Why does the inside of the hamper look like this?
... and the floor of The Recliner's bathroom look like this?
... when it takes 17.23 seconds to do this:
... and have the bathroom look like this!?!
Instead of this!
I am confused.
Or perhaps mildly irritated?
Or maybe TOTALLY PISSED OFF!!!!!
Last fall The Man decided that he needed to build a deer stand. This structure was required to meet several specifications.
1. The stand needs to be strategically placed. Check - the local deer gather in this field regularly.
2. It must be roomy enough to allow for a couple chairs. Check - complete with cupholders!
3. The ceiling has to provide The Man with enough clearance to stand up inside. Check - The Recliner (6 foot 3 inches) might bump his head though.
Here's what he came up with.
I think it ended up looking like some medieval war machine.
Seriously! Add big wooden wheels and it looks like a group of warrior peasants should be pushing it toward a castle wall. Archers and guys with big swords could be hiding in there. Wearing chain mail and carrying shields.
So what's next? A ballista? Or trebuchet?
... Back to the point -
Above all...
4. The stand MUST be weather proof enough to allow for a comfortable nap.
Because, according to The Man, one of the best things about hunting is the down time. He loves those peaceful periods of inactivity. Those moments are a perfect excuse for The Man, who is otherwise extremely industrious, to indulge in a nice long nap.
Sleep hunting???
How does that work????
Um - Not very well actually. Here is grown up Bambi. This lovely photo was taken by The Man's infra red motion sensor camera. Note the date and time. Opening day 2007, just after The Man left his precious deer stand for the day.
Grown up Bambi says:
"Oh hi! I guess it's hunting season, and you gave up about 15 minutes ago. Hope you enjoy the beef pot roast your wife is cooking for dinner. Ha! Ha! Ha!"
I’ve been trying to figure out a nickname for my son. I need a nickname to use as I speak of him in this forum.
I’ve tried:
Prince Spoiledrottenpants? - too long.
Snidely? - sounds like I’m the snotty one, not him.
Big Kid? - like he wears Pull Ups? Nah!
Butthead? - just too mean
Unfortunately, any of the sweet nicknames I can come up with would TOTALLY tick him off -
LIFE LESSON: It is important to avoid doing things that diminish the cool factor of a teenage male. Sweet nicknames fall under this category.
Finally - I came up with THE perfect nickname for my 18 year old son.
The Recliner
Think of it people - famous name brand recliners.
Light bulb?
A-ha moment?
Pretty good huh?
Lest it appear that I am being disrespectful - I do love my son more than life itself. I truly do.
We returned from Las Vegas Sunday night.
We almost missed our flight home.
I convinced The Man to spend some time shopping on Sunday morning. We wandered the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace. Not only are the variety of stores located within interesting, there are several entertaining “fountain shows” performed by mechanized mannequins in various courtyards.
However, by the time we got back to the hotel, collected our luggage, hailed a cab, arrived at the airport, checked in our bags and passed through security we had only four and a half hours left before our flight was scheduled to leave.
Yes - hours.
A near miss ... according to The Man.
He is so responsible. I love that about him.
Oh! By the way - Remember the pictures of my favorite hotel curtain opening experience?
Here is the antithesis.
I opened these:
And saw this:
The hotel shall remain unnamed. The view (or lack thereof) didn't stop me from having a wonderful time.
More importantly the room was spacious, clean, and quiet.
I was a tiny little girl. The outfit that I wore to my first day of kindergarten was a size 3 toddler. Yes - that small. I continued to remain in the lowest 5 percent of the growth chart for, well - forever.
When old enough, I joined “that girl’s club that sell cookies”. Wow, was I excited! I got to go house to house selling cookies. Who doesn’t like cookies?!? And - if I sold lots of cookies I could win a prize. Who doesn’t like prizes?!? Woo Hoo! Let’s go sell cookies. Being the dark ages, times of yore, when parents didn’t have to worry so much, I was allowed to go selling those cookies all by my own,very grown up feeling, very tiny little self. I put on my uniform, I got an envelope and a pen and borrowed a clip board from my dad. I prepared to sell the socks off those cookies.
The next door neighbor bought 3 boxes. And, the next to the next door neighbor too. Even “Crabby Appleton” in the blue house bought a box. I was on fire. I was a cookie seller extraordinaire. GO ME!!!! I got brave and moved up to the busy road. I knocked on doors, I sold cookies, I graciously accepted being turned down on occasion, and boy howdy did I feel like big stuff.
Until ... that house. The house with the very long driveway, and the fence. And the sign that said “NO Solicitors”. I paused. I puzzled. Well, what the heck, I wasn’t a soliciwhatever. I was a “member of that girls club that sells cookies”. So I knocked on the door and asked the man in the dirty jeans and tank style white T shirt if he’d like to buy some cookies.
“Can’t you READ!!!???!!!” He screamed “The sign says NO SOLICITORS.”
“But” I blubbered “I’m not one of those - I’m just selling cookies for my club”.
“Well - that’s what solicitors DO you little moron!” T shirt guy hollered.
“Oh - I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.” I squeaked, and turned to leave.
“YEAH! Get lost!” T shirt guy slammed the door.
Feeling very stupid and completely defeated I trudged back down the driveway. I heard the sound of a sliding glass door opening. Turn around, and from within T shirt guy’s house burst forth two of the biggest German Shepherd dogs in the whole universe. Barking, snarling and running at super sonic speed they hone in on me ... ready to make me pay for my ignorance innocence. I scream, and run, and trip, fall, and skin my knee. I prepare to be mauled to death by Cerberus and his mate.
Tweet!! Tweet!!
The dogs stop in their tracks and turn around. T shirt guy, whistle in his mouth, laughs and laughs.
I pick up my clipboard and pen. Dusting myself off I make a mental note to NEVER knock on another door with a sign on it. Especially if I’m not sure of ALL the words on the sign. Big tears rolling down my cheeks, I limp back home.
I never cheerfully sold cookies, or anything else, door to door, ever again.
I bet T shirt guy felt very virile that night.
What a MAN - huh? What a MAN!!!
Time to see the Pirates vs. Sirens show. As we were ambulating toward Treasure Island we happen upon a charming (NOT) group of children. Approximately 8 of them, the oldest being 14 - tops. The youngest perhaps 6 years of age. Loud, rude, and thourougly obnoxious are words that come to mind. These kids were CREEPS. Foul language and sexual innuendo flowed from the oldest girl's mouth without end. She was proclaiming herself to be the hottest, sexiest, thing in butt revealing, ratty old cut offs the world has ever seen. And - baby got back - Ewww! Cover it up honey, cover it up! Her halter top and ample young bosom were on display to punctuate the protestations of lusciousness coming from the flapping mouth of a human being that they were attached to. No adult supervision of this group is anywhere to be found. I was horrified, and sad for her.
The Man said quietly to me - “If she keeps that up she’s not long for this world”. I agreed. A sad case indeed.
We make it to the show, and enjoy what we can see of it. We didn’t get there early enough to locate ourselves for prime viewing. Yet being good sports, we were satisfied. The show ends, the crowd is dispersing and here comes The Mouth again. Pushing, shoving, and cursing her way along the jam packed sidewalk.
Four very drunk, middle age men are blocking her path. She smacks one of them on the shoulder, pushes him out of the way and hollers “MOVE B!&@H!” Drunk Dude looks stunned, and stoned too, but mostly stunned. He says “What did you say?”
She says “Get the ‘effin’ hell out of my way old man. I got places to go!”
Uh - this could get ugly - er.
Thank goodness Drunk Dude decided to let it go.
Can you imagine? First of all why was this group of kids wandering around the Las Vegas strip by themselves on a Saturday night? Secondly - where in the world did she learn to talk like that? Gross!!!
I am a coffee wimp. In fact I’ve been told that I don’t really like coffee - I like all the stuff that I add to my coffee. SOMEONE told me that the coffee I pour into my cup is merely an excuse for me to drink flavored creamer and sweetener.
I’ll let you decide. Here’s my recipe for coffee at home - a full carafe of water and half a scoop of ground coffee. Set the coffee maker to mild - and allow to brew. When the “coffee” is done brewing add four packets of Equal sweetener and a copious amount of flavored, sugar free creamer to a cup of this delicate beverage. Mmm - Mmm good! Well, I think so anyway. My mother in law just shakes her head.
When buying coffee at a coffee shop it is imperative to order a mild "blend of the day". Request that the cup be filled to the halfway mark with hot water. Color the water with a healthy shot of coffee leaving plenty of room for fat free half and half or skim milk. Add a gazillion packets of sweetener and - Enjoy!
What?!? Yuck - you say. Well, whatEVER!!!
So - I’m in Vegas today and I imagine that I will be seeking out my most favorite of all coffee in the whole wide world. When my MIL and I were here in January we found that JJ's Boulangerie in the Paris hotel has the most delicious coffee. I don’t know what they do to it - but they brew up a Parisian blend that is to die for. Even my mother in law, the strong coffee lover, was enchanted with this coffee. I barely had to doctor it up at all in order to be satisfied. And my mother in law - cup after cup BLACK. (Ewww!) This trip I plan on introducing my parents and The Man to JJ’s coffee. The Man likes his coffee strong and black, like his mom. My mother likes to add a bit of creamer to her coffee, and my Daddy - he likes his coffee just like I do - sweet and creamy. It will be interesting to see if they like JJ’s coffee as well as MIL and I do. Hope so!
This story is actually modeled after a dream I had when my son (now 18) was a toddler.
Once Upon A Time ... in an enchanted land, there was a lovely young woman, a young mother actually, who was taking a walk along a lake shore. In her arms was her beautiful, perfect little son. Being curious, and energetic, the little boy wanted to get closer to the lake. The mother agreed to let him play in the sand on the shore, but forbade him to enter the water. This was an enchanted lake, and one never knows what to expect from an enchanted lake. All was well, the day was warm and sunny, and the gentle breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees. The waves on the lake sparkled and beckoned - “come play, come play”.
In the lake there was a school of tadpoles feeding near the shore. The little boy spotted the tadpoles and became very excited. He jumped up and down and called to his mother - “come see, come see”. As she was making her way back to him he lost his balance and fell into the water. His mother ran to him, but to no avail. He had immediately turned into a tadpole and was now swimming with all the other tadpoles. The mother called to him, and begged him to come back. At first he did swim up to her and stay close to shore. But the longer he remained a tadpole, the less he worried about leaving his mother, and the more interested he became in exploring the enchanted lake. Finally, despite his mother's coaxing and all her tears, he swam away with all the other tadpoles.
They say she is still standing there - waiting for him to come back.
I've had a hard time lately. Our son will be going to college in the fall. Preparing for this life change made me think again of this dream. I am that mother - they are swimming away guys, my kids are swimming away. I HATE IT! But I won’t leave that shoreline. What if they need me?
Oh no - even worse - what if they DON'T?!?
This is where we stayed last October - Very Nice, VERY nice!
Don’t bring cash to the cashier in a casino. Well - I didn’t KNOW THAT! For cryin’ out loud.
I had an annoying amount of change in my purse. I brought it to the cashier’s window at the Wynn casino and set it on the counter.
Whoops! Mistake.
The cashier looked at me and reeled back in horror. She even gasped audibly. I was confused. I hadn’t dropped a poisonous snake on her countertop. Just some coins for goodness sake. In her most haughty tone of voice she said “WE don’t handle coins. You’ll have to take THAT somewhere else.” A little embarrassed, and a little more irritated I asked “Ok, where?”
“Well, I guess over there somewhere” she pointed to the main casino floor and turned her back on me.
I wandered the casino floor looking for windows with titles that could indicate that the employee contained within may not be offended by my lowly coins. Finally, a couple windows later I am grudgingly given the opportunity to exchange my coins for bills.
Lesson learned - and now you know too.
My motherly version of "you'll be sorry" is to say - "There will be consequences! - Yup! Just try it kid cause there WILL be consequences". It sounds ominous and yet allows me to think up some truly awful punishment contemplate the logical results of the offending behavior and react in an appropriately parental manner.
We have a large section of our backyard that is covered in hardwood mulch. Every other spring we add new mulch. This is a nasty, dirty, dusty job. We all hate it - but it must be done. Keep these facts in mind as I digress here.
By far, my most glorious of evil brainstorms effective administration of this plan of action happened a few years ago in the spring. Puberty is in full bloom. My darling son is acting like a total toad - no offense toads - really. I wish I could remember what the hub bub was about that morning - but I imagine that I asked my son to take out the garbage cans, or bring in the newspaper, or some other equally vile task. He refused - rudely - and when I pressed him for compliance I believe he called me an "unaltered female canine".
WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP! Danger! Young Man, DANGER! You have thoroughly pissed off the maternal unit. Vacate the premises immediately!!
Yeah, you run to that school bus, punk! Run I say!
I fume over this insult all morning. In fact I'm still angry that afternoon when 30 cubic yards of hardwood mulch are deposited onto my driveway.
Oh - I couldn't - Oh hell yes I can! This is just TOO good!
"Snidely" the Son comes walking up the driveway - "Hey mom - look at all the mulch, huh?"
I try to look all sad and concerned as I say - "I TOLD you there would be consequences."
His eyes become the size of saucers. "I have to move all this?"
"Yup!" I say "Every single flake of it."
"Mutter, mutter, cuss and grumble" says he. All the while sweating, and itching, and struggling with a wheelbarrow.
To this day, he takes me seriously when I say - "There will be consequences."
