add that big jump at the end. I don't even add a little hop. Because it's just silly. Besides I'm not in the Marines.
One of the instructors is
Quickly.
I'm not the only who feels this way; no equipment inevitably emits collective groans from the
No equipment exercises, for those may not know, involves things like planks. Tricep dips. Supermans. Push-ups. Mountain climbers. Burpees.
Say you: What on earth is a burpee?
Say me: Oh, they're this fabulous method of torture used by the US Marine Corps and exercise instructors around the country. Take a gander (20 seconds):
For the record I still possess some of my marbles and don't feel the need to add that big jump at the end. I don't even add a little hop. Because it's just silly. Besides I'm not in the Marines.
This particular class we did what's called "Tabata Training", which means you do something active--anything--for 20 seconds and then you rest for 10 seconds, performing a total of four rounds of the activity. For instance: 20 seconds of jumping rope (we pretend--there's no actual rope there), rest 10 seconds, 20 seconds of jumping rope, rest 10, 20 seconds rope, rest 10, 20 seconds rope, rest 10. Move on to new activity.
This sounds easy enough but go ahead. Try it. If you're not sweating buckets within 7 minutes you are, quite simply, an alien. It doesn't take me long to get angry with this format, and by the end of a 50 minute session all capacity for rational thought is gone and I'm nothing short of homicidal. With all my rage directed mostly at the tyrant in the front of the room.
Here's an abridged running commentary that was going through my head at various points in the workout:
Minute one: Bring it! I'm ready!! Jumping jacks? Fine. Here we go! 1 (puff) 2 (puff) 3 (puff) Oh (puff) My (puff) God (puff) I (puff) Have (puff) To (puff) PEE (puff) KAY (puff) GUL (puff) KAY (puff) GUL (puff)
Minute 10: No you did NOT just say "push ups".
Minute 15: You need to STOP clapping those ever-loving hands in your futile effort to motivate me or you will NEVER use a pen again you got that?
Minute 19: Squats? Squats! OK, I can handle squa....OWWW!! Holy HELL there goes that big-ass thigh muscle I hurt a year ago that refuses to heal because you MAKE me come to this unholy workout. This injury IS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT you hear me? I'm SO SUING YOU.
Minute 22: I swear to GOD if I hear you say 'don't give up' just one more time.....
Minute 28: Jump? What, you want me to just JUMP? Like, up in the air? Let me get this straight: You want both my feet to leave the ground simultaneously? Like a jack rabbit or a flea? You're The Devil.
Minute 33: Oh that's really cute. You point and we run like little puppets in the direction you're pointing. I'm EXHAUSTED. Do you GET that?? And you have the NERVE to ask me to pay attention? Well what if I just stay right here and not run where you tell me to. HUH? Then what? Oh. My neighbor bumps into me because she's following the rules. Way to run into me ASS-KISSING, DRILL SERGEANT WANNABEE.
Minute 39: What. The. HELL? You want me to jumping jacks AGAIN?? We DID those already you crazy psycho BITCH. Were you not here at the beginning of this class? You're fucking FIRED. Got it? YOU'RE FIE-ERRRRD, SAIN-TIN!!
Minute 46: Go ahead. Tell me to do ab crunches. First I'm going to lie here in a pool of my own sweat and cry. Then I'm going to find a tire iron and you had better run.
I ran into the instructor at Homeland a few days ago, and she had the nerve to call that job her "fun" job. She's a physician's assistant in real life.
Of course she is.
My response to the "fun job" line?
"It may be fun for you, but it's not fun for the rest of us."
She laughed.
I wasn't kidding.
Her obvious mental health issues are a blog entry in itself.->
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