I don’t know April, but I do know she has one genius amigo. I picked this up somewhere on the Twitter feeds (and, my apologies if it’s you i’m ripping off). I sent it to a few people one of whom possibly whizzed herself. So, in the spirit of urinary incontinence, here you go.
A couple of notes:
I emailed this clip to E who later asked me, “Who’s Joe Cocker?”
I wonder if E would give Joe hell for wearing tie-dye. Oh, yeh, that’s right. He doesn’t know Mr. Cocker. (cocker…i must be deliriously tired because i’m suddenly snickering at the last name ‘cocker’…now, i’m off to give someone a wedgie and wet-willie)
Hellooooo. Looks like I’m back to once a week postings. To be honest, I’ve had a few free moments during which I could have written something. But, my fingers were still b!tching about the fish pond, and really, just how much can you stand to read about the fish who love the smell of napalm in the morning…napalm, oil, and gasoline. For the fish simpaticos, all six are alive and thriving and sh!ttin’ up their abode once again to the lovely green decor they so love.
Oh, and for the vindictive, Fishkiller (as I’ve appropriately tagged the iggit who dumped the gas/oil) had his vehicle impounded last week. I know…I said I wasn’t vindictive, but SCORE! He was pulled over due to the tint on his truck windows being too dark. Then, double whammy for driving without a license. (someone, please, stop the Jerry Springer antics that seem to have overtaken my life…i might as well start chewing tobacco and participating in hair-pulling fights over the last nascar koozie in the bargain bin at wa!-mart) I assume from E’s distressful tale of Fishkiller’s situation that I was supposed to react with sympathy and compassion. Pfft. I managed to contain my laughter and simply grinned, “Karma.”
Moving on past the fish…there is life past the fish, right?
The 4th was a mostly pleasant day filled with an abundance of meat and poultry in parking lots and smiley face fireworks. I stole a few minutes of twin-free time and jetted off to the bookstore with Gav and Gab in the morning. Once at the bookstore, a meat patty on the pavement greeted me as I stepped from the car. Maybe someone accidentally ordered the double or triple decker, thus flicking their extra meat to the ground? (i once accidentally ordered a triple decker burger…the guys with me knew i always ordered the same chicken sandwich and just stared in disbelief when i mistakenly blurted out the wrong number…instead of inquiring, “yo, dee, are you gonna be able to eat all that beef?” they just assumed i was having a meat craving…it wasn’t until i sat down and opened up the wrapper and was all, “whoa! look at all this meat! i didn’t order this”…”uh, yes, you did. i wondered if you were gonna be able to eat all that beef”…between two guys, i had no problem gifting my meat…go ahead, try working that last sentence into your workday)
Meat. On the ground. On the fourth of July. Later, I was fetching a can of peaches at the grocery store to celebrate our independence in the form of peach cobbler. Pulled into the parking lot, stepped out of the car, and nearly busted my independent a$$ on a piece of fried chicken. Seriously. First a meat patty, then a fried chicken breast. That’s right, not just some measly little chicken wing. An entire breast. I’m not sure what to make of the protein parking lots. Vegetarians declaring their independence? (although, if so, someone cheated on the meat patty as it had a bite missing)
The middle part of the day, meh. E’s parents came over toting their entire arsenal of whacking, chopping, trimming devices. I always dread seeing his dad trudging Rambo-style from the car with his machete, ax, hatchet, electric trimmer,… It must be their way to feel like men, taking down trees. E and his dad beavered their way about the yard decimating bits of dogwoods, azaleas, and other assorted trees/bushes who weren’t bothering anybody. Don’t get me going. Makes me all twitchy and brings me back to the fish pond.
I was especially looking forward to seeing the fireworks since I’ve missed them the past several years. E is vehemently opposed to viewing any fireworks show. Thinks they’re “stupid” and he gets all twitchy just at the mention of them. My personal opinion? I figure it has something to do with some ex-girlfriend. But, that’s just my intuitive gander.
So, at the last minute, I sprang the news after putting the twins to bed, “Gav, Gab, and I are driving downtown to watch the fireworks. Later.” I’ve learned that’s the best way to get out of the house. Just all of a sudden announce my departure. And, then depart.
Departing I went. We found a meat/poultry-free parking lot on campus not yet crammed to the gills and staked out a spot for ourselves. Forgetting from what spot on the mountain the fireworks would be doing their own departing, we had to scurry to the other side of the parking lot after the first bursting in air was totally obliterated by a patch of trees. “Way to go, Moooooom.” Gav, always making me feel like a weiner winner.
The fireworks display was decent although it was a bit too heavy with smiley faces. The first one or two, “Oooh, smiley face.” Then, over the next 15 minutes, people chirping, “Smiley face. Smiley face. Smiley face. Smiley face. Smiley face. Smiley face…” I’m assuming the city snagged a deal on smiley faces?
It was Gab’s first fireworks viewing. True to Gab form, she pointed at the first few. Then busied herself with a patch of dirt and rocks at our feet, occasionally (upon my insistence) looking up at the hubbub in the sky.
I enjoyed the time alone with the two G’s and look forward to finding more meat-free parking lots on the 4th for fireworks extravaganzas with the twins included.
Gab has no idea why we’re hanging out in a parking lot. “Protect me, big brother Gav, from the meat patties and fried chicken.”
“Oh, I get it. We came to the parking lot to take photos in the trunk of the minivan. Cheeeese.”
The koi and their watery abode are clean. No more oil. No more gasoline. And, geez Louise, no more green gloopy assorted fish excretory matter.
We are all agreed that dumping a ‘mostly gasoline, just a little bit of oil’ mixture in the tank was the bonehead move of the century. E has been surprisingly/suspiciously cool about the whole affair. He blows a cerebral gasket over a puddle of milk finding its way on the hardwood floors. But, gas/oil in the fish tank? No worries, mon. Well, nevermind all of that…E admitted earlier tonight that he had been hoping the fish tank would just “go away.” I can’t imagine what would have happened had I had a cat he was hoping would just “go away.”
Regrouping here. Shaking off the angry.
Cleaning the tank was a hell of a job. Imagine cleaning an overused outhouse recently frequented by an Exx0n carrier and you’re completing this endeavor with a mop bucket, 2-liter bottle with the top cut out for scooping purposes, and a small scrub brush intended to clean the perimeter of a bathtub. A 108-gallon outhouse. That’s my approximate volume calculation after taking measurements with my trusty tape measure. If you asked my arms, back, and legs today, they’d all agree it held at least 1008 gallons.
I housed the koi in a large cooler during the pond overhaul. Poor guys. Already living in rather small quarters to be downsized to a one-room cooler efficiency apartment.
I won’t go into all the pain-in-the-a$$ details, but there came a point when the sludge I was scooping looked exactly likethis kiwi drink E is always slurping. I contemplated saving at least a quart of the fish gloop and substituting it in his fridge container. Lucky for him, I’m not a vengeful person. (oh but i will silently rage over this for quite some time and derive much pleasure over just the thought)
The job took all morning and half of the afternoon. Fortunately, the twins were having one of those perfect days and fully cooperated, first by sleeping late, then eating well and hanging out for a bit to soon fall back asleep for an extended nap. Gab, who is usually always begging to go outside, got her fill of the outdoors. She stayed in the backyard with me the entire time and has since not made one single mention of going back outside. She’ll reach age 70 and tell tales of those early days when she was 2-years old and would go “outside” where the sun shines, the wind blows, and dumba$$es pollute fish ponds. I tried to get her to come out and feed the fish with me today, “NO OUTSIDE!!!” The outside no longer exists in her world.
The fish were still in the cooler Sunday when I came in and read some of your comments (and showered for the third time that day). It hadn’t crossed my mind to also clean the fish. I guess the bonehead was contagious. After searching the internet on ‘how to clean oil from koi fish‘ and getting suggestions of ‘add a splash of lime juice‘ and ‘goes well with grilled asparagus,’ I opted for bathing each koi myself. I filled two large bowls with clean water and added a few drops of dechlorinator (which i also added to the cooler). Then, donned a pair of nitrile gloves (maybe the fish have latex allergies…ok, maybe i have latex allergies). One at a time, I transferred them from bowl to bowl, giving each a tiny fish rub-down without the happy ending.
Once in the so fresh and so clean pond, they swam around frantically looking for all their sh!t I had taken away. “Where is all my sh!t??? My sh!t is missing! Somebody stole ALL MY SH!T!”
As of early this evening, there are still six gasoline/oil/sh!t-free koi swimming around in my backyard.
I’ve had quite a few ‘Are you sh!tting me?’ moments the past few days, but this one tops them all. Excuse me one moment while I silently scream my head off - AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!
I was out in the mosquito infested backyard a couple of hours ago just as the sun was tidying up his workspace for the day when I noticed beautiful swirly rainbows in the fish pond. I’ve mentioned our wee rectangular concrete slab/fish pond. When we looked at this house 2.5 years ago, the pond was the push E needed to sign his name 50+ times to make the house our own. Four koi, each ~5 inches in length, one solid gold, two orange and white, and one calico. The fish who drove us to Debtville.
Within weeks of moving in, E decided 4 was a no good number, but 5 would bring us luck. So, off to the local pet shop I pranced to fetch another koi. I don’t remember his/her exact color (ooh, past tense…not good)…orange and white, I think. He/she stood his/her ground for a while with the gang, then eventually went missing. Swooped up by a hungry neighborhood cat? Beaten and eaten alive by the Koi Four Gang? We’ll never know. Nonetheless, we were back to four.
Over the next few weeks, Gav, as it was his job to feed the fish twice daily, began telling us he saw a small black fish in with the Koi Four. Yeh, yeh, sure you did, buddy. “No, really, there’s a small black fish out there! Maybe a bird stopped for a drink of water and it fell out of the bird’s mouth.” Highly unlikely.
It took another week or so for me to finally notice. (i think gab was a freshly born, clinging to my being, cherub at the time. have i told you that story? how i didn’t put her down the first 6 weeks of her life? we’ll reminisce on that lovely time in my life another day) Sure enough, there was a teensy black fish along with three more fish babies. Somebody in the pond had gone and gotten knocked up. And, here we were with eight koi.
And, so it had been until the end of this past winter. Somewhere along the way, two of the bigger fish disappeared. Perhaps they sensed Earth’s impending destruction and hurled themselves skyward with the dolphins. Or, maybe the hawk we saw perched on the pond’s edge one morning played a role in their disappearance. That hawk did have shifty eyes. I knew he couldn’t be trusted.
Eight koi fish jumping on the bed. Two fell off and broke their head. Momma called the doctor and the doctor said, “No more koi fish jumping on the bed.”
Six koi is the current population in Rectangular Concrete Fish Pond Town. Which brings me back to the beautiful swirly rainbows over said town.
Yesterday, E and a friend were in the backyard banging their chest changing the oil in a piece of equipment (a pressure washer if you’re really interested…i’m sorry; i knew you weren’t interested). I glanced out the window occasionally, curious if they actually knew what they were doing and also keeping a visual on Gab and her acquisition of mosquito bites aplenty. At one point, I saw the friend swirling some oil around in a container just above the fish pond. You know, just above the fish pond like he might, oh I don’t know, dump said oil in said pond. But, E was standing beside him and took the container from him, then poured the oil in a waste container (2-liter Coke bottle if you’re interested…no? still not interested? yeh, me neither). “Whew,” I said to myself. “I thought he was actually about to toss that into the fish pond.”
Flash forward to beautiful swirly rainbows.
Mother f*cker, it looks like someone has dumped oil in the fish pond!
I walk the perimeter of the pond and the rainbows cover the entire surface. So, I phone E.
You didn’t happen to dump oil in the pond yesterday did you? No? Because there’s a mini-Valdez oil slick happening out back in the pond. How do I know? Beautiful swirly rainbows.
He said he would call his friend.
Now, here we are, the sun’s gone bye-bye for the day, and E just returned home.
Oh, I called So&So. He said he dumped just a tiny bit of oil in the pond. The majority of what he dumped was mostly gasoline.
Deep breath in through your nose. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. And, exhale slowly through your mouth. Unless you’re one of my fish in which case you are PROBABLY DEAD BY NOW.
My Sunday morning will be spent trying to rescue six koi fish from beautiful swirly rainbows.
(i know. i should be out there right now, trying to do something about it. i’m going straight to koi hell for waiting until morn. morn when i mourn.)
Yes, you fine folks with attention for ‘broad banner across the top’ detail have noticed the curb. Being a person of simple pleasures, I’ve longed for and harassed the ever-loving sh!t out of my friend, Brutha Ministah, for a decent photo of a curb for months now. I’m simple like that. While some may wish for exotic puke it up in your cabin cruises across the Caribbean and others want the latest in high tech gadgetry, me? I just wanted a curb.
B.M. (again, not to be confused with Bowel Movement) made the irreversible mistake of mentioning his latest hobby of photography…not one but two! fancy pants cameras, periodic purchases of lenses crafted with chips off the Hope diamond, and general bragging of The Quality, Oh The Quality.
I’ve wanted to slap a curb up top since beginning this blogging adventure. But, I wanted The Quality, Oh The Quality, not some grainy, pixelated by the hands of cavemen crap my camera would cough up.
So, I pushed the boundaries of friendship and let not one minute pass between us without mention of a curb.
Hey, dee. How’s it going?
Curb.
Anything new with you, dee?
Curb.
I’m having all of my organs transplanted next week.
Curb.
I suppose he was not eager to roll around on his belly in the street for my curb request.
Finally, my haggling paid off last week when he emailed some kicka$$ curbs from the streets of Little Rock, Arkansas. When I asked if anyone noticed his odd behavior of pointing his camera at curbs, “Many people noticed.” I take full responsibility for lowering his cool factor by 40 points.
I’ve already hit him up for my next blogging adventure….On The Men’s Urinal.
Hush, hush. It’s alright. You’re in the right place. I’m just f*cking up sprucing up the place a bit. Your key still unlocks the door. So, no worries.
I may change the lay-out 20 more times, so don’t get too comfortable just yet. Oh, go ahead. Get out of those tight pants. You can carry them with you if we travel to another blog design.
The twins have been eating solid (the term solid being questionable) foods the past few weeks. Listen. Do you hear that? It’s the deafening roar of pennies steadily streaming from our bank accounts. Crikey, these gummy babies blaze through some baby food.
I decided to start the twins on solids at 5 months, striking a balance between Gab’s 6-month go at pears and Gav’s earlier 4-month foray into Pureeville (i was under more pressure with him, living in his grandparents’ house ::shivers:: ::froths at mouth just a wee bit::). Ethan had been waving the red flag “Feed me, Seymour” for quite some time. He would smack away at dinner, watching us eat, and was well on his way to hitting the street corners with his perfect mime routine of ‘baby eating a steak.’
So, I grabbed a few jars of pears and gave it a go. (after buying a couple of actual pears and dreaming i would make the baby’s food myself…i read a few sites; steam the fruit, puree with some amount of water, voila! a meal fit for a pint-sized, crapping his pants king…i ate one pear myself and tossed out the other moldy one yesterday…inspiration can be fleeting with me)
While I thought Ethan would go apesh!t crazy with the food, he actually had a bit of a time getting the hang of the whole ’spoon in mouth, intake food, swallow food’ bit. Being a champion breastfeeder, he kept thrusting the food back out with his tongue.
Alani, on the other hand. ZOWIE! Very first try…she knew exactly what to do with that spoon and food. You know how normally you’re spooning food from their chin, cheeks, and forehead back into their mouth? This gal did not lose one drop. Not a single drop. The princess bibs are all still pristine whereas the blue I Drive Trucks and Shovel Dirt bibs look like they’ve been used for that exact purpose - shoveling dirt.
(for fun and because i’m twisted, i sometimes put the Little Miss bib on Ethan…it’s just a catcher’s mitt for lost food and shouldn’t matter the color or design, but still so.darn.cute to see that big boy looking up at me with Little Miss embossed in pink across his chest)
Both kiddos are eating well now and still breastfeeding. (i’m always a little nervous they’ll decide to bid the b00bs adieu once they discover the world of pureed madness…bah, just a bit of worry wart on my part)
Although I’m buying canned/jarred/stomped into a fine gloopy consistency by enslaved baby food preparing fairies/pre-packaged baby food, I still fancy the idea of making some on my own. My dad is drowning in peaches from his peach trees (yes, peaches from peach trees, can you believe it? not peaches from pear trees nor apple trees…peaches from peach trees…i really should close my eyes and rest for minute, don’t you think?) and has a super deluxe garden ready to burst forth with all sorts of foods…squash, cucumbers, watermelons, potatoes, corn, tomatoes, cantaloupes, various types of peppers (none of which i’m keen on…i’m not a pepper person), green beans, and more stuff I can’t remember. Also, several other fruit trees aside from the peaches (which, yes, bear fruits other than peaches…zzzzzzz). So, yeh, I may make a drive up to Hometown, U.S.A. soon and load up on Dad’s homegrown goodness.
(i would really like to grow some foods myself, but seeing as how i just let two raspberry bushes almost die and, in turn, freecycled them to better raspberry bush parents, i’m not so sure i’d be the best gardener…watering regularly seems to escape me…now, if i had to go out there and breastfeed everybody, i might succeed in growing some grub)
I’ll leave you with the obligatory photos of babies eating food. You knew they were coming.
Oh, and after raving about what a clean eater Alani is, I go and make a lier of myself with this peach-smeared pic. She wasn’t too hip on the peaches at first. Also, she’s wearing a bib of Gav’s I managed to keep with me through all the years and moves.
“Use Your Brain!” - Usually gutterly groaned following Gav’s panicked run through the house with some sugary concoction of soda or juice spilled in his lap, thus dripping the ant aphrodisiac (antphrodisiac) everywhere.
“No teeth!” or “Don’t kiss like that!” - I know…sounds like raunchy bedroom banter, huh? Ah, tis not the case. Miss Gab has become quite the violent kisser with the twins. She likes to kiss, then see immediate lasting proof of that kiss.
“Who’s got big balls?!?” - My highly inappropriate verbal exchange with the boy twin when I change his diaper. No worries. I’ll stop saying that when he’s able to answer, “I do!”
It’s even more inappropriate when the day’s gone on forever and I forget whose diaper I’m changing and ask Alani about her big balls.
“Helloooo! I’m talking!” - The bipedal boys in this house (ethan is exempt as he currently travels via attachment to one of my b00bs or half-rolls across a small space of floor) have a nasty habit of walking away while I’m trying to tell them something. This is sure to turn me into my mother, sharing my life’s history with the grocery store clerk or the librarian who only wants to clear the fines on my overdue account, not hear all about how sometimes the left contact lens is blurry and the right is perfectly fine, but then, suddenly, the blurry swaps sides, it’s weird, maybe they’re dirty, i’m always picking eye boogers from the corner of my eye, i bet i’m introducing some sort of filth i picked up when i opened the door, i don’t know, right now the right is blurry but the left is fine. Ahem. I have important things to say. Listen to me, people of this house!
I’ve seen this mosaic idea floating around the web lately, but finally took the bull by the horns after admiring kilowatthour’s. A meme in photos.
The concept:
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s Flickr Toys: mosaic maker.
**So as not to step on anyone’s celluloid toes, I only searched photos with Creative Commons licensure. Proper props are listed below along with most of my answers provided in each link title…no, I don’t eat beetles and my high school wasn’t Wildcat High; our mascot was the furry pu$$ycat…oh, and I don’t love metal horses most in life, but my precious non-screaming children.**
The Questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food? right now?
3. What high school did you attend?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.
Look who’s destroying my n!pples! I mean, look who’s got her first tooth poking through!
I saw this wee gem of a tooth barely visible under the skin last week. I knew something was up as Alani has been gnawing the sh!t out of my milky mamas for a couple of weeks now. She would clamp down on one and smile at me with her eyes. My precious piranha.
