Hoarders, Horkers & Hairspray

This is not my house, although it could be.  I have no idea what happened to me – unless compulsive cleaning skips a generation.  My mother was one of those people who could pass a “white glove” test.  Not me.  But in my defense my mother never had to live with my hubalump who does not prescribe to the theory “a place for all things.”  He believes everything should be in plain sight, therefore the chances of him finding something are greatly magnified.

I am currently obsessed with “watching” and I use the term loosely a little thing on Ustream called The Owl Box.  I keep it up on one of my computer monitors practically all the time.  I’m not sure why because I am learning that owls don’t particularly do anything in a hurry.  Mostly they stand around on one leg sleeping.  Hmmmm…..this also reminds me of someone I know.  There are others similarly intrigued by The Owl Box, however, they are hoping to see the owls “hork.”  Reallllllly?  I’m having a bit of a difficult time understanding why you want to see an owl lose the remains of its vermin dinner.  Even more confused that people like to dissect those “tosses.”  Thanks A LOT – GG for bringing me to this particular interest.  You know who you are……and something tells me you are enjoying my new found compulsion.

There was a time when I could use about a can of this stuff every day.  My granddaughters have even remarked on my high school years' photos “Wow, that is some TEXAS hair!”  Thankfully, I no longer use this particular product -  now I use something that costs about 5 times as much and is labeled with a name that is synonymous with revving your car engine.  You might be able to take the girl out of Texas but you will never take the TEXAS out of the girl OR her hair.

SHOCK AND PAW

Since I seem to have no filters (just ask my kids - they will verify it) I have so much material worthy of decades of columns.

I'm not so sure these things only happen to me or if I am the only person mentally deficient enough to share them. On the day I die, a lot of people are going to know me really really well - probably better than they might wish.

My affection (spell this A F F L I C T I O N please) for canines of all shapes, sizes, colors, breeds, temperaments and situations has been fodder for the mill on more than one occasion. My exploits with my "pack" have led to a little publication I call The Dog Chronicles. Every now and then I will publish a segment - few people have read them in their entirety. I'm not sure the masses are ready for them. Plus, I fear being judged "tetched" in the head and made a resident of a lovely rubber room somewhere with a peaceful harbor view.

This column is not so much an admission as it is a public service announcement. Surely, I cannot be the only person who has these random thoughts and the stupidity to follow up on them. But, just in case there is anyone out there who wonders about the effectiveness of items and decides to test them - please consider yourself warned.

The Shredder Sisters have been anything but lovely grateful dogs only wishing to please their master. They have pushed the envelope and challenged me from the beginning. Leaping over privacy fences, destroying treasured lawn furniture, hiding while I frantically searched, giving the garage door a work out - it has constantly been one thing after another.

They have acted like feral slum dogs in the presence of others, dug up every decent flower and bush I own and barked until I lost MY voice from screaming "SHUT UP". Well, there were actually more words that I screamed but I'll not bore you with unnecessary details.

Most of my big events happened while my husband was working in Kansas City. I guess I just had too much time on my hands.

So, my most embarrassing event took place one day when the barking had been particularly annoying. I really don't believe in cruelty in any form but I was guilty of purchasing one of those voice activated electronic dog collars. It actually worked pretty well, however, I had not had it on my dogs in a while but I decided today was the day.

When I took it out of the drawer, it seemed to have lost its' "fire power." So, I made a quick trip to Wally World and purchased a replacement battery. When I took the battery box apart and began to remove the old battery the box "beeped" at me.

This begged the question "was the battery really dead?" But, I went ahead and replaced it and put the whole thing back together. As I stood there with my newly refreshed collar I started to contemplate the humanity of the things. How did I know that it really worked? Did it hurt my dogs? Or did it merely just give them a fun little buzz?

The more I thought about it, the more I slid down the slippery slope into momentary insanity. I finally decided the only way I would ever know would be to "test drive" my electronic dog collar.

Pressing the contact points to my throat, I issued my best imitation of a deep and meaningful "woof."
I immediately experienced a seizing of my vocal cords - as a matter of fact my entire neck constricted and I'm pretty sure I lost feeling in my legs. Tears were streaming down my face, my ears were ringing along with blurred vision and a blinding headache within a few seconds. I am relatively sure I lost control of at least one vital body function as well.

After about 30 minutes I regained enough of my senses to call my husband and tell him what I had done. After patiently listening to me for a moment, he said, "Honey, I'm going to have to call you back in a few minutes" and disconnected the call. He did call back and was very solicitous and concerned about my well being. I was touched.

I remained touched until a co-worker of his called and asked if I was alright. When I inquired into their concern - they immediately started to laugh. Finally the whole ugly story was revealed, apparently the reason my darling husband needed to end our conversation was because he was having great difficulty maintaining his composure. It seems that as soon as he hung up the phone, he laughed hysterically for about 5 minutes before pulling himself together.

Cad. Barbarian. Unfeeling, uncaring and unremorseful bad, bad husband.

So, there you have it. My most embarrassing moment - well for that week at least. And just so you know, those danged things really do work. However, I'm not so sure that I will ever use one on a dog of mine again. But, it did make for some really entertaining holiday entertainment that year as no one was willing to believe me until they tried it themselves. See, I'm not the only stupid person in my family.

A Poppin’ Good Time

Today in my “what were they thinking?” category are the balloon wedding dresses.  This does not refer to a type or style……it means the dresses are actually constructed from balloons.

So, what happens when one sits down in these dresses.  How attractive to have your wedding or reception accompanied by the equivalent of the bridal party each having a sheet of bubble wrap.  I’ve always found bubble wrap to be a great stress reliever and maybe this is the reason behind these dresses.

What happens if there is a sudden shift in pressure or temperature?  Could the bride conceivably be left in her “scanties”?  Are the balloons filled with just good old fashioned air or are they helium filled.  Imagine the hysteria as the bride squeaks out her vows like a member of the Lollipop Guild in the Wizard of Oz.

I can see some interesting fun for the groom during honeymoon time.  Painstakingly popping each little balloon to get to the prize beneath.  It lends a whole new meaning to the song “Anticipation.”

I guess there will always be someone looking for a new way to invent the wheel.  However, I’m thinking there is a certain amount of discrimination at work here.  What about us girls of the “hefty” variety?  I’m thinking a dress for me would need to be made from the Hot Air Balloon material in order to withstand the stress of the structure it encompasses. 

Somehow I don’t see the possibility of ever remaking these dresses into First Communion outfits for the bride’s daughters.  And what about the impact on our environment from an increase in rubber entering our landfills.

Thoughts?  Comments?  Discuss among yourselves.

The Egg And I

Today I pay homage to a recent love, love, love affair of mine.  There was a time when I did not appreciate the perfection of the humble egg.  I have come to see the error of my ways.

Perhaps it is the diminishing of disposable cash that has brought about my devotion to that which Humpty Dumpty made famous by tumbling off a wall.  **My theory here is old HD was slightly in his cups or he wouldn’t have broken his noggin**

There are few things as versatile.  As nourishing.  As artistic.  Heck just in general as much fun as what my dad used to refer to as “cackle fruit.”  There are good eggs and bad eggs.  Bad eggs are particularly heinous, but it takes a lot for them to become that way.  Sort of like some people who have to deal with major stressors for too long – they start to be a bit “off.”

Hard boiled, deviled, scramble, fried, poached, basted….pickled – did I forget anything?  A lot like people.  I personally can ascribe an actual human being in my acquaintance that could be the depiction of each state of egg.

They are canvasses of color at Easter.  Toys during certain eclipses.  Objects of retaliation and revenge by teenagers.  And the delight of all my dogs’ hearts on Sunday mornings.

They also challenged me to learn to make a perfect omelet – something I am very pleased to report I have mastered.  I appreciate the fact that as long as I have eggs I will never starve – my cholesterol may be sky high, but by gosh I will eat.

The only thing I regret about eggs is their inability to bounce.  But even that was turned into a positive when I dropped a dozen on my super heated driveway where they promptly cooked to the consistency of a rubber ball.  My dogs loved them, however, and saved me from having to hose off the concrete.  Good thing too ‘cause truly – “all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put those Humptys back together again.”

My Daddy Was a Pistol–I’m a Son of a Gun…..

In the “you have got to be freaking kidding me” department this morning is a news story I heard.  Seems that people are still trying to re- invent the wheel as it were.

Have you been wondering what to do with your earthly remains?  Kicking around the whole traditional burying/cremation/cryogenically frozen dilemma?  Well, you will be happy to know there is a brand new alternative out there for us all.

Now you can do a combo farewell.  It seems that you can have your ashes sent to a company who will make your dust into bullets.  And what is this company called you ask?  Why, “Holy Smokes” – I answer.

I’m sorry,  but this really sends my mind whirling off in so many inappropriate directions that I won’t even offer you insight into most of them.

The big question for me here is this…….after living your life as an ordinary person,  you wish to become an instrument of death?  And, if you are used to kill someone, can your heirs be sued as accessories to murder?  That’s a nice legacy to leave behind don’t you think.

Or, let’s say – some hunter bags a trophy buck with you – does your name appear on the plaque along with the date of this momentous event.  Or perhaps they can hang your photograph next to the disembodied head hanging in the den.

I told you that my mind goes to strange and bizarre countries with this – you were warned.  So, if you have trouble dealing…..let me give you a bullet to bite on.