A Shower and a Wedding

Mim’s getting married on the 23rd of this month which means only one thing – I am one step closer to a grandchild that I will spoil rotten.

I suppose it means more than  just one thing to Mim, like love and joy and a flashy ring finger, but for me, it’s all about the babies.

Of course, I share her excitement and want to make her day wonderful.  When it was time to buy shoes and jewelry, I was more than happy to make a day of it.  She had already purchased her Gown which left only the little things.

She came to the house expecting me to be ready….but I wasn’t.  I was 15 minutes away from being ready and it was entirely The Viking’s fault.  I didn’t want to waste time explaining at that moment and put us even further behind, so I waited until we were in the car and on our way to meet the Maid of Honor.

Me:  It wasn’t my fault I was late.

Mim:  It’s okay, Mom.  It’s no big deal.

Me:  But I hate being late.  The Viking decided to poop just before I needed to be in the shower.

Mim:  I hate that!!  Argh!

Me:  Me, too!!  And he claims that he didn’t plan on pooping at that time, but I think it’s an entire male gender conspiracy.  They know.

Mim:  Oh, they know.  When poop smell meets water vapor it becomes a solid!

Me:  Exactly!  The poop particles are in the air and as soon as I turn the shower on it turns the dust poop back into solid/liquid form and I’m essentially showering in poop.

Mim:  YES!  That’s just so gross!  How can you possibly feel clean when you’ve had to shower in poop?!

Me:  I’ve tried to explain this to The Viking and he just goes “Pfft!”

Mim:  Haha!  That’s also the sound of farts!  Coincidence?  I think not.

Me:  Hahaha!!  The Viking has never had to take a poop shower.   Because I’m a nice person!

Mim:  I yell when it happens at home.  I totally understand why you had to wait for the dust poop to get sucked up through the fan.  It’s a good thing you have such a good fan or you would have had to wait for a lot longer.

Me:  And that’s why you’re my best friend.  You understand how Science works.

The day turned out to be wonderful and we found beautiful things for her.  I don’t often get to spend time with Mim; she lives about 5 hours from me – a fact that I point out every time I talk to her.  I’ve even tried to bribe her but, apparently, she loves living where she does and the thought of coming back to the city isn’t very appealing.  So, I make due with the time we have.

In the meantime, I’ll need to have a conversation with The Viking about solids, liquids, and air particles.  Because there is no way we can have a freshly baked Grandchild exposed to that kind of thing.  Since our little house doesn’t have room for a special Poop Room, we might need to consider the facilities at the gas station on the corner.

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Tina Turner, Hondas and Shoe Horns

I used to drive a Toyota Corolla, 5-speed, manual transmission car.  I loved her.  I called her Midge.  She was quick and nimble and had lots of power with the manual transmission.  She was comfortable and dependable and even The Viking liked driving her.

The thing with Midge was that she was a small car.  She wasn’t intimidating; bigger vehicles and pretentious Hondas always bullied her on the roads.  And if you don’t believe me about Hondas……just start noticing the vehicles that are responsible for slowing traffic, cutting you off, failing to merge properly.  Trust me on this – 75% of the time it’s a Honda.  Mim and I have conducted numerous experiments and the evidence is overwhelming.  You’re stuck in traffic?  Chances are a Honda is to blame.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Midge got bullied a lot on the roads.  So, when the occasion arose that I needed to take The Viking’s vehicle I was always just a little excited.  Because The Viking’s vehicle, Tina Turner, is a behemoth – a one-ton, dual axle, diesel Chevy truck.  She is a brute – a completely obnoxious brute and I must admit that sometimes I become a Harpy with a bad attitude when I drive her.

It’s not my fault really.  Any reasonable person with that kind of power under her seat will put the pedal to the floor when a Honda cuts her off in traffic.  Or when a slow Honda is driving in the fast lane.  Or when a Honda passes her and then slows down just to fuck with her.  It’s completely natural that given the chance to be obnoxious to that Honda she’s going to do it.

But things have changed around here.  I have a RAV 4 now with all the bells and whistles available.  I don’t get bullied on the road and I’ve become accustomed to the high level of convenience and comfort that Charlotte provides.

Yesterday, The Viking put Tina Turner in front of Charlotte in the driveway so I decided I would just take her to the store and then park her properly when I came home.

I immediately got annoyed, before I even made it into Tina Turner.  I actually had to unlock the truck by remote control!  That the hell?!  I couldn’t stuff the keys into my pocket and just touch the door handle the way I do with Charlotte.  I would have to deal with keys!  And once I made it over that hurdle, there was more to come.

Something happens to The Viking’s legs when he drives Tina Turner – they become very, very short!  I get in to drive and suddenly my knees are up in my arm pits but it’s not worth the bother to change all the settings in the seat just for a quick run to the grocery store.

Tina wouldn’t just automatically play my music from my phone either!  She wanted me to plug it in to her USB port.  Well, that’s a pain in the ass!  Charlotte has Bluetooth and she knows what I like.  Instead, I was subjected to Classic Rock Radio when I really wanted to listen to my favorite Classical music.  That is a major problem!

Also, the turning radius – it takes Tina half a city block to turn around.  I had to shuffle 3 times to get her into the parking spot and then her ass hung 4 feet further out than any other vehicle in the parking lot.

And to add insult to injury, there wasn’t a single Honda between our house, the grocery store and back home again.  So, the one thing I really enjoy about Tina Turner was useless for lack of opportunity.  That’s like meeting the real Tina Turner and she isn’t wearing sequins, jiggling her ass or singing Proud Mary.  What’s the point then?

I know what you’re thinking.  First World problems, right?  Well, I agree.  But I would argue that once you’ve grown accustomed to a new technology, it’s a bastard to suddenly go without.

My electric can opener stopped working and because I had never really liked it in the first place (it wouldn’t stop when I wanted it to stop so it always ended in a wrestling match), I just bought a good, old manual can opener.  Now, I have to stop half way through and shake feeling back into my hand before I can get the whole top off the can.  And when it comes to big cans like coffin tins, well, that is a job for The Viking.

I bought one of those long shoe horns from IKEA and after three years of faithful service, it broke, leaving only about 8 inches.  What a clusterfuck that was!  Suddenly I had to bend over and put this shitty little thing in my shoe to get it on my foot!  I have big boobs and leaning over like that can end in a catastrophic tumble.  I went directly to IKEA and bought six more long ones because short ones are so 1900s and I deserve a better shoe horn than that.

At the end of the day, technology has ruined my love of Tina Turner.  Unless there’s a Honda around somewhere – then she’s my girl.


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I’ve Been Scolded

I hate lectures that revolve around bad habits and lack of effort. Okay…….to be clear, I enjoy listening to lectures that involve other people’s bad habits and lack of effort, just not my own. I would find it endlessly entertaining if someone attempted to lecture The Viking. I wouldn’t recommend it, but it would be entertaining to watch if only for the cursing and tool throwing. If you think you’d like to give this a try, please let me know in advance so I can have a comfortable chair, goggles, old clothes and a glass of wine on hand. And maybe a camera.

Where was I? Oh yes – lectures. I especially hate lectures given by Computer Gurus – they are worse than doctors and born-again Christians. They get that condescending look on their face and say things like “Did you plug it in?” and “When was the last time you cleaned it?” So when my computer needed a restart and it didn’t come back to life, I said, “What the FUCK?! Start, damn you!”

When that didn’t work I threw my hands in the air, rolled my eyeballs, and yelled, “My computer won’t start!!”

The Viking’s supportive, caring and encouraging response was “I TOLD YOU NOT TO PLAY THOSE FUCKING GAMES!!”

After poking and fiddling with it, he decided I blew the video card again. AGAIN! He muttered about my fucking games some more and then bought a new video card. He pushed the power……and nothing. “What the FUCK?! Start, damn you!”

I said, “That’s what I said!”

After exhausting all his ideas and most of his curses, he admitted defeat. “Call Tommy.”

I heaved a sigh & shuddered. “He’s going to yell at me.” The Viking didn’t seem to have a fuck to give about that.

When Tommy arrived I tried to run, but he saw me and said “Freeze, Lady!”

I said, “Aaahhhaaggg!” and waved my hands over my head in frustration.  He laughed because we both know what comes next: the Lecture.

“Do you shut it down every night?”


“When was the last time, before this, that you shut it down?”

“Um……7…no, 8 months ago because it threatened me.”

“When was the last time you cleaned it?”

“9 months ago.”

“Do you play online games?”

The Viking decided to take Tommy’s side in the matter. “I told her not to play those fucking games! I told her!!”

Sigh. “Yeeees. I play online games.” Flipping my middle finger at The Viking. Traitor.

“You need this computer for work, right?”


“But you still play online games with it?”

“Yes. But I have a good Anti-Virus program and Malwarebytes!”

“You do know that online games are played by millions of people and if they get a virus, then you’ll get a virus blah blah blah blah blah…..”  The only thing missing here was a metal table, handcuffs and a bare lightbulb swinging slowly back and forth overhead.

“Can you fix it?” Really, that’s all I want to know.

The short answer came 6 hours later. “No. You need a new motherboard, one of your drives is fine, one can be saved and the other one is toast. My advice: build a new computer.”

Of course that’s his advice.

So, now I’ve been scolded and I have to pay, at a bare minimum, $1500 for a new computer and all the fucking programs. Dammit!

Stupid computer! That’s the problem with machines: they are ungrateful bastards that look for the first excuse to fuck you over. How am I supposed to relax now? Read for 4 hours a day? I fall asleep after 3 pages of a book nowadays and then the tablet falls out of my hand and lands on my toes and then I swear a lot. I almost never fall asleep in the middle of a mission on my games. I suppose I could finish that damned Cross Stitch Baby Blanket project that has been in my closet for 11 years. Or worse, I could clean.

I wish I could point a finger at someone and blame them, but I can’t. No one forced me to play computer games, but in my defense, if computers weren’t intended to play games they shouldn’t be making games for them. I’m only human after all. How much control do they think I have? I already battle temptations involving chocolate and Toffifee and jewelry and cake and shoes.

Now I will have a computer that is useless for anything other than work.  Sigh. The Computer Gawds are no friends of mine. Apparently.

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