The Cozy Corner

I wonder if our GPS is possessed. Heck, I wonder if my husband is possessed sometimes too. I swear he tests me on a daily basis. Need an example you say? I have three words for you…

The Cozy Corner

Oh, yes. The name sounds nice, but it’s the last place a priss like me frequents. And thanks to our lovely GPS, it lead us right by it while barking its orders at us in one female voice and then another.  No – I am not kidding about the two voices.  One sounds quite pleasant, the other is more grumpy and sounds like she has been smoking a carton of cigarettes a day for years and years. The pleasant voice dominates most of the time, but as soon as we hit the Montana line, Miss GPS starting spazzin’ on us.

Honestly, I am not sure whose voice we heard before we got to the Cozy Corner, but I was filled with such dread walking in the door that I think I have blanked it out.

The Cozy Corner *is* centered on the corner, but I am not sure you would call it cozy. It was a bar – a bar that obviously had no one coming by to check on them for health code violations – or ANY violations for that matter. As I walk in, I see three people turn around to stare at us and I instantly cringe. I feel like an outsider, and no matter how hard I might act like I belonged there, it was apparent I didn’t. This didn’t stop my husband any, as he walked up to the bar and asked if they had anything good to eat.

Gack…. I think…. *we* might be the food if they don’t like you saying that I think. But the stooped over bartender exclaims that everything is good there and gives us menus and we sit down at a table. I make the mistake of looking around and notice empty boxes lining half of the wall, a cardboard cutout of some cheerleader gal that is signed stuck behind those boxes and a fireplace with ‘Cozy Corner’ on it that apparently had flames shooting outside it judging by the black soot lining the wall upwards a few feet.

Gack… I think again….I am not sure my stomach can handle this place. I look towards the bar and see the sideways glances of the people sitting up there – weathered, scrunched up faces that were sizing me up.

 Gack.. I think once again …and I look at my husband as he tells me to relax and chuckles.

 *&^%$%$^”, I think, “I will show him” as I try to act nonplussed that I was there.

 I didn’t do a good job at it, because when I told him what I wanted to order, he orders me two shots of rum also. Which I think is fine, makes me look bada$$ right? Like I am not too prissy to drink something that hardcore right? =)

 Well, I did get my rum and diet pepsi (shush, even hardcore people drink diet pepsi! Uhh…don’t they?), altho I looked longingly at the glass wanting a straw so bad I am pretty sure I nixed any badassedness they might have all been initially thinking about me.

 BUT, the rum helped and I started to relax some. The food came and it was decent and most importantly, my stomach is not gurgling in utter frustration yet. And as we walked out the door, we were told to have a safe trip, which I found nice.

 Altho, I was a bit too eager to get to the truck and wonder if they knew something we didn’t and this trip would be my last, but…

 Oh dear, I am starting to sound like our GPS I guess…..

Romance Gone Wrong

Don't judge me, but I downloaded a romance book the other day. Nothing raunchy - just some light reading since I haven't picked up a book in months. And heck! I am a gal, that kinda stuff appeals to me ok?

Wait. I sound defensive I guess. I probably am that way cuz I was so friggin irritable by the time I was done reading the book. I am not a fast reader by any means, so even a 200 page book can take a bit longer for me to get thru than the next person. So I guess maybe I get a bit more grumpy if the book s*cked.

But honestly? There were several flaws to this romance:

#1 Their parents hated each other, yet they didn't care and continued their relationship secretly. Once the parents knew and one of the parents confronted the gal in the relationship with 'news' why he was against them having a future, she just took off. Uh huh.... vanished. Drove hundreds of miles away. Didn't question her guy's Dad at all - just believed him all of the sudden. I mean, what kind of moron does that? How in love could you possibly be if you didn't at least *question* the guy who was against you the whole time had to say?

#2 This gal eventually comes back for her Dad's wedding. She bumps into the guy she was/is so madly in love with and finds out he is pissed. First of all.... DUH??!! Second of all... why the heck didn't HE question why she got 2nd thoughts all of the sudden? Instead, he just feels sorry for himself. I dunno, but I figger *someone* has to be the grownup in this story right? Go friggin find her as soon as possible and question her why she is being a dumba$$!!

#3 Since these two bump into each other when she comes back for the wedding, they automatically wanna get down each others' pants. OK, fine. EXCEPT, the gal was told by her guy's Dad that she was his daughter. So that would make them half brother/sister and isn't that an instant turnoff? Excuse me while I go take a shower..... ickk...

Anyway.... I feel better... I guess...

Coexist

Flies piss me off. Ask anyone who knows me. I can be totally consumed with wanting to see them die. Hence, there is no way we 'coexist' with each other - we never will.

Unfortunately, summer seems to bring flies into our house on a fairly regular basis. The first fly of the year was a horsefly. Cuz, gee, we have to start the summer out with a BANG right? Anyway, this horse fly was one of the smartest I have ever encountered. He/she knew I was going to put a fly swatter in my hand even before I had it in my hand. It did figure 8's in the air right in front of me - taunting me that I was unable to kill it as my hands spazzed out left and right trying to swat at it. Then the fly would hide and make me think that maybe I had miraculously killed it.

Then another day would dawn and I would again look like a dork going through the same motions over and over and OVER again. Yet, one day I tracked it to the kitchen and watched it as it went behind the blinds.

Swat!!

*Buzzz* goes the fly.

SWAT!!!

*Buzzz* goes the fly.

SWAT! SWAT! SWATTTT!!!

*Buzzzzz, Buzzzz* goes the fly.

*whoosh, whoosh* goes the blinds.

I wait.

And wait...

And the next day the fly did his/her usual figure 8 in front of me.

*GRRR*

And after many hours of stalking him, I killed him/her by one of our fake plants...

Two days go by of fly-less bliss....

Then one of the slightly smaller ones began plotting its revenge....

State Farm

A few days ago, we got a package delivered on our doorstep. For me, it is always somewhat exciting to have a package delivered, even when you already know what the package will contain. Therefore, I see this package and squeal 'Oooo! a package was delivered!!!' and pick it up and take it into the house to look at the box more closely.

Once inside I noticed that it had a woman's name on the return label and the address it was shipped from was from Texas. In addition, this box is being shipped to my husband and not me. I sat it on the table and forgot about it for a bit until somewhat later when my husband and I were about to have dinner and were cleaning off the table.

Unable to contain myself any longer, I ask my husband what HE was getting a package from a gal in TEXAS for. He immediately looks perplexed and retorts that he has no idea and wants to know who it's from.

"Well, it looks like her name is Brenda!" I grumpily reply.

"WHO?," he answers.

As I snort my disgust with his inability to answer my question, I exclaim, "Fine! I will just open it myself and find out."

So I take it into the kitchen and find a knife to start opening it as he again asks me who it's from. As I am opening the box, I tell him again. And as I am almost ready to open the box, I steal a line from a State Farm commercial and say:

"She sounds hideous."

My husband realizes what is inside almost at the same time as I say this and starts laughing. Once I open it, I find about six light/dimmer switches he had ordered online for our house.

I stand there for a minute, say a simple "oh" and find somewhere else to be as my husband continues to laugh...

Mother's Day

What IS Mother's Day to *you*?

To me, even though Mother's Day has been created largely for the sake of companies like Hallmark, I still find that it is a day that ANY woman needs.

Yet, I do not feel that this day needs to be a day dedicated solely for women who have children anymore. Perhaps, back in the day it was created, this idea of what Mother's Day is would suffice. But today?  I really think we need to revisit what makes a woman happy, and sometimes that is *not* having kids or having a genetic Mom to turn to. To me:

• Sometimes having kids is having what women refer to as 'fur' babies.
• Sometimes having a kid is having a godson you make sure you are always there for if/when he needs you.
• Sometimes having a kid is having the maternal instinct to watch out for the neighbor kid to make sure he/she doesn't get into any trouble.
• Sometimes that maternal instinct will spill over into your friends as you watch out for them because you have no family to turn to.
• Sometimes it's that woman you turn to for answers who *becomes* your Mom regardless if your real Mom is alive and/or dead.

And sometimes? We should simply celebrate Mother's Day by recognizing the woman that we are, that we want to be, and the woman we aspire to be.

Syncing

The other day my husband had a follow up appointment to go to, so I tagged along to make sure I got the 'whole story' of how he was doing, what he should/shouldn't be doing, etc etc. I was happy to note that the DR said almost verbatim what my husband had been telling me. And the other stuff he *kinda* left out? Well, I had done my research on his particular surgery, so the DR just confirmed what I had already learned. That basically, if he just listens to me, he will heal up just fine and dandy =D

So after leaving the DRs office, my husband got in the driver's seat of the truck and decided to try to sync up his cell's music to his truck. After much fussing over trying to do so, he figured out he would have to kick out his iPod he had synced previously in order to sync his cell.

After a series of prompts, he had to name the 'new' thing he wanted to sync, so he says:

"Motorola Ra ra ra ra rrrrazoor."

At this point, I am trying my darndest *not* to remark on what he just said and hurriedly looked out the window, at my cell phone, ANYTHING just so that he didn't see how funny I thought he sounded.

The voice from the truck's speaker answers/asks back:

"You want to sync to....

"Motorola Ra ra ra ra rrrrazoor."

And I lost it..... I sputtered. I snorted. And then I just outright laughed.

And LAUGHED. AND LAUGHED.

He then gets a bit defensive and tells me to quit laughing at him. He tells me that it is not *that* funny.

And I reply:

"Ohh, don't get all in a t-t-t-t-thh-thhithher about it"

And I laugh once again.

Should I be ashamed? Maybe.

Am I? Heck no lol

Yard Work

I am not sure what inspires me to tackle yard work. I am not sure if it is the occasional bouts of caffeine induced highs or as my husband says, I just want to punish myself. Regardless, I decided that the yard needed mowing today - so as soon as I can track down the keys and crank the mower on, I made an effort to check yard work off my list of things to do.
Despite finding a dead bird that looks decayed enough to gross me out, mowing the lawn went fairly uneventfully. However, as soon as I put the mower away, I set about tackling the weeping willow branches that I snipped off the tree the other day. My husband had started a fire and it was my duty to keep it going/clear out underneath the willow tree.

Suffice it to say my husband really had no business starting fires after having surgery 4 days ago. However, it's embarrassing to admit that I really had no business trying to help him out. Yet, even though my lower abdomen and back were hurting, I duck underneath the tree to get the aforesaid branches.

The second handful in, I stand up and turn around and thump the side of my head against a branch I had snipped off previously. As the 'F' word came out of my mouth, I make my exit out from the tree and throw the branches on the fire. When it came to the 5th handful of branches, I started to notice stuff on the ground the branches were laying on/around. Ahhh, cool! Mushrooms! And lookie here, its...

WTF? WHAT is that? I poke it with a branch and it makes a hollow sound. It looks kinda like an egg, but it wasn't - it actually looks like it has some sort of string attached to it. OMG -is that? Gackk!?? A tampon?

I tell myself to calm down. I tell myself I haven't touched it yet (I think) regardless of what it is. Determined to know exactly what it is, I announce to my husband:

"There is something weird underneath the tree."

"Oh?" He answers somewhat disinterestedly.

I spend this time picking a stick to poke it with. It answers back with a thaaampp, thaamppp sound and I am amazed I am unable to penetrate the outside of the freakish white-ish round-ish *thing*. I grab two sticks and balance one on each side to pick it up. One step and it drops. I try again and manage to get a few more steps. And again...

And manage to get it near my husband for him to look at.

"Isn't that a locust shell?" he asks.

Stifling a cry at my effort to get it to its resting spot, I answer: "Well, I was hoping YOU would TELL me what it was."

He kicks it away and I go back to grabbing more branches. And now I sit here drinking a glass of wine and haunted by visions of that *thing* that I am sure to dream about tonight because of my husband's ambiguity.