Sunday, post barbecue

Sunday afternoons in my childhood home were for car maintenance, mid-day meals followed by mid-day naps and whatever sporting event my dad could find on TV.

This Sunday , even with my wee hangover, I managed to wash my truck and clean it out (I’m happy and proud to report, no onions), I’m too tired to actually cook anything and I may die of boredom if I try and watch baseball on TV.

So, I’m one for three. Dad would not be proud.

I refuse to see anything wrong with eating an ice cream sandwich for lunch.

The barbecue was a smash hit. I made two strawberry pies, and came home with nuthin’. One of the pies made it in perfect condition, the other had a lil’ accident when I hit the brakes a little too hard trying to not miss the right turn off of “Middle of Nowhere Road” onto "East Where the Hell am I" Lane. Seriously these people live 3 miles west of absolutely nothing.

The response I got from the hosts when I explained about the pie was and I quote “you can eat it or you can leave it.” For the record, this kind of answer is why I hang out with these people. Well, that and the fact that when we all get together it always ends the same way, we start out sitting around talking, and inevitably end up laughing until we are crying.

There were no 8 year old little girls pimping for their daddies.

There were some wicked good margaritas-in-a-bucket. Well, two buckets if I’m honest. Who knew there’d be reason beyond sand castles to get excited about buckets? These things now have me trained like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

This isn’t pretty. I’m not proud.

For those that nag...

I’ve been gently reminded that “Monday, was 5 days ago, yo”.. and I want you nagging readers to know I’ve started about 4 posts since then. I just haven’t finished any of them. I seem to be having trouble holding a continuous thought these days, unless it’s work related, which is good for corporate America, but tends is leaving me feeling a bit scatter brained in every other part of my life. I’m choosing to blame it on the impending arrival of 3 girlfriends, 3 adult german shepherds and two german shepherd puppies. That’s a lot of feet in my quiet little house. Which reminds me, I need to buy more alcohol. Lots More.

I have to go out to pick up the stuff to make strawberry pie for a barbecue. As much as I like the hostess of this particular barbecue – the last time I agreed to go to a BBQ with her an 8 year old child sat herself down on the picnic bench next me and told me she had a secret. I won’t pretend to know what kind of secrets 8 year olds normally have, but I figured it would have more to do with veggie tales or power rangers and less to do with “my daddy likes you”.
Um.
What?
Imagine the rest of that evening, if you will. Awkward?
You betcha.

I’ve been promised, in writing even, that the trolling 8 year old and her father will not be in attendance.

As appropriate in the south, I feel the need to ask for an Amen.

Drive-by blogging - Part II

Last Thursday I made the quick flight up to a little town in Pennsylvania to look at a puppies. An old friend of mine is very competitive in a dog sport I did several years ago and she occasionally breeds good quality German working line shepherds.. I always said I'd someday get a dog from her.

That time is in two weeks.

My new bundle of joy is a boy.

Meet MoJo.

More to come.....

Drive-by-blogging

Right, more than a little behind on my post-age.

I've got a trip, a puppy and a new truck to tell you all about. I've got a 'thinking blog' thing to do. And I have NO time to do any of it. Here's my sad little attempt a post for today.

Pictures are of flowers growing in my magic garden patch.. perhaps Kenju will stop by and tell me what they are, and the rest of you can hazard a guess at how they possibly survived MY backyard.

Mayor Spiffy's Meme

Okay, I volunteered..but when the mayor of some hypothetical place called Spiffytown asks you to do something...it's hard to say no. Right?

So , here 'tis.. the Mayor's questions are in GREEN!

1. If you could witness or participate in one historical event, which one and why?

It's a toss up, either I’d like to have seen Pat Garrett shoot Billy the Kid at the OK Corral; or any Doors Concert –preferably the Miami show – but beggars can’t be choosers.. as for why, do I really need to explain either of these?

2. The Pope wants an audience with you, in your kitchen. What do you tell him when he arrives?

Probably that I’d rather burn in hell (if such a place exists) than spend an eternity in heaven with “forgiven” pedophiles OR I’d mention that it’s prolly time for an update in the Pope-y uniform. Cuz dude, it's a dress!

3. You've decided to become a pro wrestler. What?s your stage name and signature move?

Kamikaze Kiwi!!!! And I'm not afraid to throw the fruit salad on your azz!

4. What?s one thing you will never eat again?

Brussel Sprouts!!!! I spent many nights as a child in front of a very cold plate with my father yelling in from the living room “you’re not leaving the table until you eat those” as an adult – nobody owns what it takes to make me eat a brussel sprout.

5. You're elected mayor of your town. What?s the first order of business?

Animal Control. Without getting on my soapbox – the town needs some help. Oh, and free ice cream on Saturday nights in the summer. Dagnabbit.

Bonus question, what's your idea of the perfect day?
I’m happy to say a great number of my days are perfect. Okay, I wish I was getting ready for school not work during the week...but waking up to good coffee and the sun shining in my kitchen windows… my dog greeting me with a toy, my friends and family happy and healthy and all very confident of my love, admiration and respect for them, all good stuff..the stuff MY perfection is made of.

Feel like playing along?
To keep it going:
Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You will update your weblog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

That's it kids. And Mayor I did catch your comment about priorities..I'm working on it.

BLOUGHT

Once, when visiting Roy’s blog, his blog was title just like this, and with this definition.

“Blogging drought”
(I haven't the foggiest idea how to properly give him credit for the word, and I'm just hoping he settle for the link to his blog)

Yeah. That’s me.
Kinda.

I’ve been working my tail off people!! At work and at home, the double whammy. Recent weekends have been filled with one home / yard improvement or another and for the record, I AM TIRED.

However, I’m also done. Sure, there’s some little things left, but with a house, I’m pretty sure there always is, and I’m okay with that, cuz I’m learning that I like to tinker. I like to go to weird aisles yet unexplored in Home Depot and poke around. There are some things and some tools I’m not likely to try on my own, but it’s still cool to look at and think about.

Ooh! Flowers did indeed grow in my ‘magic garden patch’ as ‘Roo called it. I don’t know what they are or have the faintest idea how they survived in my yard much less how they got through the roller coaster of temperatures we’ve been through recently but they did and they are the things spring and happiness are made of. I’ll post a picture here in the next day or so.

I had planned to take a little road trip early tomorrow morning, but I got 4 hours of sleep last night, and right now, I feel like staying home this weekend, reading a new book, playing with my dog and going for a nice long run.

Road trip, you may have to wait.

No one worth mentioning

Most of my adult life, I’ve been *the single friend. You know, the friend that’s dating, but no-one seriously, or to put it as my mom does “no one worth mentioning” - yeah, I get it honest, you think I’m harsh, meet moms, then we’ll tawk.

I come from a long line of very independent women. My Gramma used to make me angel food cake with fresh strawberries from her garden and home-made whipped cream. The first time she made it for me I must have been 7, maybe 8. We were sitting at the little card table in her kitchen and she told me when I thought about how good it was I should remember that men and icing have a lot in common. Nice but optional. At 7, I probably just laughed and asked for more whipped cream, cuz y’know that shit was good.

In junior high and high school, I was far more into sports than boys. I played soccer, managed the men’s baseball team, was in the marching band (no, I was not a Poofter) and eventually the color guard. I had at least one job at all times exercising horses, selling shoes, working at hallmark, and baby sitting. I was rarely idle.

I broke up with my first boyfriend because I just didn’t have time for him. Being the glowing example of diplomacy and tact that I am - it didn’t go over so well. I can clearly remember the look on my brother’s face when I told him how and why I dumped the guy. Abject horror, I believe is the best description.

Once out of college, I quickly became the friend everyone wanted to set up. I went through with it a few times. Most of the time I was left wondering what I had done to make my friends think I’d be interested in the guy they picked, but usually that was the worst of it. At a certain point I stopped accepting these offers, there were a lot of reasons, but this isn’t that post.

I could tell you why I turned down the men that asked me to marry them, except it’s not terribly exciting. The bottom line for each of them was that I really did just *know* it wouldn’t last. If I’m being 100% honest, I knew well before the proposal came.

I wouldn’t dare say that being single is always the cat’s meow, especially when you catch me in that moment where I can’t open the freakin’ pickle jar or figure out how to start the rented leaf blower.

However, I wouldn’t go back and change my decisions if I could and maybe that’s what matters, maybe that's all that matters.

For the record, I still don’t want to meet your brother.