It's All Connected

It's All Connected

Friday, November 11, 2011

Sometimes Being a Yatch is All I Have to Hold On To

I ran by Wal-Mart today. I know, I really need to stop going to the Shadle Wal-Mart because bad things happen there (yes, I am referring to the hiked up skirt incident) but then what would I blog about?

I am walking through the parking lot, and I have just buttoned my keys into my coat pocket and pulled my hood up. This truck full of camo covered hicks drives up slowly and yells something at me. I thought they had told me I had dropped something out of my pocket. So I look down at the ground and reach for my pocket.

Cue redneck laughter.

I suddenly realize that they have yelled that I have dropped my pocket.

Hicks: Got ya!

Now, I am not proud of what came next. But they had not, in fact, "got me".

Me: Hey, I think you dropped your girlfriend! Oh yeah, you never had one!

Then I flipped them the bird.

I know, I know. It was totally a snotty thing to do, Immature. Definitely took the low road there. But come on, hillbillies, if you want to "get" someone, you make sure you aren't driving by in a diesel truck that makes what you are saying hard to hear. And besides, sometimes being a biatch is the only thing I have to hold on to,

Someday You'll See Us On the News

If there was ever to be an investigation in our home, I think Jero and I would be arrested. Seriously, our animals are trying to frame us for murder.

Last week, Oz took to eating leaves. Pee leaves to be exact. Not sure why, I Googled it but Google turned out to not be terribly helpful. Said he could be doing it to purposefully throw up, or he could be doing it for attention. Either way, for 48 hours, while I was recovering from bronchitis, I cleaned up massive amounts of vomit off our carpet.

On a side note, I also had to do laundry that day and was forced to go into the basement, where I dropped the fabric softener sheets in a crevice and FISHED THEM OUT MYSELF. I totally rocked that day. I was invincible.

So, after cleaning up doggie stomach contents and only throwing up twice myself, it seemed as if our carpet was saved from the worst of it.

Today, Jero and I were talking about zombie ants, no really they exist. It was in Scientific American, Google it. I would link it, but I haven't learned how to do that yet. I've been too busy cleaning up regurgitated pee leaves.

While having this conversation, Mr. Giles was doing his typical I'm-going-to-prance-in-circles-around-you-until-you-pay-attention-to-me dance. All of a sudden, Jero says, "I think Giles cut his foot." I look around and see a crime scene all around us.

Seriously. Blood. Everywhere.

Dexter would have had a field day.

This may make me a terrible pet owner, but all I could focus on was the fact that the brand new carpet was covered in blood. In my defense, Giles rips his dew claw a few times a year, and though I know it can't feel great for him, it heals and is fine.

As I am scrubbing blood out of the carpet I start to giggle.

Jero: What?

Me: If a CSI team ever came in here and sprayed Luminol, we would be arrested.

Jero has the dogs gated into the kitchen and he's trying to get Giles to sit still.

Jero: Giles, hold still, you're going to get AIDS.

Me: How did our kitchen floor get AIDS?

Jero: Ummm...

Me: I don't think you know how AIDS works. Which is either a really good or really bad thing for me. Seriously though, we could be arrested if there was ever an investigation.

Jero: I guess we'll have to try and not get investigated for homicide.

Me: I can't always control these things. Especially because I am starting to think the dogs are trying to frame us.

Jero: Why would the dogs want to frame us for murder?

Me: So we wouldn't be here to keep them off the furniture. Duh.

Jero: Makes perfect sense.

Me: Think about it. Blood, stomach contents, feces, urine. It's like a scene from The Walking Dead in here. We need to keep an eye on this situation. Or maybe we should make a preemptive strike and let the police know that *we* are not the criminals in this house.

Jero: Sure, I can imagine that conversation, 'hello, detective, we just wanted to let you know that we are not responsible for any crimes committed in our neighborhood.'

Me: Maybe I shouldn't have cleaned up the evidence. That just screams guilty.

Jero: One day the mailman is going to go missing, we'll just find a boot and some short pants on the lawn.

Me: Exactly! We have to watch our backs.

So, if you ever see us on the news, please will you testify in our defense?

I'm telling you, dogs are sneaky.

criminal masterminds

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Day the Girl Scouts Tried to Kill Me

I was reading Hyperbole and a Half the other day. If you do not follow this blog, you are missing out. If you'd like to understand what I'm talking about, you can find a link somewhere over there. --->

Anyway, she was talking about feeling fearless. She illustrated her fearlessness with the line "I may even touch a spider..." That got me to thinking, what would I do if I had a moment of fearlessness? Let's face it, you and I both know it won't be touching a spider. I do not see why I ever need to not be afraid of spiders. Has my fear of spiders ever lost me something awesome? Nope. Has it saved me repeatedly from certain death? Absolutely. No, what I would do if I were suddenly fearless has nothing to do with eight legged freaks.

I would complete a Ropes Course.

The summer I turned 13, my Girl Scout troop took a trip to Rainbow Beach Resort in Inchelium to partake in a Ropes Course Challenge. It was an entire weekend that, at the time, I thought was going to be amazing.

We spent the first day doing the lower course. Learning to trust one another, because you know as Girl Scouts we were a bunch of untrustworthy animals, saving a puma with rope burns and food coloring in water, and attempting to get a group of uncoordinated pubescent girls over a great big wall. I still wonder if it was really a scout trip or our parents sending us to bratty girl boot camp.

I did enjoy that first day, it wasn't scary and even a little fun. I thought moving on to the high course the next day would be just as entertaining. Until I saw exactly how high the high course actually was.

We awoke early, pulled one of my troop member's mattresses off the top bunk with her on it, and got ready for another day of female bonding. Getting ready for the high course consisted of very handsome boys, who called themselves "guides", teaching us how to put on our harnesses and use terms like "ready to climb" and "climb on". Then we were taken to the course and shown our first challenge.

I was sure that I was going to die, and even though our troop leader was trying to reassure me, all I heard was, "die on".

The first challenge were three wires strung between two trees forty feet up in the air. To get to these wires, there were tiny metal loops in the tree that looked like thumb tacks, but were supposedly "hand holds" and "foot holds". Once you climbed the staple ladder, you were meant to step out onto a tiny wooden platform and from there, using two of the wires as more "hand holds" step onto the third wire and walk all the way across to another tiny wooden casket, I mean platform. Once you got across, you then had to turn around and go back to the center, lean back and remove your feet from the wire, trusting one of your fellow scouts to hold you while you repelled to the bottom.

I thought that with age, this task would not seem so daunting, forty feet not so high. Instead, even writing it makes me think that this Ropes Course is just a convenient way to lynch your young.

I watched a couple of girls go first and had just started to think I may be able to complete this challenge, when somehow it was my turn.

I clipped in, parroted the words I was taught and climbed away. I was about halfway up the tree when some bright person decided to say, "you're doing great, Sara, don't look down." I of course promptly looked down and froze. I couldn't move, I couldn't even talk. I was hovering over the Grand Canyon, hanging from a piece of dental floss and clinging to four toothpicks attached to the wall with Elmer's Glue. I remember people yelling at me to keep going and shaking my head. Then came the idea to just come back down the way I had come, to which I emphatically shook my head. Then one of the "guides" tells me that they can just lower me down, but first I would have to let go of the tree so they could swing me to the middle. I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and wrapped my arms tightly around my new best friend, Mr. Tree.

The rest is a bit of a blur. I believe I had to have found my voice enough to tell them I would most definitely not be doing any of those things. That they would just have to come up and get me. And that is exactly what happened.

One of the "guides" climbed up the tree, wrapped his arms around me and the tree, and pried my fingers apart. Then we both swung to the center like Tarzan and Hysterical Jane, and we were lowered to the ground. It was official, I was the planet's biggest wuss.

I respectfully bowed out of the next few challenges. Choosing to be the one holding the ropes rather than the one hanging precariously from them. The final challenge was nothing but a forty foot telephone pole covered with more thumb tacks. Hanging in front of the top of the pole was a trapeze. We were meant to climb it, which left you having to figure out how to get yourself in a standing position on top of the pole. Then we were told to set a goal and jump for the trapeze. Catching the handle was meant to represent reaching your goals while jumping and missing was meant to teach us that at least trying makes us feel "good" and "accomplished".

This challenge I actually did, but only because one of my fellow scouts kept saying, "you'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't".

Filled with a guilt I thought only my mother could make me feel, I climbed that sumbitch and managed to stand on the top. I stared down that ugly trapeze and set what I thought was an unattainable goal. Then I reached out my arms and jumped.

The girl belaying me was not paying attention. I assume she thought there was no way I'd actually do it, so she let me fall ten feet before one of the "guides" grabbed hold and I received the worst wedgie of my life and what I believe was a small stroke.

My fingers never went near the trapeze.

Guess I shouldn't have set that goal to be able to touch a spider.

Hug those babies, don't steal their Halloween candy, and never let them join the Girl Scouts.