This Is What You Get When I'm Tired.

Reader, this right here is how much I care about you. This post. Because there are pee-lenty of things I  need to be doing around here tonight (laundry and cleaning and putting away), as I have company coming tomorrow before I even get home from work, but these thoughts need to be shared. With you, Reader. Because you're impotent. Er. Important.

And you need to clutter up your mind with the shit that rambles around in my mind. If for no other reason so you can feel better about yourself, that you have better/more impotent shit rambling around in your mind. Or important shit, as the case may be.

I've been putting in some loooong hours at Tiny Town, as it's ramping up for the holiday selling season and by gosh, they are going to work the shit out of us so we can't enjoy any of the holiday spirit. I got home last night late - i'm talking 11:00, after running a couple little errands after work - and needed to unwind in bed with some yogurt, which I must sidebar about right now.

Sidebar:
This yogurt from Target is ah.maze.ing.

I'm not a yogurt person, really. I try to get into it and be all trendy, jumping on the whole all-the-cool-kids-are-eating-Greek-yogurt fad, but I'm much more of the Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt type, you know - the kind who eats it because it's good for my intestines, and not so much because I really enjoy it. 

But last night, while on one of my errands, I needed dinner and I was standing next to this Noosa yogurt as I had just purchased milk, and so I threw it in my cart. Apparently that's how I make decisions when I'm tired, I just take whatever is nearest to me and shove it in my mouth. That's probably how I ended up with a couple of husbands. I was tired. 

Man, this is going off in all sorts of directions. I can't stop this train from jumping the track, I'm tired again and seem to be on a rambler. 

Back to the yogurt. It's so damn good, and it has some inspirational messaging around the lid, about how it's made from happy cows that get to roam around a farm in Colorado, and it's a super secret recipe from a grandma and I liked everything about that story, so they had me at hello, even before I put it in my mouth, which was a very good time once we entered that phase of our relationship.

Try it. You might like it. And we can be the cool kids starting a whole new yogurt fad. Unless this already was a fad, and I'm just late to the party. Hm. 

But Back to the Original Story:

So I was tired, and heading to bed with my very happy mouth that just consumed that yogurt, and I needed to watch a little telly to unwind. My go-to show of choice was a DVR'd episode of Honey Boo Boo (stop judging me, Reader, I know, I know...) and then I was all caught up and still needed more telly in my night so I turned on an animal show. 

About lions. 

Lions in the wild. 

Hungry lions, who were on the brink of starvation. 

Well, none of that is good relaxing t.v. right before bed. Someone's gonna die in that scenario, always. Usually several things, and it's usually rather gruesome, and you end up rooting for the lion to live, but then that means something else is going to be his dinner, and then you don't know who to root for and it's very conflicted and really not a good way to end the evening.

But I was into and bound to see it through. And they did their typical lion shit, posturing against the neighboring pride, who were encroaching on their territory because this particular starving pride learned how to take down and eat and elephant, which isn't even part of it's natural food source.

It was gross, by the way, and the worst part of it is, they aren't meant to eat elephants, and could only take down the baby elephants, which made it even worse, and then even worse than that is, they couldn't puncture the elephant's thick skin, so they weren't able to kill it before they started to eat it, and it was just all sorts of hell breaking loose on that poor baby elephant. 

And the rival pride was watching all this go on and wanted in on the action. So of course there was a lot of chasing and authority-asserting and the absolute worst part ended up NOT being watching them eat a baby elephant alive, but what the elephant-eating lions did to the rival lions. 

The big dominant male lion ripped the balls right off the rival lion. It was an intentional Take That. 

And even worse than the male getting his balls ripped off?

The other dominant male lion went over and lion-raped one of the lionesses of the rival tribe. 

I mean, it's instinct was to just rape the fuck out of that lion, to show her who was the boss. 

I was so mad at those rape-y lions, I hoped they'd choke on a baby elephant, and then I wanted to spank DJ just for being part of that species. 

I didn't spank him, but I gave him a firm talking to and told him that he had better not even think of trying to rape anyone in this house. Me, Kitty Purry, and Girl Cat will not stand for it. 

I was very disheartened all day thinking about those poor lions, one now ball-less and the lioness all violated right up in her lion twat. 

It was a sad story. And lions suck. Just ask the baby elephants.

Smash

I had my cake for one whole day before the asshole cats had a fight right in my cake and smashed it.

I've eaten it anyway. 

Before you judge, it was only the box that was smashed all in the cake, it's not like I had to eat around fur and asshole imprints.  

Because that would be wrong and even I won't eat a cake that has an asshole imprint on it. 

One time, many birfdays ago, I was so drunk I stepped in my cake, which was hidden on a stairway for a later surprise. It surprised me alright, as I stumbled my way up the steps to pass out in bed.  At like, 6:00 p.m. in the evening. Now, let me just go on the record as stating why I was so drunk on that particular birfday. I feel it begs an explanation. I was visiting ex-in-laws in Texas, all they did was drink from sunup to sundown, and every time eating was discussed, it got pushed aside while we made another cocktail. 

The next morning we pulled out the footprint cake, loaded 'er up with candles, sang Hippo Birdie to Me and ate around the footprint.

That was also the time I got a banana stuck up my hoo-ha, and needed kitchen tongs to pull it out. Yes, tongs from their kitchen, but since not much cooking went on around there, no harm came to or from the tongs. But that's a story for another blog. Or actually, I guess that's the entire story. And I'm sorry for that right there, because now you know it and you can't unknow it. 

Happy Birfday, Me. 

39!

And so it begins:

Plus a beautiful flower arrangement from my Pappy, and his Lady, which I'll post a photo of tomorrow, because it's too pretty not to share, but I have it locked up in the bathroom at the moment because the cats are hellbent on eating it. 

I think they just knocked my cake off the counter, I heard a box hit the floor.  Sonnofabitches.

Chainsaws & Toasters

Homeownership comes with a lot of responsibility. Responsibility I'm not certain that My Mister and I are equipped to handle. 

Today was a beautiful early November day, with the sunlight hitting all the right angles and just lighting up the outdoor show.  Driving down my street, I was treated Fall in all it's glory, and I was so happy that I get to live here. 

It was so nice out, I enticed My Mister to head down to the Ravine, so we could pretend we had gone to the park, but really we were only in our backyard. Plus, I wanted to get the leaves off the wooden steps so they don't rot the wood, because while I'm no expert, I think that leaves on wood are a bad thing, unless it's wood you want to compost.  

I don't want to compost my steps. 

We have a little Homeowner Challenge at the moment. One of the trees in the ravine, which has been uprooted for some time now: 

Must have shifted with the high winds we've had, and now has really big limbs hanging onto the path of my steps.  And really darn close to my house.

It's actually not precariously close to the house, as the photo may imply, but it's close enough that some limbs need to be lumberjacked off. 

I've called three tree service people. They all promise to get back to me, and then it's crickets.  Can't even get an estimate. I mean, I don't need the whole thing removed. Just the parts that are pokey-out-y over my steps and sort of close to the edge of my lawn. I'd like those ones to be removed.

So I guess we need to get a chainsaw. Or find a friend with a chainsaw.  

On an upnote, I went down to the ravine, and only got a little frightened when something moved under the leaves. And then I reminded myself that snakes could very easily be slithering under the leaves and so I poked in front of me with a stick before I walked.  A snake would have still scared the shit out of me, but not as much as stepping right on a snake would scare the shit out of me.

And that concludes my trip to the ravine for 2012.  Until we get a chainsaw. 

Remember that time when I posted pictures from all my fabulous vacations? Yeah. That's all gone now. I traded in beaches for power washers and chainsaws. Doesn't seem quite right somehow.

p.s. - the Title of the post? Well, when My Mister and I were on one of our cruises we stumbled upon a weird little casino with a slot machine called Chainsaws & Toasters. We didn't understand the subject matter correlation at the time, but now I sort of get it. 

p.p.s. - It was just pointed out to me that it's 2013, not 2012 as stated above. So. Yes, I'm officially losing my mind. Or at the very least I've blocked out a whole year. 

Great White

We officially Warmed the House this past Saturday, Reader.  The prep leading up to that warming was EX.Haust.ING. I'm talking "holy smokes how did I not lose 20 lbs with all that painting, cleaning, unpacking, hauling, and organizing", but I didn't - my fat likes me and refuses to leave without a fight. 

But the good news was, we got this house presentable and ready for company, just in time for company. I will tell you, I didn't do it alone. In fact, I wouldn't have been able to pull it off had one of my dearest hearts not come ridin' into town, like the Calvary, ready to save the day. And did she ever. I don't have enough time or words in my fingers to extol her virtues tonight, but hear me now and believe me later (that's a throwback phrase right there from my grandmother Sophie!), without Vera Wang riding into town and whipping this place into shape, we would have been in t.r.o.u.b.l.e. 

I'm too tired to write more at the moment, but a house recap is due to come soon. A little before and after, if you're a little bit voyeuristic and are curious about peeping into my windows. 

To tide you over, here's a sneak peek of our new couch. Which sort of looks like it belongs in a porno. And now it's in my living room.