Hardly Evil at All

I bet if you took all the evil people in the world and laid them end to end (but not in any dirty kind of way), you would be surprised to find that not one of them was Me.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Turning Botulism into Profit! (from the facebook files)

Me: When stocking up for hurricane season, dented cans may SEEM like a bargain, but your savings will be negated by your medical bills once your botulism fully develops.
Me (again): If you can't resist a dented can, you can test for safety by feeding the contents FIRST to your least favorite family member or pet, and then watching them closely for symptoms.
(still) Me: Whether they survive or not, you may be able to make home-made Botox to sell door to door in your neighborhood. If you already HAVE a meth lab up and running, this will be surprisingly quick, easy, and profitable. So, I GUESS I need to go back and retract the advice about not buying dented cans.
Hula Hoops: wat are the symptoms n is it fatal?
Me: My only REAL information about botulism came from a Trixie Belden mystery I read when I was younger, and it was EXTREMELY fatal in that particular case. I think.
Hula Hoops: ok well i was jst wondering in case i wanted 2stock up 4 some dinner guests lol
Me (later that same day): I was halfway done with my very first batch of Botox (and oh SO CLOSE to a new career) when Ponytail up and told me this can's extremely boring dent story. So we went ahead and just ate the fake Botox for lunch.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Which is more fun: playing Avoid the FAKE lava or avoiding veryvery REAL fleas? (from the facebook files)

J: (@ohrelatefacts:) If you never jumped around the furniture avoiding the lava on the ground, then you didn't have a childhood.

R: True Story: we played the EXACT same game, except it was less about having fun and more about survival. I guess NOT surviving would have been LESS fun, though. The goal of our "game" was simple: avoid being eaten alive by the fleas that invaded our room because of the secret batch of kittens we smuggled into the closet so they wouldn't have to live outside in one of the old rusty, junked, broken down "parts" cars PawPaw was always using to decorate the property. For some reason, the fleas seemed to respect the boundaries we established, and they stayed off the beds as long as WE stayed off the floor. Weird, but true. As for us, we got really good at the long jump on school field days and, if we'd had encouragement at home, would most likely be Olympic Long Jump Gold Medal holders now, with lucrative commercial product endorsement deals, instead of having lifelong, pathological fears of kittens.

R: P.S. This True Story can be verified by M.

Bear Keeps Watch (from the facebook files)

J: My windows are boarded up and it's screwing with my sleep schedule!

R: Stop pretending your windows are boarded because of the hurricane, J. You know we do that because wood keeps vampires out because they know it can quickly be made into stakes to drive through their hearts.

J: Rme. I wanna see u "quickly" make a stake out of the sheet of wood over my window.

R: I CAN'T, J, but VAMPIRES don't know that, DO they?

J: Well YOU just put it over the internet, so now they DO

R: Oh, no. Now I have to prepare stakes and hang them on the plywood so we'll be ready. Woe is me (for real). Will there ever be an end to this vampire season?

J: U could just keep them inside with ur crossbow. If them AND the vamps are outside, how will u get to them?

R: ATTENTION all VAMPIRES and potential vampires and/or looters: OUR windows are boarded up on BOTH sides of the glass! So, there. And I just remembered that we also have a wooden bear MADE of wooden vampire-slaying stakes that we keep on continuous patrol in and around the house, and we sleep in SHIFTS, too, for obvious safety reasons.

S: lol... I want to live with you guys.

(the following morning)
Bear kept his faithful watch for vampires, looters, and/or vampire-looters while we safely slept.

R: @S. I thought you might want to see Bear and know that he does in fact keep us all safe.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Our cat ain't right. (a photo strip commentary)

#1:  Jagger, what are you doing in the sink?  Get outta there!
#2:  Oh, you're thirsty, huh?  That sink isn't broken and dripping, so good luck with your water fountain delusion.
#3.  Seriously??  You thought you could use your kitty paws to actually TURN ON a faucet so you could get a fresh drink??  You need psych meds, Cowboy, or else I'm still in a Benadryl dream.
#4.  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Now, if you'll accompany me to the kitchen, you'll find your water bowl is in the exact same place it always is.

P.S.  I threw away that MENSA application you started on.  The directions CLEARLY state that it must be filled out legibly and in INK! 

(Guest host) Pretendra: And that's how my other new ex-friend didn't bother to try to not kill me last night.

I don't know about you, but when I'm about to start in on a task that may leave me or my clothing soiled or splattered with anything other than my own sweat or tears, I don appropriate personal protective equipment (officially, if not affectionately, known as P.P.E.).  These articles may include gloves, masks, shoe covers, and/or gowns, depending on the anticipated exposure.  I prefer to err on the side of caution, so I use a whole LOT of it!  By the by, for me, it's more a lifestyle choice than a work-mandate.  I guess I have OSHA to thank for making it both.  It is true that I would live in a Haz-Mat suit if they were both comfortable and affordable.
I might not be the smartest monkey in the zoo, but I do know that if you bathe somebody (that you are not currently the parent, extremely CLOSE relative, or "partner" of) RIGHT, you will need to at least cover your clothes and your hands.
So, after I gather my supplies (gotta do that first because I AM the most warm-blooded monkey around and the cover-ups are SO hot!), I don all my P.P.E. and begin to position the equipment (in this case, a specialty bed) for my convenience (translation: I wanna get outta there as quickly as I can!).  On certain beds, each wheel has a brake that must be individually manipulated in order to move the bed, as well as to "lock" it in position.  Since these wheels rest on floors, and are hardly easy to access, I get on down there.  I discover a grouping of wires of unknown origin or purpose hanging under the bed near the top left wheel.  As the aforementioned bed has been working adequately, I (of course I do-I'm nothing if not predictable) casually move the wires to see just what the heck is going on.
A few sparks and a singed disposable gown sleeve are all it takes to remind me of the obvious folly of taking electrical (literally) matters into my own hands (also literally).
I make a mental note to put in a work order for this equipment before I leave, and to NOT GO NEAR the live wires again, but I must first complete this task I've already started in on.  I assign myself a safety ally by way of notifying a co-worker of the situation, and requesting she check on me if I'm not seen for a while and/or if she smells anything burning, etc.  Task is completed without further incident.
Scene change:  Shift ending.  Ask secretary if maintenance routinely comes in on Sunday or if they only do so if called in for emergency.  I learn that multiple calls were made YESTERDAY concerning this very problem, and then my new EX-friend (I'll refer to him here as "Trip") appears and says: Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you about that!  Yesterday, my SHOES LIT UP! 

And that's just one way to make ex-friends at work, Trip, by not bothering to try not to kill your co-workers.

Thursday, August 9, 2012


Wake with a start at one AM. Saturday night!  Suddenly remember I am supposed to be hosting a surprise birthday party RIGHT NOW! 
Crawl quietly out of my cave to count heads (easiest way to tell if you ARE still hosting anything, am I right?).  Four heads, and that's just on the sofa.  Lemme see.  I personally borned one, two, three chilren, so, yep, slumber party in progress.  Dang it-I forgot to get up today (again!) and go pick up food, cake, etc. (kicking myself).  It sure is quiet, though, for a room full of tween-aged party people.  The only sound I hear is Mega Mind (my personal favorite movie) playing softly in the dark. 
I am preparing to take vital signs and do some basic neuro checks when I detect movement.  Good, because it's my DAY OFF! 
I greet each party guest with a hearty, albeit belated, welcome, attempting to casually ascertain whether or not any of them has been fed at all since their arrival (at what time, I have NO idea) at my home, or if I need to make a late-night Taco Bell run for the second night in a row (no trouble at all, really-I love that establishment!  When they say they're open late, they mean it, Wendy's!). 
They've had frozen pizza and S'mores, and there's an uncut, undecorated cake in the microwave for some reason.
They all start getting kinda rowdy, because it's only one, remember?  I know for a fact that three of the four stayed up way past three last night. 
Someone loudly shushes from a bedroom, and I go to see who it is.  Turns out to be a chaperone I didn't know about, a chaperone whose idea it probably was to put them to bed early in the first place. 
I approve getting up for snacks, and we all have a nice visit, sharing personal tales of adventure and madness.  I move the kitchen table and set up Befriendon, Upcam, and some Willow Tree figurines for a birthday card shoot.     
Eventually, the chaperone makes everyone go back to bed, even the hostess with the least-mostest, who isn't one BIT tired because I only just woke up, remember?
In the future, no more chaperones allowed unless they keep to themselves and let the children stay up as late as they want, AND sleep in as late as they want the next morning.
This is still only the second worst surprise party I ever hosted, number one being the party where the guest of honor never did show up.

Me and my Biggest Fan (literally)


(circa 11 AM)  Me and my Biggest Fan riding around again this morning! 

A big shout-out to Miss Linda for the advice to strap him into the seat-belt this time. I'm usually pretty good at coming up with ideas on my own. I had to reach over and set him back on the passenger seat so many times over the last 48 that I was considering leaving him at home next time.
The seat-belt really turned a chore into a breeze (unintentional pun that I'm choosing to leave in here) (because I can, that's why). However, it was MUCH hotter once I got out of Wall Store, and, of course, I TOTALLY forgot to take my top off before driving (don't worry, I had a swimsuit top on, just like when I was 18 and my Burgundy Oldsmobile didn't have air conditioning except in the winter), so I was in NO MOOD to be inundated with demands for my attention as soon as I walked through the front door. What with Jagger's incessant, narcissistic whining and Scooter's legitimate plight of needing to pee RIGHT NOW, I had to put my own needs on hold for a while. After I petted him and fed him, I had to lock Jagger up in Saren's room again because YESTERDAY he was so much underfoot while I was TRYING to get a bowl to re-heat my gruel up in that he made me bonk my head on the microwave and THEN he refused to go to Time-Out in the corner, and I'm NOT going to physically RESTRAIN him in the corner (ain't nobody got time f'that). First, though, I took Scooter outside to go potty and, while he was taking care of his business, I went back to the van to bring in all my bags. To save time later, I left my biggest fan in the locked van with all the windows UP. I sure hope he's all right when I get up, and that he's ready to ride shotgun again.