As the above picture shows, Ella’s diaper is full of crap. You don’t have to see it…you don’t have to smell it…you just know it’s there.
That’s the way I feel about this election. It’s full of crap and I’m sick of it.
The mud slinging…the name calling…the undermining. Crap.
I wish we could have one candidate that would stand up and say, “My name is John Doe…and I stand for yada, yada, yada and I believe in blah, blah, blah. My opponent is a good man but we have different views. Sorry, I won’t be taking millions of dollars in donations every month because it’s a huge waste. If you support me, please donate your hard working dollars to the following American charities. Let’s do some good in the neighborhood. Thank you for your time.”
His bus could be the “No Crap Express.”
Am I the only person that feels this way? Am I the only one that sees the amount of money that is donated every month to our candidates and think that sure would get alot of people out of FEMA trailers in the South? Out of trailers and back into their homes? How can you honestly and in good faith accept those donations when we have so many Americans in need?
OK…I’m getting off my crapbox soapbox.
I still have no idea who I’m gonna vote for.
What are your views on this election?
You’ve all have heard me talk about the family dog, Tuff…alias “Tuffy” or as Ella says, “Duddy.”
Tuff had surgery today to remove a tumor, only to find that it was metastasized cancer. It was only a matter of time…and to save him pain and suffering…he was put to sleep.
Tuff was a Jekyll and Hyde kind of dog. He could be ornery and curious one minute…playful and loving the next. However, he was always sweet with the girls. He was like a cantankerous old man. gruff and snappy with adults, cautious and gentle with the little ones.
He rode thousands of miles in the truck with my father in law. Drinking water out of his own cup in the cup holder and eating fried chicken gizzards. They traveled the roads together, keeping each other company. Usually when you saw one…you saw the other.
We were looking forward to taking him to the beach next week. I was gonna buy him a Speedo and cut a hole out for his tail. Guess Rico will have to wear it now.
He was loved and will be sadly missed.
I know I’m not really a blond and I know that I’m not really dumb. But sometimes I amaze myself with “blond moments” that I have.
Case in point:
1. Today while helping Rico landscape one of the rental properties and unloading the skid-steer from the flat bed trailer, I dropped the ramp on my foot. I thought I would be helping by putting the ramps back up but because I am such a ding dong and uncoordinated, I dropped it smack down on my foot while trying to hold the ramp up and put the metal pin in place.
I do not need to be handling heavy equipment.
2. My father-in-law has a cool, antique Volkswagen truck. It’s small and yellow and smokes like a freight train. It’s so funky it’s cool.
Anyhoo, I volunteered to run to the Wally World to get more black plastic for the landscaping…mainly to get out of raking dirt and picking up rock. Yeah, I’m like that. So, I decided to drive the funky little VW to Wal-Mart. Funky truck…cool sunglasses…baseball hat. I’m a rock star.
I get there…park…and go inside only to find out they do not have black plastic. I bee-bop out to the truck and discover that I am incapable of putting the thing in reverse. Reverse in the VW is not like most 5-speeds. It’s not on the bottom right. It’s at the top left. Right next to first gear.
I work and work…no reverse. After 15 minutes and no luck…and people in the parking lot looking at me like I’m an idiot, I go into the tire center. Two men are at the desk and I plead my case. “I need help…my truck won’t go into reverse…I’m helpless because I am a woman…and blond…and my husband won’t answer his cell phone.”
This nice guy comes out in the parking lot with me and the whole time I’m trying to talk to him and make him believe that I am not a complete idiot. Surely there is something horribly wrong with the truck. Maybe it’s the transmission?
Tire dude gets in the truck and puts it right in reverse. He then takes it out of gear and informs me that in order to put it in reverse, you have to put it over to the left and push down and up.
I am so embarrassed. However, I can now put in reverse and back up for miles.
3. After leaving Wal-Mart, I head to the local convenience store for drinks for my husband and father-in-law…whom I left doing all the hard work. I pull in the parking space confidently because I know how to back out.
I park the truck, put it in neutral and put on the parking brake.
Exiting the store, I see that the cool, little VW truck has coasted half way across the parking lot. Luckily, it didn’t run into anyone or anything…but two dudes in a commercial van started laughing when they saw me utter words I can’t type on here because my mother reads my blog.
No one told me the parking brake does not work. You know what happens when you assume…
Today, I have come to the conclusion that all these years of bleaching my hair has affected my brain. I think I’ll become a redhead.
We all need that recipe…the one that can make your husband forget how much you spent shopping… one that makes your relatives think you really can cook…and the quick, easy recipe to WOW your friends.
This is that recipe. It is simple and oh, so delicious.
Shrimp and Scallop Pasta
1/2 pound raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
1/2 pound bay scallops (the bigger, the better)
1/2 to 3/4 stick REAL butter
3 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
1 small bunch broccoli, steamed
1 cup whipping cream
1/2 cup fresh parmesean cheese
Tony Chachere’s Cajun Seasoning (green carton)-to cook’s taste
Angel hair or Fetticini pasta, cooked and drained
In large saute pan, melt butter on medium heat.
Add garlic and seafood. Saute until shrimp and scallops are just about done.
Next, add the Tony Chachere’s ( some may need just a sprinkle…we like alot).
Add whipping cream and parmesean cheese, stirring frequently until thickens.
Stir in broccoli.
Serve over pasta and garnish with parmesan.
As long as you have checks, you can still shop? Right?
Cow Days has come and gone. Where else can you buy expensive, useless inflated toys for your kids…
feed your kids grease laden funnel cakes topped with ten pounds of powdered sugar…so nutritious…
buy trashy lingerie from a street vendor (Rico really wanted me to buy the camo nightie)…
take pictures of your husband and kids riding a wagon pulled by mules in the parade…
watch your daughter mimic the “screw in the light bulb” beauty queen wave…
join your friend at the local historic hotel restoration and try to conjure up some paranormal activity…
where your 10 year old can profess her love for a punk named Christian on her cheek…
where you can gorge yourself on all types of great food…especially the Cattleman’s Ribeye sandwiches..
where your kids can wear funny hats from the Shriners…
and celebrate all things “cow?” No where but here.
I’m exhausted…I’m broke…and I’m so glad Cow Days doesn’t happen again for 363 days.
Life here in a small town is pretty mundane…except for the third weekend in September. That, my friends, is when our little community celebrates Cow Days.
Yes, I said COW DAYS.
Our annual festival is a homecoming of sorts. When people you don’t see all year long come to town to socialize and eat fried Twinkies and Cattlemen’s Ribeye sandwiches. The big highlight for the kids is to gather around “Annie”, the large fiberglass cow, and “milk” her for Kool-Aid.
It’s a time of seeing long lost friends, buying arts and crafts, and spending lots of money on stupid, annoying toys.
One year at Cow Days, I made the mistake of buying Ray-Ray a plastic trumpet that made the most horrendous noise in the universe. I have no idea why I bought it other than I must have had a moment of weakness amidst all the whining.
Ray-Ray brings the trumpet home where she proceeds to blow it for the next 72 hours. It was at this precise moment I began my descent into insanity.
Finally, she went to sleep and I discarded the blasphemous horn in the sinkhole at the farm.
Months went by with silence…well, almost silence…just everyday ear piercing kid noise. Christmas comes and gifts are exchanged.
Ray-Ray’s godfather gave her a big ole’ package wrapped as if it held the most delicate, expensive gift. It was beautiful.
She tears off the paper and opens the package…a look of confusion and joy on her face and yells, “Look Mama…I got a new horn.”
Whaddya know, Ray-Ray’s godfather thought it would be a FABULOUS idea to save the trumpet from the depths of the sinkhole and wrap it up for Christmas.
I almost lost my religion. I do believe that I said a few bad words under my breath.
I then decided that I should be keeping my religion as I am afraid my punishment in hell would be listening to that stupid horn for all eternity.
What a grand week we are having here in Kentucky, as we are the proud host of the 37th Ryder Cup at the prestigious Valhalla Golf Club in Louisville.
It’s like the first Saturday in May around here. Galas…parties…celebrities!
It’s especially festive when two Kentucky boys make the Ryder Cup team… Kenny Perry from Franklin, Ky and our local homeboy, J.B. Holmes from Campbellsville.
Rico scored a pair of tickets for Thursday’s practice round and is taking his dad. I will be slaving away at work. Some of us have all the fun…while some of us must work. So unfair!!!!!!
Good luck to J.B., Kenny and all our other Ryder Cup players. Bring the Cup home boys!!!
I am one of those parents…that lets their kid eat bologna. Yes, I know it’s not exactly the healthiest thing I could feed my child but Ella has become fixated on it.
She eats bologna for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack. Sometimes she even has to have it in the middle of the night. I have been awakened more times than I can count to the refrains of “BA-WON-IE!!!! JUICE!!!! MAMA!!!!
“BA-WON-IE” requests are often met around 3 a.m. in the middle of a dead sleep. If it means I can get a few more hours shut eye…by all means, eat some bologna.
I am ashamed to admit I have woke up in the morning with dried bologna in my bed…and the bright red stain of Kool-Aid on my sheets. The things I will do for sleep amazes me.
I have often thought of using that plastic rind around the bologna to engineer some type of bologna necklace so I won’t have to get up in the middle of the night. A self-feeder, if you will.
Some people count sheep to go to sleep…Ella counts bologna rolls.
First of all, I really appreciate all the babysitting you’ve done for me lately. There’s been a lot of all- nighters that I don’t think I could have made it without you.
You’ve really taught Ella alot. You know… colors, shapes, manners…and those stupid little songs that she sings over and over. The ones that I find myself singing over and over and over.
However, I feel we’ve grown an unhealthy attachment to you. You run continuously on every DVD player in the house and cars.
Why is it we feel we have to have you 24/7? Will life as we know it stop to exist? Will we wither up and die?
No, Mr. Purple Dinosaur…we won’t. Life will go on…seasons will change…we will find more cartoons. Cartoons that are actually entertaining. Cartoons that will not encourage me to have homicidal thoughts.
Sometimes when I’m watching you sing and dance…I have this overwhelming urge to find you and push you down…and stomp a little…OK, alot. I know my kids would be horrified…but I would feel SO much better.
You’re old Barney. A has been…it’s time to retire. You need to lay on the beach somewhere in a big green thong and enjoy life. Drink fruity little drinks. Live the good life.
No more hanging around the school yard for you…it’s done. Besides, hanging out at the school all day is starting to make people think your a pedophile. It’s just getting creepy.
So, I’m saying adieu.
Adios, Barney….we are letting you go.
On second thought, could you just forget all that? Ella will be back from Nana’s tomorrow and it may be a long night.