Horrible Parenting

I think we can all agree that parenting is a crap shoot. You do the best you can with what you know and wing the rest. Chances are, you are winging it quite a bit.  Most of us want our kids to be independent thinkers – to make decisions based on their own experiences and investigation – but still expect them to hold on to our most important core values.

Dave and I raised both of our kids this way, and while they have often presented us with a laundry list of challenges, I didn’t really expect them to stab me in the back with this one.

My kids hate coffee.

I know, right?  Like, they could have been Bear fans or communists but nooooooo.

Where did I go wrong? How could I have prevented this? Am I a bad parent? What will the neighbors think? Will they realize it’s just a phase or will they gather around my door with torches and pitchforks?

I don’t know what else I could have done.  I was quite possibly the best example of what it means to have a coffee addiction in the entire universe.

Every morning I greeted my children with a hug and a coffee breath kiss. I left heart shaped coffee rings on their homework. I walked them into school with my coffee stained shirts and smiled my coffee stained smiles at their teachers and friends. On days they were late for school or dressed funny, the teachers whispered “She must have run out of coffee.”.

I seriously don’t know how they dodged this bullet. It should have been stamped into their little beverage genetic codes from conception. Coffee is the lifeblood from which my entire family functions.

Coffee for breakfast.  Coffee for lunch.  Coffee for dinner.  After dinner coffee.  Coffee with coffee cake.  Coffee with cheesecake.  Coffee with bundt cake.  Coffee with ANY cake.  Coffee with pie.  Coffee while we work.  Coffee while we pretend to work but we are really thinking “this coffee would be much better with cake”.  Coffee for road trips.  Coffee on vacation.  Coffee on coffee tables while reading coffee table books while we wait for more coffee.

But no. You know what they like to drink? They like to drink MILK.  MILK!!!

Nothing against milk – it has it’s place on top of my cereal or IN MY COFFEE(!). Maybe as a beverage if I am feeling guilty about calcium intake, but let’s be serious. We all know that’s what cheese is for. (Mmmmm….cheese…..and cake…. CHEESECAKE…mmmmmmm….)

Their dad, however, is a milk drinker. And he comes from a long line of milk drinkers. Was I NOT paying attention when I met him in art class? Was I so enamored with trying to kiss him during film strips that I forgot to ask him pertinent questions such as “What is your opinion about banjos?” “If your wife brought home several stray cats, how would you react?” and “How do you feel about coffee breath?”. But no. I had to ask things like “Do you have a car” and “Will you pick up me and my friends and take us to go buy beer?”.

So now you know. I’m a parenting failure. I gave birth to milk drinkers, who will, in turn, have more milk drinkers. My legacy is dead. I have failed.  Dave, on the other hand, is victorious.  And I am reminded of this every time I buy groceries and return home with 4 gallons of milk and only one bag of coffee.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must go drown my sorrows in Starbucks Sumatra with just a touch of cream, and a huge ass piece of Costco All American chocolate cake, after which I will enjoy a cozy football nap and then maybe have more coffee.

Until next time,

Parenting Failure Coffee Breath Sue

PS.   I found out AFTER I wrote this that my children do, in fact, drink coffee, thus making my entire post a LIE.  Well played, children.  Well played.

PPS. However, despite being a bald faced liar, with this turn of events, I can now say I am a huge parenting success. I have bestowed two more coffee drinkers unto the universe.  Dave is a milk drinking L-O-S-E-R!

PPSS. Dave would like to remind you that I’m a liar and any claims above regarding my greatness and his loser-ness should be taken with a large glass of milk, of which we have plenty because I just went grocery shopping.

PPSSS.  Dave would also like you to know that at least he will share his milk but if you try to touch my coffee, I will stab you in the back of your hand with a fork.  Not that he has any first hand experience with this.

That Escalated Quickly

Cartoon from the great Dan Piraro, as shared on FaceBook.  http://bizarro.com

Anyone else notice how we went from dead of winter to Holy-Crap-I-Just-Saw-A-Robin in less than a week? I think I even saw a rare white headed snow bird, although they usually don’t drive fly home north until April.

I was out walking the dogs a few days ago (because I’m ALWAYS walking the dogs. When I die, my tombstone will say “She really walked those dogs a lot.”) and saw my first sandhill cranes of the season fly overhead. Although I am one of those weird winter lovers, I have to admit I grinned from ear to ear when I heard them. You don’t realize how long winter is until you hear your first sandhill crane, I guess.

Saturday, the sun shone and it was 62 degrees. In Wisconsin, that’s shorts and flip flops weather. And bike riding weather. And therefore, also leg shaving weather.

I hauled my bike up from storage, threw some air in the tires, and dug out my fancy pants bike shorts. And then I took a gander at 6 months of forest growth and had to make a decision. Was it worse to scare the neighbors with sasquatch legs or to blind them with freshly-shaven, sun-deprived, neon white legs?

You’ve heard the term “Tan fat is better than pale fat” right? Well, pale fat is better than sasquatch legs. I hunted down the pruning shears and got to work. I wanted my winter white legs to look their best in my brand spankin’ new bike shorts.

I bought my new bike shorts off the internet. With justified trepidation I might add. Cycling clothes are sketchy enough to buy even when you can try them on, seeing as they seem to be made for toddlers and anorexically thin, middle-aged men. These shorts had rave reviews on Amazon, and everyone said they fit great and the sizing chart seemed legit, so I threw the dice.

I LOVE THEM. They have mesh pockets on the side for easy storage of maps, gloves, gel packs, phones – whatever us crazy bikers can think of to stick in there. I don’t usually wear the typical bike jerseys that have the pockets in the back (see above – toddlers and skinny middle-aged men do not have BUS’s (Breasts of Unusual Size)) so this is a great idea for me. I am totally geeked out about them. Plus the price was right and they actually fit without me feeling like a stuffed sausage.

And guess what? I also bought an over the shoulder doggie holder. That’s not what it’s really called, but it should be called that because I just made that up and that’s an excellent play on words.

Okay, I didn’t really make it up – I sort of stole it from the old “over the shoulder boulder holder” joke (that’s a bra for those of you who were sheltered as a child) but you have to admit, it gives a clear and concise picture in your head and is much easier to understand than the SEO title it has on Amazon. The “i’Pet® Hands-free Reversible Small Dog Cat Sling Carrier Bag Travel Tote Soft Comfortable Puppy Kitty Rabbit Double-sided Pouch Shoulder Carry Tote Handbag”.

What?

Exactly. So I tried that out today, too. One thing about spring in Wisconsin – it gets deceptively warm for about two weeks and all the birds come back and start partying, and then it snows, rains, and freezes for a month (and the birds fall for it EVERY TIME. You would think they would learn) so you have to spend as much time in the sun as you can before it disappears again.

See below – don’t I look like Paris Hilton? I could be her twin, right?

For the record, I’m not really the froo-froo girlie girl walking around with her poochy-woochy-kins type. But Lucky dog has a bad feet so long walks leave him limping with bloody toes. And when I leave him home, he howls – which is equally detrimental to his health because everyone wants to kill him then. This carrier worked perfectly, and will make for an awesome summer of dog walking.

Okay – I’ve rambled on for far too long, so those of you still reading – go have some cake.   You totally deserve it.

Sue

PS.  If you want to check out the shorts, you can do so here: Aero Tech Designs  I’m pleased enough that I will probably buy a second pair.  If you are interested in the doggie carrier, you can check that out here:  Over The Shoulder Doggie Holder

PPS.  On my bike ride on Saturday, I stopped to check out Wequiock Falls.  There was a guy there playing one of those wooden flutes you see advertised on cable or at art shows.  He played under the bridge, so when you stood on the observation deck, you could only hear him, not see him.  It was surreal but cool.  Just had to share.

 

Glamorous. Just Call Me Fergie.

Well, the pressure cooker has found a new home. I haven’t heard from her since, so I am assuming she is either madly in love with it and cooking up a storm or dead from poisoning and unable to communicate her utter loathing. Either way, I’m off the hook.

Meanwhile, here at the DeGroot house, life marches on. Specifically, it marches behind tiny yorkie butts that produce a surprising amount of poo. Most of that poo is gathered in small plastic bags and disposed of in the garbage. Please do not ask me where the garbage takes it. Probably the landfill where it can pile up with all those disposable diapers we threw in there when the kids were little. But hey, at least the poo is not in your yard or on the road or on the bottom of your foot. See? Silver linings.

Unfortunately for me, one of the bags I used Saturday morning had a hole in it. Which I didn’t notice until I pulled it out of my pocket and poop flew everywhere. It was quite the start to my day, I must tell you.

The good news is that I was outside and the poop all flew on the road. That’s pretty much all the good news. Because then I stepped in it three times while I was spinning around in confusion and the dogs were lunging at the end of their retractable leashes at an oncoming huge pickup truck. However, I did not notice the truck because A) my dogs are jerks and bark all the time and B) I was digging in my pocket for a new bag while still holding the gross holey poopy bag, while trying to hang on to both leashes, while trying not to step in more poop.

I noticed the truck finally, and started pulling the dogs in but of course I still had the defective poop bag in my hand so I’m trying not to drop that while trying not to get poop on my gloves while trying not to fling any more poop while trying to operate the retractable leashes. And now I’m sweating profusely. Truly a vision of loveliness.

I closed my eyes and stood there – mentally swearing at my father. My dad saves all of his bags that come with his newspaper and gives them to me. They make excellent dog poop bags – they are large enough for your hand to fit into them but compact enough that you hardly notice them in your pocket, unlike bulky plastic grocery bags which make me look like I have goiters on my hips. So it’s a win-win situation, except that my dad doesn’t pay attention to whether the bags have holes in them or not.

Of course, at 52, I am sure he figures his daughter has enough poop bag experience and marginal intelligence to inspect each bag prior to use. That appears to be his undoing. And mine.

So I finally get the poop off my shoe and most of it off the road and go home. I walk in the garage, I pull the new poop bag out of my pocket to throw in the garbage and see a tiny bit of yellowish snow topple to the floor. That’s when I realized that the poop may have gone other places besides all over the road. Oh boy. Do I dare stick my hand in my pocket?

Of course I do. You all know me better than that. This is a woman who will eat a strange M&M off the carpet at work. I live on the edge.

Thankfully, the only other thing in my pocket was another empty bag. But I knew there was poop juice in there because of the snow. Or perhaps, by now, it was only poop cooties. Either way, the pocket was compromised.

I got in the house and threw my coat on the bed while I dug around in the bathroom cupboard looking for the antiseptic wipes, when Dave walked in the room. He stuck his head in the bathroom and asked me what I was doing.

“Cleaning out the poop juice in my pocket”, I told him.

You wanna ruin the ambiance of the bedroom? Just mention “poop juice”.

“That’s so disturbing,” he said. “Why don’t you just wash the entire jacket?”

Oh sure. Mr. Logical. NOW you show up. At least this time I didn’t forget the poop bag in my pocket like I did when I washed my jacket last year. Silver linings, baby. Silver linings.

Sue

PS. I’m probably the only person you know that can write an entire 800 word blog post about a single incident of dog poop. I should get some kind of award for that.

Pressure Cooker For Sale

I’m selling my pressure cooker.  Ya wanna buy it?  6-quart Elite something something something – $40.  I paid $80.

I suppose you want to know WHY I am selling it.  It’s hard to admit, but I’m a pressure cooker drop out.  Except I really can’t blame the pressure cooker – it worked fine and cooked everything exactly the way it was supposed to…I think.

And there is the crux of the matter.  I am not really sure how food is supposed to look or taste when it comes out of the cooker.  I watched a few million infomercials and they just dumped all the ingredients in and assured the audience that even an idiot can make fabulous meals with it.  I must be some special kind of idiot then.

My first attempt was chicken tenderloins, and I threw in a can of cream of mushroom soup and some cut up potatoes and some butter and seasoning.  I couldn’t get it to pressurize so I added more water, JUST LIKE IT SAID TO DO IN THE TROUBLESHOOTING GUIDE.  Still wouldn’t build up pressure.  Added more water.  Do you see where this is going?  Finally, I figured out I had to push down on the top to get a good seal and I finally had pressure.  Yay!

Only by now, I no longer had chicken with potatoes and cream of mushroom soup.  I had chicken and potatoes in opaque water with tiny gross black thingies in it and some weird ass film over everything.  And the potatoes were mushy.  And the chicken looked diseased.  Family reaction?  “Oh my God….”

Although it was not visually appealing, it didn’t taste horrible.  Like, no vomiting ensued after placing a forkful in our mouths.  So, even though Dave begged me to return it, I decided to watch a few more infomercials, and give it another chance.

The 2nd attempt involved spoon steaks.  Usually, I buy the ones that are marinated in the burgundy pepper stuff and even though I know it’s probably full of chemicals, they are quite delicious.  Unfortunately, my brain was on vacation when I was at the store because I returned home with plain, non-chemical infused spoon steaks.  Boring.

But I knew from watching the last infomercial that if I just browned them on the sauté feature and added some organic chicken broth, I would have a miracle dinner in less than 15 minutes.  Liars.  But the presentation was MUCH better than the last time.  Family reaction?  “You don’t have to make this again.”

Despite my family shoving the pressure cooker back in the box, taping the receipt to the top, and sticking it in my car, I decided I just hadn’t hit on the right dish yet.  I unpacked it and snuck it back in the cupboard at midnight, and did some major pressure cooking shopping the next day.

I bought a lemon pepper pork roast.  I bought pork chops.  I bought a stuffed pork roast.  Pork was obviously on sale.  I brought my precious dinner ideas home and nestled them in the freezer until the next Sunday dinner.  This time, it was going to be perfect.

Sunday came and I decided on the lemon pepper roast.  It sounded so delicious!  I made sure it was thoroughly thawed (say that three times fast) and browned it just like I did the spoon steaks.  I added 1 cup of chicken broth, just like the spoon steaks.  I figured after all, the spoon steaks would have been much better if I had used the marinated ones, so this pork roast was going to be fantastic.

When it was finished, I pulled out the roast and set it on a plate.  It looked…grey.  It didn’t look crispy, even though I browned it.  It didn’t look like “the other white meat” like it does when I cook it on the grill or in the slow cooker.  Hmmmmm.

I cut into it, and it was definitely tender.  Still grey, though.  My daughter saw my hesitation (never let your children sense your fear in the kitchen.  One funny look from you and they won’t eat broccoli for five years), and wrinkled her nose at it.  “Is that even done?” she asked.

“Sure.  Sure it’s done,” I said.  I poked at it.  It was a little pink in the center.  Grey and pink.  Not good food colors.  I cut towards the end, pretty sure those pieces would be done at least.  I took a bite.  I smiled.  I chewed.  I smiled bravely while I chewed, and then my eyes watered and my brain screamed “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY SPIT IT OUT!”  I swallowed.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” said Dave.

“No…it’s not..baaaaad,” I drawled.

Dave took a bite and, to his credit, actually swallowed it.  “Kinda rubbery, dontcha think?” he said.  My daughter was in the process of taking her first bite when she heard his verdict and immediately beelined it for the kitchen sink where she made her opinion known with gagging.

Not only was it rubbery (although a tender rubbery.  Like, not hard to chew but still rubbery.  Very odd sensation.) but it didn’t taste like lemon pepper or pork or a combination of lemon pepper and pork or even just lemon or just pepper or just pork.  It tasted like chemicals, only not in a good way.  More like in a “I’m eating rubberized Lysol” way.

So now, we have an entire lemon pepper pork roast bagged up in the freezer until we decide what to do with it.  I can’t throw it away because of all the starving children in China and Dave won’t let me pawn it off on our son (“Really, honey.  I think you have given him enough fodder for the therapist.”) so it will just sit in the freezer until one day Dave throws it away when I’m not looking.

Meanwhile, I have a pressure cooker for sale.  Only used three times!

Sue

PS.  I am fully aware that my experiences have more to do with the cook and not so much the cooker, so no need to point that out.

PPS.  If you DO point it out, expect some rubber pork roast on your porch.

PPSS.  This is why I eat cake.  Cake would never do this to me.

 

 

 

 

Happy Dog Butt New Year

DOG BUTTS!!

Happy 2016!

After posting this picture, I now realize some of these dog butts are anatomically correct.  Sorry about that.

I take that back.  I’m not sorry.  These magnets are hilarious.  In fact, I’m going on Amazon in about 5 minutes to go buy the cat butt version.   Photo pending.

This brings me to my New Years Resolution, which is to fill my cube at work with as many distracting toys as possible.  I’m hoping this prevents any real work being done, as my secondary goal is to get paid for doing as little as possible.  Viva La Dilbert!

I actually have a serious resolution but I’m keeping it a secret.  Well, I’ll give you a hint.  My 2016 goal is to focus on my writing skills by writing a lot and taking workshops and classes.  So..that’s pretty much the actual goal, and not really a hint.

Oh yeah, and win the Power Ball.  You know, because there’s a chance.  Although I believe the odds of being eaten by a polar bear are higher.  I don’t live in Alaska so I figure that negates the polar bear issue and increases my odds of winning.

Plus, I deserve to win the lottery because I would use it for so many awesome things like shoes and cake and books and yarn and bike parts and never use it for building a secret death ray to hold the world hostage for one billion dollars.  (Because I would already have one billion dollars. Duh.)

I really just put that last paragraph in there so I had a reason to post a photo of Dr. Evil.  And use the term “death ray” in a sentence as it was next up in my “Word of the Day” program.  See?  I’m just full of self-help and bettering myself for 2016.

Speaking of randomly quoting movies – I love to randomly quote movies and I love really bad puns and clichés.  I know these are not ideal when one wants to be considered a “good” writer, but I’m not most writers.  I’m Sue.  And I am great.

My last blog referenced several movies, which I have listed below.  If you comment below on which phrases from my blog go with each movie listed, I will split my lottery winnings with you.  You odds of winning any of my winnings are the same as me winning and you don’t have to spend any money, which is just more winning!

Here they are, as well as a link to my last blog:  It’s All About That Cake.

Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Jurassic Park (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 , 10, etc.)

Christmas Vacation

The Wolverine

Elf

The Lord of the Rings

The Perfect Storm (this one’s a gimme)

Baby Got Back (technically a song but I’m running out of movie references and it looked lame only having 7)

Hot Tub Time Machine (this one is a stretch because the anatomy is wrong but again, running into the “lame” factor.  I think I need at least 10 to not be entirely lame.)

A Christmas Story (this one is so much of a stretch as to be virtually nonexistent but I needed number 10.  Pretty much any answer you give for this one will be accepted).

As a disclaimer:  Any one making reference to this blog, blogger or quiz being “Lame” will be removed from the list of winners.  You will no longer be “winning”.  You will be “losing” which makes you a “loser” and you don’t want to be a loser now do you.  Exactly.

Okay, that’s all I got tonight, peeps.

Stay warm and snuggly-

Sue (the Great)

PS.  No tiger blood was ingested despite my not so subtle Charlie Sheen reference.

PPS.  I’m not actually a Charlie Sheen fan.

PPSS.  Even if I was a Charlie Sheen fan (which I’m not), I still would not drink tiger blood or any blood because A) That’s disgusting and B) I’m not a vampire and C) Still so disgusting and D) Ew.

Come In Orson

It is now the end of my NaNoWriMo experiment. I did not write a novel. I did not write 50000 words. I did not pass Go. I did not collect $200. But I did write almost every day, and I tried to get at least 500 words in when I wrote. I came close enough to this goal to be happy, and to call this experiment a “win”.

As a bonus, I learned a lot about myself and about how I write.   I can tell you are all just dying to know, so in the words of the great Samuel Mo-Fo Jackson: “Hold on to your butts.”

I LIKE TO WRITE.

That seems less monumental now that I see it in print. I mean, “Duh”, right?  But I was getting to the point of dreading my time at the keyboard.  I wanted every line to be perfect and I wanted everyone to believe my writing was perfect and I wanted to fit my square-ass peg in a round-ass hole.  Over thinking and editing every line lead to slow and painful writing, and when I couldn’t keep up with what I thought my imagined pace should be, I wrote less and had less joy doing it.

NaNoWriMo, however, is all about writing without editing.  Just letting the words fly out onto the paper, all willy-nilly and higgley-piggley.  I about had a coronary the first few days.  But then I got into it.  It became fun.  Nothing made sense at first, but I didn’t care.  I was writing, and as I wrote, I found golden nuggets along the way.

My main golden nugget?  Writing is a whole lot more fun when I’m not being such an anal asshole to myself.

MY WRITING STYLE IS MESSY.

I write the same way I clean my house. I make a fantastic mess and then somehow, in between looking at old photos and reading long forgotten sales flyers, I organize it into place again. I also leave cupboard doors open while I am cooking. I don’t know if this is related, but it drives certain people in my life crazy. So if leaving cupboard doors open is a pet peeve of yours, feel free to rant about it in the comments. It won’t change anything, but I know it will make you feel better.

I am much happier and more productive when I make a big writing mess, and then go thru it all later and puzzle it into a single, flowing, beautiful, angelic document of pure bliss and perfection. It is absolutely just as time consuming as my old way of writing one sentence and then editing it to death, but I get to write a lot more and I am editing less. I believe speed and overall better writing will take place over time and if it doesn’t – who cares?  But it will. And you know why? Because of…

PRACTICE

Why am I so old before I am finally understanding the concept of practice and not perfection?

When I was a teenager, my friends and I were Steve Martin fanatics, to the point of purchasing banjos and taking banjo lessons. Serious groupie behavior. However, to play the banjo with the same skill as Steve Martin involves years of dedicated practice. YEARS. And I wanted perfection, and I wanted it yesterday. I still love Steve Martin, but I no longer own a banjo.  I sold it when I realized that I would never dedicate enough time and energy to being that good.  It was a desire, but it wasn’t a dream I was willing to fight that hard for.

Writing has been a similar experience for me – I believed I was supposed to be perfect right out of the gate. Except I wasn’t.  And my writing was all over the place.  And I kept switching my genre.  And writing became a chore.

But this WAS my dream.  And still is.  I refused to give up.  And still do.  I will be in Kristin Lamb’s 5% of 5% of 5%, even if it takes me until I’m 90.  Even if I suck.  Even if no other living human ever reads another word I write, although that would be terribly depressing.

Because my new attitude is practice.  I can’t get better if I’m not writing.  I can’t find open doors and opportunities if I am not actively learning and participating in the writing world.  And I now know that it will always be “practice” and not “perfection.  And I am so very okay with that.  Finally.

THE BLOG

Photography is a lot of fun, but it’s not my first love.  I have time to be either a really good photographer or a really good writer.  I have to pick one and commit (which also relates to genre).

So I am going to stop muddying the waters of my blog, and will be pulling away from photo challenges and instead focusing on humorous posts as they relate to day-to-day living. I will publish every two weeks. On a Monday. With a full elvish moon.  Carved into stone by Wolverine at high tide during the festival of Shirtless Jackman, while Steve Martin plays Foggy Mountain.

THE NOVEL.

I will write one. But not this year. This year, I will be focusing on practice, establishing permanent writing habits, doing a few workshops, reading books about writing – that sort of thing.  Oh yeah and maybe realize my dream of being the next Sue DeGroot.  Who is great, by the way.  In case you missed that.

Of course I will still be biking and hiking and rolling around in the dirt and picking wood ticks off the dogs and eating butt loads of cake, and then coming back here to tell you about it – humorously of course. But I think…I think it will finally all make sense.  At least to me.  You guys are probably screwed.

Writingly yours,

Sue

PS.  Thanksgiving was awesome and pie filled – it’s the one time of year pie is an acceptable alternative over cake.

PPS.  I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and that you all gained as much weight as I did.  Because I’m considerate that way.

PSS.  I would like to thank all of you who have inspired me and encouraged me to keep writing.  Some of you know who you are.  Some of you have no idea.  I was going to name names, but chances are I will forget someone significant and then feelings will be hurt and wars will rage and all of mankind will cease to exist.  So instead, here are the letters of all the initials of all of you.  A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z.  And the entire Klingon alphabet, just for good measure.

 

Hot Tub Time Machine

Once upon a time I was going to write a blog post about the odd phenomenon of abandoned shoes found lying on our streets, county highways, and interstates.  I mean, it’s weird- right?  Because it’s not even pairs of shoes.  It’s single shoes.  And most disturbing, sometimes it’s a toddler shoe.  Like, what even happened here?  How did some baby just randomly lose a shoe on the interstate?  And it’s not like you’ve only seen them once or twice – IT’S ALL THE TIME.  Anywhere in the US, you can hop in the car, drive down your local highway and find at least one shoe within the first 10 miles.

That alone is enough to call Scooby-Doo and the Mystery Machine – time to bring in those meddlin’ kids.  But my discovery this morning really takes the cake.  And you know how I feel about cake.

On my way to town, I noticed a large, round object in the ditch.  I was running late (shocker, I know), so I only glanced at it, thinking it was a big spool of construction wire or maybe a big new cement culvert or something.  But on the way home, I was driving at a much more sedate pace (translation: speed limit), and noticed that what I had originally thought was a culvert, was actually an abandoned hot tub.

Wait.  What?

A hot tub?  How does one go about littering a hot tub?  It’s not like chucking an empty pop can (or baby shoe) out the window.  This is a fricking hot tub.  A HOT TUB PEOPLE.

Abandoned Hot Tub Time Machine. 1986, anyone?

This is by far, the weirdest, random, piece of trash I have ever found on the side of the road.  Like, whoever threw this out deserves a 5 million dollar littering fine, and maybe a medal because how did they even lift it out the window.

Okay, I’m sure it was on the back of someones pick up truck but still.  “Gee, I don’t want my hot tub anymore.  I think I’ll just go leave it on the side of the road.”   Who does that?

Just to prove I really did find it on the side of the road, here is a photo taken a little farther out.

Seeing it reminded me of the movie, Hot Tub Time Machine – a predictable but somewhat funny movie where 4 guys get drunk and go back in time to 1986 via faulty hot tub and bizarre Chevy Chase cameos.  It was tempting to make a “FREE- HOT TUB TIME MACHINE” sign for it and con Dave into sitting in it with me just for the photo-op.  But then we’d have to haul over some booze bottles, make the sign, fill the tub with water, find Chevy Chase….  Plus, maybe it really is a time machine?  Did I really want to chance 1986 hair?

So I just snapped this plain old boring photo and you will all just have to be happy with that.

Hot Tubbingly Yours,

Sue

PS- this post is in participation of Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge.  Click on the icon to join the fun!

 

Clean Your Plate. #CFFC

I’m way behind on my blog and wanted to do a quick little blurb so you all know I’m alive and kicking.  Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge (#CFFC) this week is about our Sense of Taste so I figured it was the perfect venue for something short and sweet (see what I did there?  Now that’s talent.)  Grab a quick couple of food photos, pop them in my blog and viola.

Do you have any idea how many food photos I have?  Neither did I.  Holy cheese on a cracker.  Apparently I like to eat.  And before I like to eat, I like to photograph it.  And then eat some.  And then photograph it again.  And then photograph the empty plate.  No starving children in China at my house, that’s for sure.

It took me forever to whittle down my food photo collection to a few that are actually in focus and have some sort of visual aesthetic.  So not only do I take a lot of pictures of my food, I am so excited to eat it I can’t seem to take a decent photo. Even so, I still had over 20 photos to consider.  Man, do I like food or what?

I finally decided to go with tasty regional treats – food items that fairly scream “WISCONSIN!”

First up:  Booyah.  And not the “BOO-YAH!” yelled as an exclamation.  Booyah as in Chicken Soup That We Don’t Call Chicken Soup Because It’s Really Called Booyah.

Most booyah is made with chicken, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage, along with other random vegetables like onions, green beans, celery, etc. and then maybe some beef stock or something – hard to say seeing as most recipes are family secrets handed down from generation to generation.  It all gets chucked in a ginormous iron kettle and cooked outside over an open fire, and served Burn The Top Of Your Mouth Off Lava Hot.

Summer church picnics, local festivals and family gatherings are where you will find booyah, often sold as a fund-raiser so bring your empty plastic ice cream buckets and be sure to buy some to take home.  It’s best eaten with a cold beer in one hand and a handful of saltine crackers in the other and perhaps a piece of homemade bread on the side slathered with real butter.  Follow that with some Belgian pie or raspberry torte and a hot cup of joe.  Or another beer.

Booyah! Served at the Belgian Heritage Center in Namur, WI.

Speaking of beer…..that just happens to be my next photo.

Yeah, yeah – Wisconsin cliché’ but at least I didn’t photograph it with a brat (“brat” – pronounced “braht” -meaning delicious regional sausage that you set on fire with your grill while praying you don’t burn down the neighborhood and then eat it’s charred goodness on a bun with onions, mustard, ketchup and sometimes sauerkraut depending on your ethnicity).  But only because I didn’t have a photo of one.  I must eat all my brats before I think to photograph them.  This also happens a lot with cake.

Wisconsin is the land of sky blue waters and a LOT of beer, but New Glarus Spotted Cow is the best beer in all the land.  IN ALL THE LAND I TELL YOU.  Do not argue with me on this, beer heathen.

It’s also only available in Wisconsin, so if you want it, you gotta come here to get it.  It will be worth the trip.  I promise.

Ice cold Spotted Cow on a hot sunny beach.

And for my final entry:  Friday Night Perch Fry.  Because A) we are as regionally Catholic as they come and B) the Great Lakes and Green Bay have a strong commercial fishing industry, with much of the catch being yellow perch.  Which are delicious deep-fried in batter and bathed in tubs of tartar sauce so you don’t actually know you are eating fish because fish are gross.  I do like perch except when they get ‘fishy’ and you never know if you are going to get fishy perch so I usually just get fried cod instead or better yet a steak.  In fact I think my photo is actually cod, not perch.  But who cares.  My point is that we eat a lot of fish on Friday’s, and perch is super popular and most people eat it except me because I’m a weirdo.  And fish are gross.

Friday night fish fry at Gibraltar Grill in Door County, WI

And that’s a wrap, people.  Oh wait – here’s a collage of cake just because you can never have enough cake.  The two people in the one photo are my parents.  You can tell the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.  Nobody in our family will get kidnapped.

Caketastically yours,

Sue

The more you weigh, the harder you are to kidnap! Stay safe! Eat cake!

PS.  My apologies on my short blurb getting sorta long, so I guess I should have explained that I meant “short” by Sue Standards.  Cuz ya know, I always gotta write a book.

PPSS.  Don’t forget to check out the other entries at Cee’s Photography!

 

3 Days, 3 Quotes Challenge

Last week, my friend Helen invited me to participate in the “3 Quotes, 3 Days” challenge, which is to post a quote each day for 3 days and nominate 3 new bloggers to participate.  I’m going to cheat a little (Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater…) and I’m not going to nominate anyone in particular and just say that whoever wants to join in is more than welcome.

I’m also going to cheat by doing all three of my quotes in one post (…had a wife and couldn’t keep her…wait….what?  I think I just messed up a nursery rhyme…) as a time saver.  While this could be seen as purely selfish on my part, I’m actually doing you a favor as you now only have to suffer thru one post and not three.  See?  I’m always thinking of your welfare.

“Live long and prosper.” – Spock, Star Trek

When I was 13, I thought Captain Kirk was the coolest character on Star Trek, not to mention hot.  He was my first movie star crush and my favorite episodes were always the ones where Kirk fell in love… *swoon*

Now as an oh-so-much wiser adult no longer under the mesmerizing affects of puberty, I have done the smart thing and fallen in love with the Wolverine instead.  You thought I was going to say Spock, didn’t you?  Not so much.  But I do love him – you know – as a friend.  And, he has been, and always shall be, the coolest character on Star Trek.

*Note to my friend Doreen.  I am fully aware that quoting Star Trek and having a teen crush on Captain Kirk and not dumb old Shaun Cassidy totally makes me a nerd.

*Note to my brother, Joe.  Thank you for saving me from the horrors of the Mickey Mouse Club and forcing me to watch Star Trek even at the risk of getting into trouble with mom because you would rather watch nothing at all than allow me to watch weird children dancing around in mouse ears, and after a fierce fight over the channel dial, you pushed me into the carpet and pulled the plug and I went crying to mom.  I owe you one.

“That is one big pile of shit…” – Ian Malcom, Jurassic Park

My family has an abnormal addiction to certain movies, and we randomly quote them in day to day living.  Perhaps you are wondering why even use a movie quote as one of my picks and not something profound from Ghandi or Sue the Great?  It’s because stupid movie quotes are like an inside joke – a connectivity as a family – sharing the same sense of humor and same taste in movie genre enabling us to watch them 100 billion trillion gazillion times in a row.

 

It was really hard for me to pick just one quote from our entire repertoire of memorized movies.  I chose this one because you know how much I love the “S” word, and it covers just about anything life throws at you.  Bad hair, bad job assignment, bad dinner.  Plus Ian Malcolm is the cat’s pajamas.

Note to anyone still reading: Myself, my son, and my daughter were standing in line waiting to see Jurassic World, when we heard someone make the sound of Austin Power’s phone ringtone.  We had found our people.

“Hurry up and get the work done so we can screw around.” – Dave

I was going to put a serious quote in here – change the tone and be all profound and philosophical and high brow tootin’ fa-lootin’.  But I’m really tired because my friend Kay and I kicked asphalt today riding 65 miles in the Titletown Bike Tour and I didn’t take a nap after so now my eyelids feel like they weigh 500 pounds each.

Instead you now get my hubby’s daily mantra.  We live by this code in our house – there’s much tom foolery to be done, but we don’t want to do it with dirty laundry and a full sink of dishes.  I don’t have a video for this one.  You’ll just have to use your imagination.

Until next time my friends –

Live long and prosper,

Sue

My Brain Is Tired

The freaky-deeky cool anniversary bench.

The last three weeks have probably been the longest and most excruciating I have ever put in on my day job.  28 hours a day, 9 days a week.  My fingers are now only bone and my ass is completely worked off.

I may be exaggerating because I’m currently sitting on something and I am 99.99% sure it’s my ass, but my brain really and truly is tired.  And tired brains are not conducive to creative writing, hence my once again prolonged absence from the blogging planet.

The worst is over…at least until Monday.  I am currently sitting on my freaky-deeky cool anniversary bench, drinking God’s nectar (coffee with cream), listening to my dogs chew their bully sticks (Do NOT ask what a bully stick is.  Just google it, be repulsed, but do not judge.  My dogs are finally quiet), and watching the neighborhood wildlife.  And no, I don’t mean my neighbors.  I mean real, honest to goodness wildlife.

The rare and elusive brown pond koi…

This morning we had 5 deer on the path behind our house but it is now mid morning and I am only graced with finches, blackbirds, mourning doves, grackles, sparrows, swallows and the occasional orioles (Yes!  We have orioles!  Thank you, Grape Jelly!) and cardinals.  Oh yeah, and Mr. Green Frog spotted while going down to check out the two brown pond koi (aka “carp”), a white butterfly, a yellow butterfly, a dragonfly, and several mosquitoes and tiny black spiders who suffered an untimely and premature death.  Apparently I am only tolerant of wildlife with 4 legs or less.

I let this one live. Very pretty but I have no idea what it is.

UPDATE:  The dogs are now fighting over the bully sticks.  My peace is shattered.

UPDATE #2:  The orioles are getting pissy because I am sitting too close to their grape jelly.

UPDATE #3:  Another spider just bit the dust.  What is their deal, anyway?

UPDATE #4:  It’s getting a tad warm.  Sweat is beginning to run down my back.

UPDATE #5:  Ungrateful orioles!  They are now buzzing over my head, flipping me the bird.  (Get it?  AH HAHAHAHAHAHA!  I kill me!)

UPDATE #6:  Another spider.  Tenacious bastards.

UPDATE #7:  Why, exactly, did I want to be out here?  The bugs are awful, the birds are noisy and poop on literally everything, which the dogs are now rolling in.  Good Lord.

UPDATE #8:  Sweat is running down my butt crack and pooling in the bottom of my light grey shorts.  I probably look like I peed myself.  Wonderful.

So, I started doing these updates and now I don’t know how to stop doing them so I’m just typing randomly until I basically have what looks like a normal paragraph and it’s getting awkward because I really can’t think of anything to say so I’m just going to go in the house now and do laundry.

Peace out, and don’t work too hard.  Life might pass you by.

Sue

UPDATE #9:  Walking up to the house, I passed my neighbor as he was going down to feed the birds.  He glanced at my inconveniently sweat-stained shorts and quickly looked away with a horrified expression, so I felt the need to explain.

“It’s not what you think!  My brain is just really tired and the dogs were rolling in poop and the spiders kept bothering me and it was getting hot and the orioles were mad about the grape jelly.”  As he took off running, I shouted after him, “IT’S REALLY NOT PEE!  I JUST SWEAT A LOT!”.

I’m sure he now feels much better about buying the house next to the crazy lady who apparently doesn’t pee herself and is merely a heavy sweater.  Yeah.  Probably I shouldn’t come out of the house for a while.