Olden Days

Not a particularly original observation, but Mr. Froth and I were out on the deck working a crossword puzzle, smelling of DEET, reminiscing about childhood games.

"Yeah! We'd wait just until dark and the whole neighborhood would play kick the can!"
"Yeah! That's like starlight, starbright! I can't remember the exact rules but it's like hide and seek and you have to get somewhere and do something before the "it" person gets you!"
"Yeah! But, first we'd all run after the mosquito garbage truck spraying DDT! It was great! We'd follow it for a block or two huffing the big, billowing cloud of death!"
"Yeah! That stuff smelled wonderful! We'd almost get high on it!"

And then we started giggling and wheezing realizing why we are what we are today.

Health nuts by golly! Yessir. We're the epitome of rigorous asceticism fueled by red meat and sugars!

Video games? We dint need no stinkin' video games back then. We had pesticides and sharp objects to play with!

Kids are wusses today. GET OFF MY LAWN!

Just a thought

Not to gloss over peoples with any problem, because I know how hard life is, but, after watching a show about Ken Kesey, Haight Ashbury, LSD, all the "fun" stuff of the 60's YADDA YADDA and YADDA...

You hear the phrase "functioning alcoholic" a lot. How often do you hear the terms "functioning LSD user," "functioning heroin user," "functioning meth user," "functioning cocaine user,"?

Just asking. Just a thought. Just a judgment on some of the boomers who are in charge (regardless of political bent, chillax) and gosh Summers of Love were SO productive.

And then they all grew up and had to get a job like everybody else.

Possum bait

Poor Jack.  Laura's baby has to dodge nature constantly, including possums and hawks and other naturey things.

Well, we got us a ho possum right in our very own back yard. She skanks her way in every morning, trailing moisture (MOISTURE) along the deck, dropping shot glasses as she heads for her crib, which happens to be under our spa. There are several upscale bars and restaurants around here but I'm getting a very "ice house" vibe from this marsupial.

Which means, BABIES! Baby mama. Babies on the shovel handles in the garage, coyly looking at us as we shriek. Or perching on the Frydaddy that we leave out on the deck table to cool off after frying potatoes.

Sorry, but those little translucent ears of the babies are totally entrancing. And they aren't afraid of you or anything. The babies, not the ears.

But, when you trap them and liberate them at the park they shit up a massive gross storm in the cage and it isn't attractive.

The only saving grace is that our possums don't hanker after wiener dogs or cats (I think) and if we leave them alone they, well, just come back to...our spa. Right. Is this a metaphor?

Crate

Sad. Ominous. Punishment.


Because Dot has pull-pork-shouldered my very last available functioning nerve.


Came home for lunch two days ago and what to my wondering eyes did appear? Well, had it been a reindeer it would have been headless, hoofless and unfit for air flight. Dot the Destructo Dog ate the baseboard molding by the back door. This was after I had provided a wrapped two-bone cardboard box for her. Two bones! With masking tape! And a measly four hours of alone time. This was after we’d duct-taped the remaining carpet and sprinkled cayenne around the edges.


Ongoing structural attacks are my limit (Our limit is pretty high, obviously. Others don’t understand how we’ve let so much go so far.) I’ve been there and done that and it partly turned me into the psycho bitch I am today and we can’t afford to replace EVERYTHING. Even though the molding was old and the piece was small I could see the munching campaign travel throughout the downstairs. Nope.


So. I crated Dot. I know some of yas have doggies that like crates. She ain’t one of those doggies. I put a dental bone (she loves those) and pieces of real ham into the crate. She sat down, knowing full well what was coming. I grabbed her collar and she backed up. You know how they do, so that they almost get out of their collar? She almost got out of her collar. But, I prevailed and grabbed her between the hind legs and on the neck and shoved her into the crate. 70 pounds of lovin' shoved.


She’s so smart.
Went back to work that day and was worrying that she’d be freaking or chewing her legs off or bloodying her nose or some such bullshit. So, I went home early. She was fine. No whining, no weeping, just sitting. Which is good, because now we can crate her on those days Mr. Froth and I both work.


Last night she killed the remaining nerve that wasn’t flayed when she persisted in hounding Merv at 10 p.m. and jumping on and off the bed and acting like a total dickwad. So I crated her again. She’s going to be a bit of a slow learner on this…



I’m in a fairly rotten mood this week.

Date Day and Post Date Day Recap

I woulda recapped yesterday, but I was still too full.
We used up every bit of the gift certificate, brilliantly calculating each menu offering to maximize bang for the buck. In the end we used it all up and the server let us include our glasses of wine on the certificate and gave us free dessert since this was an anniversary dinner (albeit a year and a half later than originally intended for this particular anniversary.)

I had, and shared, fried asparagus (so-so-yeah, tasty, but I've had them before and I wanted something more spectacular), house salad (excellent), their bread is heavenly-crisply-crusted Frenchy bread, the ten-ounce pepper-sauce filet mignon with a side of the Roquefort sauce (since I like bleu cheese and the steak was perfect) and gigantic death-defying homemade onion rings (awesome).
Mr. Froth had, and shared, escargots (very tasty-baked in a crusty mixture similar to Oysters Rockefeller or something-not the traditional garlic butter shell deal), house salad, Roquefort filet (small one) and baked potato covered in everything.

Now, why get a baked potato when you can have baked potato anytime?

Anyway, we were unable to eat even half of what was served to us. Massive doggy bags all around with a really yummy white chocolate garnished brownie/cakie/whateverie thingie. I don't know what it was, but it made me get up in the middle of the night for more.

We headed to the bar after dinner and caught the end of the Texans game, which they lost and shouldn't have. There was a really good jazz trio with Chris Cortez, playing from whom we bought a cd, because why not, especially since they played The Wind Cries Mary by Jimi Hendrix. We told them we were probably the only ones old enough to catch the provenance of the song they were doodling around with. They were really good.

Then we went home and exploded.

Next day we gnawed on remainders and went fishing again.

Date day!

Why yes! Mr. Froth and I are dating today. It's an all-day affair. With gaps. We started out by me being able to sleep in while he took Dot for a walk to work off all the carpet and padding she ate yesterday. We now have a sparkly shiny duct tape-rimmed carpet area in our kitchen. We figured, cover the whole perimeter, preventive measures. It's completely liberating because I will NEVER, EVER have to worry about decorating or feeling less worthy about the condition of this house until Dot is at least five years old. It totally works for me.

Next, we went fishing to a cunning little pond with a waterfall and breezes. It's in another neighborhood and is suffering from the lack of rainfall we're all suffering from lately, showing plankton and algae blooms. However, the catfish were runnin'! Whoo hooo! We caught two right off the bat and ended up with a total of four, I think. It's all catch and release and fortunately, the one who took a hook in its side (?!?) ended up fine. We drank beer and talked to the sweetest little two-year old who liked to throw rocks in the pond. He'd just scoop up dirt and rocks with his weeny hands and toss. I love that his mother wasn't a clean freak.

Next, I sewed up Dot's retractable leash that she'd chewed apart. We keep trying. Took fishing line and did a very complete job of reattaching the clasp to the leash whilst taking breaks to read a new library book and do the crossword puzzle. Mr. Froth will vacuum maybe tomorrow because we're five inches deep in dog hair (This is all date-worthy stuff, so shut up.)

In a couple of hours we're heading to Kirby's Steakhouse to use up our anniversary gift certificate, bestowed upon us by our ex-neighbors, that is only a year and a half old. Normally, we don't go to "steakhouses" because Mr. Froth can cook steak better than they anyway, but this is almost free (except for wine and gratuity.) So, I printed out the menu and picked out my $70 worth of shit (it's a $150 gift certificate, which is a totally righteous gift certificate) and explained to Mr. Froth that, yes, I AM going to have a different salad than the one that comes with. And pay for it. Because we can! So, shut up! But, now I have to have soup, too. Because it comes with! Jeez. Burp. I'm having pepper/Roquefort filet, fried asparagus (since I need some sort of vegetable item) and seafood salad that has all sorts of good crap in it. We'll determine the bottle of  wine when we get there since we have to shell out dough for that. It's still cheaper than buying two glasses each and we'll get something actually nice as opposed to the wine in a drum we have at home.

I supposed that means I need to wash the chicken liver detritus from my fingers leftover from fishing. And fix my nail polish. I suppose. All right.All right.

Boogers

Here in the Gulf Coast area we're beset with 300 percent humidity on a regular basis coupled with heat indices of 100-110. I know, big deal. Bear with me. It has to do with boogers. The atmospheric conditions produce a perfect petri dish of boogeriness.

OOH. OOH. An aside. The lamp, next to our loveseat, next to the window that looks out to the backyard, has attracted two pinkishly translucent geckos, who are outside waiting for dinner. They're in tandem synchronized position waiting for BUGS. Their little sucker feet are splayed all about and they could serve as an advertisement for, you know, gecko stuff. They're really cute.

Anyway, similar to my wonderings about why things are square or round, perpendicular or parallel, I wonder about all the detritus that extrudes or needs extruding from our orifices.

Specifically, boogers, ear wax and belly button lint.

Do not tell me the physiology of these things. I understand that they serve a purpose. Intellectually, I understand that.

But, emotionally, I think they're more like the characters that serve as fillers in novels, never to be fully developed, always a loose end, simply a distraction from the core purpose.

Like, fucking breathing as a core purpose. Boogers are self-regenerating, mutant in form, disgusting in countenance and entirely annoying in action. I would think any self-respecting booger would wait out the daily accumulations of ozone, dog hair, cat hair, dust mites, fungus, pollen and ice cream to amass a REAL attack during a viral attack or some sort of bacterial foray. But, no. They persist in whining away their time every single day, enjoying the air conditioning, then the HEAT, then the air conditioning, then the HEAT, to just wear you down. And then, they're just floppers. Not even big green, crusty prescription-worthy hunks. Just floppers.

Ear wax is just stupid. And, actually, ears are stupid. Look at them. They are just strange appendages, like noses, that are just stupid. But, they have an ability to produce STUFF that is unattractive and useless. Rather like some people  I know, but they don't hang on the side of my head, so I have to cut them slack. Seriously, why?

Belly button lint is minor. It's just gnatlike in its persistence to exist, similar to some political sorts that...never mind, I won't even go there. But, why? Plus, it's such a miniscule amount of garbage, what exactly is the point? And, even if you have a very small innie belly button it still accumulates bits of lint. That's just disgusting.

The body is fairly disgusting in its ability to turn on you and out performs any alien movie you could produce. Someone should look into this and REGULATE IT FOR US.

It's 7500 Crazy Joanheads Hot

And I don't even care. Just boil me. Garnish me well.

In other news Urkel the Prez wouldn't meet our gov on arrival.

Annie

My very good friend Judy, who lives in Oklahoma, just this week had to say goodbye to her dear Annie. For those of you who've never had dogs or cats that have woven themselves into your lives you won't understand the pain. But, for those of you who have you know how sad it is.

Annie was a Renaissance Canine.  I quote her mother:
A composer with a love for science, Annie was born approximately Oct. 31, 1996, near Purcell, Okla., with strong sense of survival and a winning smile. Rescued from near-starvation as a tiny puppy, she was thought to be a whippet because of her small size. After several months of regular meals, she grew – a lot – into the long-leggedy, brown-eyed girl who had the ability to make friends wherever she went. While recovering from severe injuries inflicted by a hit-and-run driver in 2005, she taught herself to read by watching Animal Planet and looking at the pages of the National Geographic Atlas of the World, which she called “the Big Book of Maps.” Perhaps more importantly, over a period six months she learned to walk again and discovered the internet. Although not her native language, she became fluent in English, although she never lost the strong accent that sometimes made it difficult for two-footers to understand exactly what she was saying. She made up for that by writing about the subjects and friends that interested her most, both in words and music.

She was a graduate of Home School High School and took on-line classes in physics and modern American poetry from Yale. Her musical creations include an opera, “Guinefort,” about the first dog to become a saint. She was pleased to discover in mid-life that she was a princess, but she never bragged about it. She wasn’t that kind of girl.

She is survived by her mom; a younger sister, Lizbit; and a younger brother, Rusty, from whom she became estranged under mysterious circumstances. She would wish to note a special friend and confidante, Evil Squirrel, who lived in a tree in her back yard. At the Rainbow Bridge, she joins an array of older canine and feline siblings: Tigger, Ashley, Irish, Sammy, Oreo, Binky, Blackie, and others who preceded her in death. Refreshments will be served, including an unlimited supply of her favorite treat, pizza bones.

 Annie shall be conducting advanced classes in coolology in Heaven for those who would like to get their reservations in before it all.

Wind in the Willows, my butt

Startling how classic children's literature informs our very real life. Rat from the aforementioned story was a river vole (Aside, this is cool because it's been a lifetime since I read Wind in the Willows, and I think I'll reread it soon, but some tidbits just float up to the surface when your backyard is involved.)

River vole is a euphemism for nutria. I don't care if the river vole is some sort of indigenous rodent to the UK, whatever. It's a nutria. And, it's a big flipping RAT.

One which appeared on our back deck two days ago. I was getting ready to shower before work and Mr. Froth was still in bed. Merv was outside in the back and Dot was by the bed. Dot started barking her ass off and Mr. Froth got out of bed and hollered, "Is that a RAT?!?"

In my naked glory I looked out the door at this humongous rat-looking being just loitering on the patio while Merv was an appropriately safe 10 feet away. Merv is not stupid and is not frivolously careless and recognized the largeosity of this particular thing. I said, "Why, that's a nutria! I've never seen one in person!"

And, immediately thought and said, "If that WERE a rat, we are completely dead meat. It would be the biggest rat in ratdom. Large, ugly juggernaut of rat."

It waddled off towards the grill and I saw it hunch up and try to look threatening. Merv  yawned and just kept pace. It waddled off some more towards the fence with Merv safely behind. And then stayed there for awhile. Eventually Dot went out and barked and hollered and it just was, I guess, chillin'.

There's a pond right across the street to and from which our neighbors have seen nutria go in and out. Why the hell it was in our backyard we'll never know, because there aren't many aqueous bulbs or tadpoles or whatever they eat. It was too lethargic to be rabid. It was just big and ugly. Not the most endearing of animals. And looking like a giant Ben rat. Or Willard. And they eat trees. It had to be 15 pounds.

Remember your history peoples

We were working a crossword puzzle this evening and one of the answers was Utica Club Beer.

No. Really. I'd never heard of it, but I'm not the beer history repository here you know.

Mr. Froth looked at me askance, not believing I'd never heard of Utica Club Beer. Well, shit. I've heard of crap he's never heard of and it's way more obscure than that. Anyway. Segue to story...

When Mr. Froth was in a fraternity at OU back in the days of the pony express and all, mainly late 60's early 70's he was awakened out of a beer-ridden sound sleep, in his room, by himself, by a frat brother in high dudgeon. (An aside, said frat brother was with us in California the night that Frothlet #1 was born. He and Mr. Froth were bubbling in the spa, imbibing a bit of scotch, while I proceeded to begin contractions whilst cooking some inedible shit or other. I timed the pains with my watch and made Mr. Froth take me to the hospital because THEY WERE FAST AND HURT LIKE HELL. Frat brother continued to bubble and cleaned up the kitchen after bubbling and then Mr. Froth and I came home because it was a false alarm. Trust me. Labor, without any libations, or, for that matter, pregnancy, in the third trimester, without any libations sucks the big one. But, I wander as usual...)

So, back in the day, bro there pulled Mr. Froth out of bed and hollered "Frawwth, ermm...!!! You destroyyeddd my rahhbitt eaarrrsss!"

Someone had hung some girl's panties on his rabbit ears, which were attached to his black and white tv and had disturbed the reception.

After pulling Mr. Froth out of bed bro threw him against the wall, causing a Utica Club Beer tray that had been hanging there to fall upon Mr. Froth's head, awakening him even more and, surprisingly so, pissing him off a bit.

"You asshole! I dint do it! (Insert derelict other frat brother here) put them there! I don't hang panties! Derelict hangs panties! WTF?!?!?"

"Erm. Frawwthhh, yeah, you're right. Fucker. Sorry. Nooow I have to get new rahhhbitt eahrrss! Fuck."

And so, another Tuesday night in Norman was punctuated by brilliance.

Rabies prevention

This picture and advice is for Laura who has an intimidating collection of scary looking dinosaurs that wear flipflops and like, do stuff. Smash people and things. At least that's what I SURMISE.

Well, neener neener neener, I have a squishy Rep Pal That Feels Real! stegosaurus that is certainly a preventer of rabies, swine flu and gastric reflux.
 Here she is, because I'm pretty sure it's a she. I think she's an aunt who's eaten too much cabbage soup and is preparing to take a dump, but that's OKAY! Because, she's a possible rabies preventer and I'm totally about helping other bloggers avoid rabies. Plus, you can see the horrible damage she's done to the tile on our island. She's completely screwed up the grout and hasn't upgraded in twenty years. But, that's okay, because she's a disease preventer. And, she's MINE!

Merv and Dot ruminating

Quiet moments far from the madding crowd, prior to lizard maimings and cutlet forays:

You can see, to the side there, the portulaca that doesn't really like Dot's pruning/munching efforts. It's struggling.

Dot enjoying a gift and being cute and not chewing anything

Here is Dot loving her blue monkey given to her by our Lamborghini-owning neighbor down the street. For keeping an eye out we received a huge bottle of  Don Julio 1942 tequila, some unidentifiable sweetmeat prettily wrapped from Guadalajara (some scary items in there, but the tamarind candy and tamarind mush were spectacular-we're going to plant the seeds) and the blue monkey:

Today's lesson

Do NOT leave your second boob cutlet next to the computer because it will end up looking like a gellier version of this (to the left): which was carpety looking carpet at one time.

Or, it will look like this (below):  which was a very handy small leather purse. Dot is a girly-girl after all.

New gizmos

Well, not really gizmos, just replacement of Dot-masticated gizmos. Like the cord that enables me to upload pictures to the blog! Later I will post some pics of things. I can't even remember what they are it's been that long...

I know you can't wait.