Uxorious is my new favorite word. It's just lovely. Lookit up, you'll be glad you did.
First off the $%^&*cat did not come home. We fear it has met an untimely end. This is bad. And not good for my reputation. For the record I have had three cats of my own. Two met a tragic death, one by raccoon or something and one by my dog. The third, seeing how things were going, bolted. We had a fourth, but since Steve brought that home without consulting me I don't count it, but it too is d.e.a.d.. You may have heard the story about that, but it sounds a lot funnier (if you will) with a lot of cocktails under yours and my belts. Without cocktails it's just disgusting and this is a family show. I am also responsible for the scarpering of a fifth cat, but since it had just scratched me and I had thrown it and it ran away and it wasn't even remotely mine I don't count it either. I do, however, have the scar to this day. It looks like this _________.
So I guess where I was going with this ramble is the stunning fact that my ski bound friend has decided she must take herself off to a horse show and has asked me to house sit again. Some people just don't learn, but who am I to argue? In any case, she is down to three dogs and three horses and three ponies. I can manage this quite happily. And God willing, none will meet a tragic end. I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime I have engaged in a war with the property management company who wrote the lease on our house. So last month they set up a new and improved method of rent collection...on-line payments from their website. I don't even have to get dressed to pay the rent. I eagerly signed up, received confirmation that I managed not to screw it up and waited patiently for the opportunity to pay my tithe. It so happened that the time to pay occurred while I was in wine country losing the cat. So I quite cheerily sat down at the computer, accessed the property management website and looked for the "online rent payment" tab. It was not there. Nor could I discover any way at all to pay the rent. I called the office and left a message, because God forbid anyone should be there on a weekend, and said I was trying to pay the rent, what should I do and all that sort of groveling. In the end I sent a bill payment check to them from my checking account. What follows next can be succinctly summed up with the simple term...bollocks. The property manager evidently can't be bothered with the little things like listening to her voice mails from me (5) the messages I left with her assistant (3) or having a conversation with me on the phone that does not include vague threats of late fees unpaid will incur late rent payment status each month till paid. Now right now Steve is having a cow. Chill baby, I have not lost my cool with any of this. I sent a very nice email to the president of the company explaining the situation, the number of times I called them, the trial and error of their online payment system and the "in good faith" efforts I took to fulfill my monetary duty. I also left a very nice voice message to the el presidente. And I did this on Monday when I should have been enjoying the flowers and candy...ahem. It is Wednesday now and I have sent a follow up email to the head honcho and I have yet to hear back from him. I think this shows an egregious lack of breeding and good manners. I should know. I am considering a tasteful written missive to the Better Business Bureau and the Chamber of Commerce. In the end I will end up paying the late fee, but be assured I will do it grudgingly and in ill humor. And it will be accompanied by a nasty letter that I will insist be made a permanent record in my file. So there. That'll show you.
Tomorrow the spouse, the dogs and I will pile, once again, in the cab of the little pickup and take ourselves off to Fresno for the the first Ram Tap horse trials of 2011. Now going to a horse show without a horse is not my favorite thing to do. And I may have mentioned in a previous post how things usually go down with Steve, the "guys" and the poles and standards and what not. But this weekends weather forecast is promising to add the pleasure of winds and rain, especially on Friday when we will be slogging through the mud and what not trying to get a course of show jumps set up. I can lift a regular standard, but I have to hoist it on my back and shuffle with it. I don't know exactly how much they weigh, but I do know they are heavier wet. Steve, on the other hand, can carry them in one hand. Now would you like to es-plain to me why then Steve tosses the poles around willy nilly and I have to be the muscle with the standards? I could quite easily pick up poles and toss them around hither and thither, but instead I have to grunt and grumble with at least 60 pounds of wood and water on my back. Oh right, and the sand and mud is sticky so sometimes just getting them off the ground is a full cardio workout. I suppose I am just getting warmed up for a grand mal meltdown. Stay tuned.
Speaking of cardio workout. I joined a gym this week. TaDa.! I see myself in a very short time svelte and fit and toned and half my age. It happens. Next week, I think, I should be at my target. Realistic? sure. Because only fitness freaks work at gyms and because I am so out of shape etc. etc. etc., my personal assessment coach is about 20 something, about six feet tall and has 0% body fat. To make me feel even more inadequate she also is a graduate of the US Air Force Academy. They don't let wimps graduate from the academy. And she is also the head honcho of all things fitness in the club. She was not impressed, I think, to hear that my goal was to be able to eat as much chocolate as I wanted and not have the "weighty" ill effects. But I believe in truth in advertising. So anyway she asked me about a million questions and I stared out in to space and made an effort to answer somewhat truthfully and then, because I hadn't been through enough humiliation yet, she put me on the scale, was struck dumb and asked if that was about the right weight. I was pretty cranky by then and said I didn't know...I couldn't see the weight because I didn't have my glasses on because I didn't want any extra weight on the weigh machine. Then she did the body fat assessment. I gotta stop right here and tell you that having a human bionic woman tsk tsk you about your fat to something or other ratio is not a great way to start the day. But I bravely manned up and took it and even sat on the recumbent bike for 20 minutes and burned about 5 million calories, well relatively anyway afterwards. I am a stud. Be very afraid. Oh Oh Oh, the best part was she told me that to maintain my weight, and it is grand, I would only have to exercise for about 30 minutes a day four or five times a week. If, however, I wished to lose weight and become the goddess I know I am, that will require a 60 minute commitment four or five times a week. I imagine the two or three days a week "off" are for major rehabilitation at the massage table.
Suffice it to say I have used up all my creativeness for the day. I leave you now breathless waiting to hear how every thing turns out for me. Rest assured I have no pride and will regale you with my further adventures as they happen.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Squidgy gets a job
Last weekend I opted to earn my keep by house sitting for a friend in the bucolic countryside of wine country, CA. Under my care, custody and control were the following; two Jack Russell Terriers in various stages of hysteria, one Great Dane who was a beautiful mover, but not trustworthy, four ponies in different colors...white, brown, white and brown and brown and white and three horses, two TBs and one French Anglo-Arab. I felt centered and replete in a country roads take me home kind of thingy. Oopsie, forgot the cat. More on that later.
So I checked in to chez miscellany of animal and after a couple cocktails, saw my "owner/friend/ski bound mom" off for her weekend and I got to work. First up, bring the TB and his pasture companion the brown and white pony in from the pasture. I made it back to the barn in good shape and proceeded to wait for the farrier to come and put a shoe on the TB. The TB had had the bad manners to toss the right front shoe off and had hidden it in the secret pasture place. A little known fact about horse shoes, they are nailed on with real nails and then they come off. They almost always come off when the farrier cannot get to the horse for several days. This will always happen when you are trying to get ready for something where shoes are probably necessary, but now the horse won't get/have to work because the horse is a freaking weenie without shoes although it can and would tear madly about if given the opportunity with nary a lame step, but couldn't possibly be expected to walk from its stall to the cross ties bearing weight on the naked foot. At this point remember...1000lbs, brain the size of a walnut. I don't think so. I think the real brain in a horse is stashed somewhere besides the head where the "decoy" brain is housed. The real brain is probably in the tail. And has supernatural powers. Ask anyone who has tried to outwit a horse, or been smacked in the face with a tail. You know I'm right.
So anyway the farrier arrived, and I could tell it was the farrier because he was bent in the shape of an "S". This is because farriers spend all their lives bent over holding horses feet. And when they aren't bent over holding feet, they are bent over banging iron on iron with iron, or lifting a 5000# anvil up and down from a truck bed. What the hell kind of job is that anyway? So anyway "Mike the Farrier" announced he was the farrier and I said I could tell and he got to work. So because "Mike the Farrier" had just been there the day before to deal with the nailing hind shoes to hind feet and theTB was a perfect angel and stood quietly through the ordeal of having new shoes he knew he had to present his alter ego the snorting, stomping, kicking, untrustworthy side. Awesome. It was near six, starting to get cold, past dinner time and we were all tired. What a combination. Well suffice it to say that two changes of cross ties, two shoes and a lot of b.s. later the horse was re-shod and pouting in his stall, the shoer (you can also call them shoers) had loaded his stuff back into his truck and had trundled off and I proceeded to the big house to collapse.
Not so quick here cutie, the canines also needed to be fed. So the Great Dane got two big scoops of her special diet in the big bowl which was placed on the upturned galvanized tank outside so there would be no squabbling with the hysterical JRT's. The hysterical JRT's each received a scant half cup of their special diet which had the gag inducing stench of long dead fish, in the house. Nasty. So then I went in search of the cat...Earlier in the day I'd seen the cat doing what cats do best, sleeping on a human bed, occasionally coming to long enough to display talons from his feet and stretching and exhausted from that effort resuming the nap. So I knew he was there. But I couldn't find him...then.
I took myself off to the Nepalese restaurant for some mouthwatering nosh takeout, came back and cribbed up on the couch and proceeded to vege out in front of the tee vee with the JRT's. Now when you vege out on the couch with JRT's it is critical not to move. JRT's are very serious about cribbing up and don't like it when you move...at all. So there we were and I heard this godawful noise like a wounded pterodactyl which sounded like it was coming from outside. I quickly texted Steve (remember Steve? the felon?) that there was a wounded pterodactyl outside and what should I do. He recommended hiding. And since I was already on the couch with the dogs perhaps I should just stay there. So I did.
But, as it turned out, it wasn't a pterodactyl at all, nor was it wounded. It was in fact the cat. The cat who hated the Great Dane because the Great Dane liked to chase the cat. So I picked the cat up, after enraging the JRT's on the couch by moving and inciting a mini bout of snarling, growling and snapping, and brought him on to the couch fully believing that the cat, who didn't know me from Adam, would be content on the couch with two hysterical JRT's and a lurking cat chashing Great Dane in near proximity. Some times I amaze even myself. Suffice it to say the Great Dane took it upon herself to insinuate her head in the grill of the cat. The cat got pissed. The JRT's sensing altercation rose to the challenge and the cat made its hair stand up and the rest of it too and hissed. Anticipating grievous bodily harm to come, I made the executive decision to put the cat out. The skiing bound mother had said the cat could go out, so out it went. The ski bound mother also told me the cat would raise a considerable racket in the morning to be let back in and would wake me early. I thought if I could sleep through Aunt Betty chasing the Hoover under my bed, I could sleep through anything and I wasn't particularly worried about losing some Zzz's. And the JRT's and I cribbed up once again till we felt the time had come to go to bed. And we did, all three of us under the covers, and nested till morning.
In the morning I looked outside for the stall cleaner. No esta aqui. Grumble grumble. Now I don't mind cleaning stalls, nor do I mind getting up to feed, but I do like to know that that is expected of me. So I rushed down to the barn, did the feeding thing, rushed back to the house and drank coffee for about an hour or so. About mid-morning I decided the stall cleaner was not going to make an appearance so I took myself off to the barn once again to do some cleaning. I am the slowest stall cleaner in the world. I don't know why, but I can barely finish one stall in the time it takes a normal person to clean like five stalls. So it was way in to the day by time I finished. But I'd had a fine time for myself turning ponies and horses out, lunging and cleaning tack.
One of the boarders showed up in the afternoon with her vet so he could look at her horse, the French Anglo-Arab and we had a really exciting time with that. The French Anglo-Arab horse recieved acupunture and chiropractic treatments and then was scanned with the magic ultrasound wand and was determined to have strained a ligament in it's leg and so there was much to do about that as well and various treatments were discussed and lotions and potions were applied and we all had a very good time discussing past injuries to other horses and success stories and the like. Then it was time to bring the horses and ponies in again, feed them, put their bankies on and trek back to the house for left over Nepalese nosh and feed the dogs and crib up again. And the cat was not in evidence, but as I was about crippled from unaccustomed excercise and pooped to boot I didn't really even pay attention to that mysterious fact. But I did watch taped episodes of the "The Defenders" and "Ramsays Kitchen Nightmares" with the dogs and so we were quite busy with that. Then we had to go to bed.
The next morning, after ascertaining the stall cleaner was there and that he had fed the horses and ponies I slunk back to the house to get my coffee infusions. I thought perhaps the cat was lurking in the field next to the house, and having had that sighting, went in and forgot all about it.
Well the rest of the weekend went on and the spouse came over for the day on Saturday and we played lord and lady of the manor and drove the drag around the arena and made dust and went out to eat and I pulled some pony manes and turned the equines out in their fields and generally did those farming chores that never really feel like chores because you aren't vacuuming or dusting. And so the next two days passed agreeably and and the dogs and I watched some more tee vee and went to bed.
It wasn't until I was safely back in my own home, not in the bucolic countryside, that the ski mom called and asked where the cat was. Damn it all to hell. I forgot about the cat. And I hadn't seen it except for briefly and ski mom told me how sad the children were and blah blah blah. So naturally I felt terrible and I had no good answers for her and I texted her every day or so for the next few days, but to date the cat hasn't come home. I blame the Great Dane, whom I decided was the Anti-Christ and not to be trusted. But I suspect we'll never really know...or the cat will nonchalantly stroll back in a few more days and wonder what the fuss is all about and go back to sleep on the human bed waking only for the personal ablutions and nail extension excercises.
Squidgy is available to house sit for you too! No cats.
Cheers,
Squidgy
So I checked in to chez miscellany of animal and after a couple cocktails, saw my "owner/friend/ski bound mom" off for her weekend and I got to work. First up, bring the TB and his pasture companion the brown and white pony in from the pasture. I made it back to the barn in good shape and proceeded to wait for the farrier to come and put a shoe on the TB. The TB had had the bad manners to toss the right front shoe off and had hidden it in the secret pasture place. A little known fact about horse shoes, they are nailed on with real nails and then they come off. They almost always come off when the farrier cannot get to the horse for several days. This will always happen when you are trying to get ready for something where shoes are probably necessary, but now the horse won't get/have to work because the horse is a freaking weenie without shoes although it can and would tear madly about if given the opportunity with nary a lame step, but couldn't possibly be expected to walk from its stall to the cross ties bearing weight on the naked foot. At this point remember...1000lbs, brain the size of a walnut. I don't think so. I think the real brain in a horse is stashed somewhere besides the head where the "decoy" brain is housed. The real brain is probably in the tail. And has supernatural powers. Ask anyone who has tried to outwit a horse, or been smacked in the face with a tail. You know I'm right.
So anyway the farrier arrived, and I could tell it was the farrier because he was bent in the shape of an "S". This is because farriers spend all their lives bent over holding horses feet. And when they aren't bent over holding feet, they are bent over banging iron on iron with iron, or lifting a 5000# anvil up and down from a truck bed. What the hell kind of job is that anyway? So anyway "Mike the Farrier" announced he was the farrier and I said I could tell and he got to work. So because "Mike the Farrier" had just been there the day before to deal with the nailing hind shoes to hind feet and theTB was a perfect angel and stood quietly through the ordeal of having new shoes he knew he had to present his alter ego the snorting, stomping, kicking, untrustworthy side. Awesome. It was near six, starting to get cold, past dinner time and we were all tired. What a combination. Well suffice it to say that two changes of cross ties, two shoes and a lot of b.s. later the horse was re-shod and pouting in his stall, the shoer (you can also call them shoers) had loaded his stuff back into his truck and had trundled off and I proceeded to the big house to collapse.
Not so quick here cutie, the canines also needed to be fed. So the Great Dane got two big scoops of her special diet in the big bowl which was placed on the upturned galvanized tank outside so there would be no squabbling with the hysterical JRT's. The hysterical JRT's each received a scant half cup of their special diet which had the gag inducing stench of long dead fish, in the house. Nasty. So then I went in search of the cat...Earlier in the day I'd seen the cat doing what cats do best, sleeping on a human bed, occasionally coming to long enough to display talons from his feet and stretching and exhausted from that effort resuming the nap. So I knew he was there. But I couldn't find him...then.
I took myself off to the Nepalese restaurant for some mouthwatering nosh takeout, came back and cribbed up on the couch and proceeded to vege out in front of the tee vee with the JRT's. Now when you vege out on the couch with JRT's it is critical not to move. JRT's are very serious about cribbing up and don't like it when you move...at all. So there we were and I heard this godawful noise like a wounded pterodactyl which sounded like it was coming from outside. I quickly texted Steve (remember Steve? the felon?) that there was a wounded pterodactyl outside and what should I do. He recommended hiding. And since I was already on the couch with the dogs perhaps I should just stay there. So I did.
But, as it turned out, it wasn't a pterodactyl at all, nor was it wounded. It was in fact the cat. The cat who hated the Great Dane because the Great Dane liked to chase the cat. So I picked the cat up, after enraging the JRT's on the couch by moving and inciting a mini bout of snarling, growling and snapping, and brought him on to the couch fully believing that the cat, who didn't know me from Adam, would be content on the couch with two hysterical JRT's and a lurking cat chashing Great Dane in near proximity. Some times I amaze even myself. Suffice it to say the Great Dane took it upon herself to insinuate her head in the grill of the cat. The cat got pissed. The JRT's sensing altercation rose to the challenge and the cat made its hair stand up and the rest of it too and hissed. Anticipating grievous bodily harm to come, I made the executive decision to put the cat out. The skiing bound mother had said the cat could go out, so out it went. The ski bound mother also told me the cat would raise a considerable racket in the morning to be let back in and would wake me early. I thought if I could sleep through Aunt Betty chasing the Hoover under my bed, I could sleep through anything and I wasn't particularly worried about losing some Zzz's. And the JRT's and I cribbed up once again till we felt the time had come to go to bed. And we did, all three of us under the covers, and nested till morning.
In the morning I looked outside for the stall cleaner. No esta aqui. Grumble grumble. Now I don't mind cleaning stalls, nor do I mind getting up to feed, but I do like to know that that is expected of me. So I rushed down to the barn, did the feeding thing, rushed back to the house and drank coffee for about an hour or so. About mid-morning I decided the stall cleaner was not going to make an appearance so I took myself off to the barn once again to do some cleaning. I am the slowest stall cleaner in the world. I don't know why, but I can barely finish one stall in the time it takes a normal person to clean like five stalls. So it was way in to the day by time I finished. But I'd had a fine time for myself turning ponies and horses out, lunging and cleaning tack.
One of the boarders showed up in the afternoon with her vet so he could look at her horse, the French Anglo-Arab and we had a really exciting time with that. The French Anglo-Arab horse recieved acupunture and chiropractic treatments and then was scanned with the magic ultrasound wand and was determined to have strained a ligament in it's leg and so there was much to do about that as well and various treatments were discussed and lotions and potions were applied and we all had a very good time discussing past injuries to other horses and success stories and the like. Then it was time to bring the horses and ponies in again, feed them, put their bankies on and trek back to the house for left over Nepalese nosh and feed the dogs and crib up again. And the cat was not in evidence, but as I was about crippled from unaccustomed excercise and pooped to boot I didn't really even pay attention to that mysterious fact. But I did watch taped episodes of the "The Defenders" and "Ramsays Kitchen Nightmares" with the dogs and so we were quite busy with that. Then we had to go to bed.
The next morning, after ascertaining the stall cleaner was there and that he had fed the horses and ponies I slunk back to the house to get my coffee infusions. I thought perhaps the cat was lurking in the field next to the house, and having had that sighting, went in and forgot all about it.
Well the rest of the weekend went on and the spouse came over for the day on Saturday and we played lord and lady of the manor and drove the drag around the arena and made dust and went out to eat and I pulled some pony manes and turned the equines out in their fields and generally did those farming chores that never really feel like chores because you aren't vacuuming or dusting. And so the next two days passed agreeably and and the dogs and I watched some more tee vee and went to bed.
It wasn't until I was safely back in my own home, not in the bucolic countryside, that the ski mom called and asked where the cat was. Damn it all to hell. I forgot about the cat. And I hadn't seen it except for briefly and ski mom told me how sad the children were and blah blah blah. So naturally I felt terrible and I had no good answers for her and I texted her every day or so for the next few days, but to date the cat hasn't come home. I blame the Great Dane, whom I decided was the Anti-Christ and not to be trusted. But I suspect we'll never really know...or the cat will nonchalantly stroll back in a few more days and wonder what the fuss is all about and go back to sleep on the human bed waking only for the personal ablutions and nail extension excercises.
Squidgy is available to house sit for you too! No cats.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Busted
I went to the acupuncturist as promised. The treatment was remarkably good. I'd go so far as to say one of the best results ever. I did miss the woo woo music. This being Kaiser there was no room in the budget for woo woo, but I did enjoy a nice nap whilst punctured with about 6000 needles and basted by the heat lamp. I was also treated with a residual therapy and I'm currently sporting two needle like apparatus in my right ear that I am meant to squeeze in order to jump start some sort of mystical mumbo jumbo that will redirect something or other and keep me pain free. Awesome. I go back in a month and am truly looking forward to it. So there you go.
So a couple summers ago the spouse and I journeyed to the great northwest to visit an event in Onalaska, WA. We flew in to Portland and rented a fine little car from our buddies at Hertz and began our trek north. Scarcely had we crossed in to WA when the red flashing lights of a happy little highway cop indicated we should pull over and have a little chit chat with law enforcement. I was not driving. Happy Dance. Steve took it like a man and handed me the ticket and suggested I "handle" it. Fine. At least it wasn't me, hehehehe. Ok, so about a year later we, no I, paid the fine and the incident was dismissed from mind and memory.
Fast forward to last week. In a missive from the DMV came the notice that Steve, now a felon, was not to drive as his drivers license had been suspended due to failure to appear and non payment of fines and any other number of sins. If you know Steve imagine how he took that. If you don't, well even the dogs scuttled off. Anyway I tried in vain to find all the paperwork for the "incident" and having no luck in that venture proceeded to try to contact the WA state courts to get the problem sorted out. For forty-five minutes I redialed the phone number I found online and in the process ate up valuable minutes on my mobile and got the same busy signal. Eventually I gave up on Washington and turned to the CA DMV system and again with the redial and busy signals for another twenty wasted minutes till I did persevere and actually reach the single live person employed by the department of motor vehicles who is immune to customer outrage and has to speak to the great unwashed who have the fortitude to wade through the morass of phone options which lead you in a circuitous route to live body person. This person rarely receives any awards for outstanding customer service.
In the meantime, since I am woman and am capable of the phenomenon of multi tasking, I researched and located the the receipt online from the Clark County municipal and district (WA state) courts indicating the fine had indeed been paid and the case was in fact...closed. Which is a conundrum since Steve was now on the lam and wanted in two states. Thank God I wasn't driving. So I talked to the live body at DMV, she agreed Steve was a wanted man and suggested I fax all the stuff regarding the crime including the print out that stated the fine had been paid, the case #, Docket #, Drivers License #, Violation date, and send same to "CA DMV - pay violations" and indicate the fax should go to the attention to "Out Of State Team". I did that and feeling rather disgruntled dismissed it as a job well done.
Not so quick my pretty. Yesterday because he works for the county and has nothing better to do, Steve had his friend the cop run his DMV record So anyway this is the email I received from the wanted man.
Hello my sweet...I had Mark the Cop run my driver's license today and it's still *expletive deleted* up...apparently the dipships in Washington managed to enter the same citation several times, so even though it shows that one citation is paid, it's the other false ones that are holding things up...Mark's going to bring me a copy of what he found on the secret cop database thingy, but the key issue, apparently, is that all the citations are entered under the same docket #...that apparently isn't correct. I'll scan and email you what he brings me so you have it...meanwhile, would you please be so kind as to see if you can try to reach somebody at the world famous Washington State DMV to try to un *expletive deleted* this? If we're still members of AAA, they might be able to help...thank you baby, xxxoooxoxoxoxxo
So back to the phones. I did finally, after a lifetime of wasted minutes and many games of solitaire, get through to the one person in Washington State who is being punished for something by having to talk to real, irate citizens and began to plead my case, which isn't my case at all, but let's not nit pick shall we? Well to make a really long, boring story blessedly shorter, Washington State DMV wench refused to talk to me. Full stop. Evidently she thought it would be a MUCH better idea to talk to the wanted personally. And so with some trepidation I bravely left a voice mail message for Steve to take care of it himself, and took myself off to a darkened room with a GIANT bar of chocolate and sucked my thumb for awhile. Why, I ask, is nothing ever easy?
I'm house sitting for a friend this weekend. She's taking her offspring up to Tahoe for a ski weekend. I will be blissfully setting up house in wine country tending to three dogs and like five? horses/ponies. Nirvana. Additionally I should be having an outing with a good friend on Saturday with whom I should enjoy a girls night out and celebrate her birthday. Common sense and decency requires I not blab her age, but as I am older it would scarcely be any fun anyway. I am looking on this as an opportunity not to dwell on the impending fate of my spouse. Good luck with that Steve. God Speed.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Subsequent to 1/21 Post
Well, I was right about a lot of things with yesterdays appointment with ATT, with a couple exceptions. Probably the most annoying was the un-appearance of the "guy" at 4. Nope, not here, not at 4:05, 4:10 or 4:15. In fact it was nearly 5 before he darkened my doorstep. Disgruntled is a good word to use here. Disgruntled and bad tempered. Happily the "guy" was pretty funny and so quite handily disarmed my ill humor and we laughed and carried on and bad mouthed ATT and the stupid tests he has to perform that take a lot of time and generally come to the ultimate conclusion that the DVR is ...wait for it...DOA. Might as well just continue to use ANAGRAMS at this point. Anyway while he waited for the little computer stupid test thingy to analyze, diagram, assess and diagnose the DVR box to come, roughly 30 minutes later, to the conclusion that it was broken, he had time to go out to the truck to get the dreaded new box. At least he had one in his truck. And just to let you know, we did lose all the stuff we had recorded, but due to semi good technology, Big Brother, I mean ATT knows what shows we record and will quite happily continue to record all our favorites. We'll enjoy everything from A-Listers New York to Two Fat Ladies and all in between for some time to come. I feel like I did after that cleansing breath in Lamaze class. My world is centered.
So the son in law who keeps popping up in these posts has reared his ever loving head again and announced I would be living in a yurt in my dotage. A yurt in the foothills, where it gets real cold in the winter, well cold for me anyway. My blood, such as it is, is thin. So he proposes a yurt. You should google yurt and when you see the picture of the structure made of skinny twigs with a mud floor and a canvas shroud you will understand what Josh means to have me live in while I wait out my golden years...What...a sweetheart. He has indicated that as it is just the spouse, presumably, and I, we won't be needing any real bedrooms as our "bed" aka the floor will suffice with a little padding. As we also are meant to live "off the grid", evidently I will have to power my...yurt from a bicycle to generate electricity or some damn thing. Then too is the opportunity to purify my own water from a stagnant swamp or collect it in musty barrels from rain water. What I'm supposed to do in the case of a drought is any body's guess. Perhaps I join the hoards of So Californians and buy water from some sort of water magnate. How's this sounding to you so far? All I can say is it is slightly better than the other son in laws solution which is his basement. It's wet down there and they've boarded up all the windows so there is no light. They do store their wine down there so it does have an upside. The third son in law has wisely not offered to take me/us at all.
Woe is me. I'm thinking here that living well is not exactly the best revenge.
We took the grandchildren who can talk but not talk back to the movies a week ago. Now you probably gleaned from the Christmas issue (Christmas issue you say? Guess you'd best be steppin' back in my blog posting world to read that gem) I have girl children. Steve has a girl child. Every time a girl child had to go potty do you think it was the boy husband who took them? Uh. No. So imagine my absolute joy when little Jack, God love him, announced to the audience in the middle of "Tangled" that he had to go. I smiled sweetly and reminded Steve that he too is a boy and therefore he could take the little tyke to the toilet. Good things happen to those who wait. Small victories and all that.
Tomorrow I visit the acupuncturist. The acupuncturist at Kaiser no less. Well this should be pretty good. I have a pretty good story about Kaiser from when I shredded my ACL and surrounding bits last spring. I think my recollection of that beauty should be saved for an entire posting of its own. But this Kaiser acupuncture could be either really good or horribly bad. Let me get this part straight. I love acupuncture. I think it is weird, it does not hurt and it works. I actually had an old Chinese guy give me my first acupuncture treatments back in my other life. He had this little room set up in his house on the freeway and had the requisite incense and all the groovy Asian things going on. He also spoke absolutely no English except the part about Thirty-five dollar. He was amazing. I think. At any rate he enhanced the treatment by hooking his needles to something akin to a car battery and my limbs proceeded to jump madly about until he came back in and adjusted the current. I didn't think that was really so groovy. I also don't remember what I was treating but with the myriad of real and imagined ailments I have had it could have been just about anything. Or maybe one of those charges did some brain scrambling. What an excellent excuse. Tomorrow's visit is for chronic whiplash. If you ride you have chronic whiplash and a screwed up back. It just has to be that way. So if you read this blog again in the future, I will regale you with the adventures I had with Kaiser in 2010 and now my new adventure which begins tomorrow for 2011.
Happy Trails,
Cheers,
Squidgy
 |
| Note the beautiful surroundings. |
Woe is me. I'm thinking here that living well is not exactly the best revenge.
We took the grandchildren who can talk but not talk back to the movies a week ago. Now you probably gleaned from the Christmas issue (Christmas issue you say? Guess you'd best be steppin' back in my blog posting world to read that gem) I have girl children. Steve has a girl child. Every time a girl child had to go potty do you think it was the boy husband who took them? Uh. No. So imagine my absolute joy when little Jack, God love him, announced to the audience in the middle of "Tangled" that he had to go. I smiled sweetly and reminded Steve that he too is a boy and therefore he could take the little tyke to the toilet. Good things happen to those who wait. Small victories and all that.
Tomorrow I visit the acupuncturist. The acupuncturist at Kaiser no less. Well this should be pretty good. I have a pretty good story about Kaiser from when I shredded my ACL and surrounding bits last spring. I think my recollection of that beauty should be saved for an entire posting of its own. But this Kaiser acupuncture could be either really good or horribly bad. Let me get this part straight. I love acupuncture. I think it is weird, it does not hurt and it works. I actually had an old Chinese guy give me my first acupuncture treatments back in my other life. He had this little room set up in his house on the freeway and had the requisite incense and all the groovy Asian things going on. He also spoke absolutely no English except the part about Thirty-five dollar. He was amazing. I think. At any rate he enhanced the treatment by hooking his needles to something akin to a car battery and my limbs proceeded to jump madly about until he came back in and adjusted the current. I didn't think that was really so groovy. I also don't remember what I was treating but with the myriad of real and imagined ailments I have had it could have been just about anything. Or maybe one of those charges did some brain scrambling. What an excellent excuse. Tomorrow's visit is for chronic whiplash. If you ride you have chronic whiplash and a screwed up back. It just has to be that way. So if you read this blog again in the future, I will regale you with the adventures I had with Kaiser in 2010 and now my new adventure which begins tomorrow for 2011.
Happy Trails,
Cheers,
Squidgy
Friday, January 21, 2011
Yesterday the DVR box that rules my world took a death spiral, and refused life support. It sits there in the living room, attached to the TV which has the giant red X of death on the screen. That is to say we had to go an entire evening without Recorded Television. Gads. I considered wallowing in blackest depression, sitting on the couch, sucking my thumb with the lights out and refusing to speak. That, however, seemed boring. But in reality what were the spouse and I going to do without the comfort of knowing we still had 58 episodes of Cash Cab and 74 episodes of Curb Appeal to watch and in all likelihood they would be gone, gone, gone? All I can say is I'm grateful this is not a three day weekend for Steve, because the ennui and moaning would be far to much to bear if he can't watch his favorite episodes of Swamp Loggers and Dirty Jobs. I mean really...
To be honest I have recorded TV shows (for my own use FBI, I'm not sharing or selling...) since the advent of the VCR. When the kids were little and the then spouse made me take a menial job at the Great City of Davis to support my horse habit, I would tape the soaps. Then after dinner the entire family would sit around and watch the travails of Beau and Hope and the entire Horton Clan. I really hated it when something the networks considered an event newsworthier than yesterdays cliff hanger intercepted the daily devotional. Life was simpler then. But there you are.
So here I sit today. Being held hostage by the vague appointment set sometime between 12-4 when the possibility that a technician will arrive from ATT and fix the DVR. As Steve helpfully pointed out, "They're just going to swap it out you know. They wouldn't trust any of their guys to actually try to fix it..." Cruel?...yes. Accurate?...also yes. Heavy sigh. So here's what's going to happen. The guy will actually show up. At 4. Then he'll futz around, moan about the overtime, moan about working 6 days a week, for no money to speak of, though he will speak of it and tell me that whoever hooked up the DVR, DVD and TV didn't have any idea what he was doing and proceed to moan about that for awhile. Then he will tell me the DVR can't be fixed and assure me that a new one will find its way to my doorstep in a week or so and have a good time trying to figure out how to hook it up, because the box we currently have is obsolete and they haven't used it since the bi-centennial, even though it was just installed in August so a different one will come my way with different verbiage as to what wire goes where and like that. And oh yeah, have a nice day. This is not my first rodeo, I know how things work.
Just because I feel like whining I also have to tell you that before the DVR died, taking the TV with it, I watched the final episode of 24 yesterday. I feel like I've been watching it for centuries, and to be honest to watch 8 years worth of a TV show took me better than six months and now I am bereft. I will probably have to cancel my Netflix subscription. I've already watched all the Dexter years, tried to watch Big Love and I'm pretty sure I've seen all the Criminal Minds and NCIS episodes available. So now what? The first one of you who tells me to try getting a life? Well just know that I know I need a life, if I didn't need a life would I be writing this drivel? Well probably, but that's not the point. I don't know what the point is either...so there. wow such anger.
Happy wedding to Erin. I wish I was in Hawaii watching you stroll down the aisle. Or even just being in Hawaii right now would be nice, Mai Tai's and sunshine. Yep.
Before I close, I have had 505 hits on the readership clicker thingy, thanks for that. Also, after much badgering, two of ya'll posted comments. Thanks for that too. I know you won't be able to rest till I confirm the ATT appointment goes as I anticipate, but I will have to let you know later about that. Take Tums and a nice Xanax. It will help.
Cheers,
Squidgy
ps. the photo is from New Years Eve. I don't know what happened to Josh's eyes. They refused Red Eye Removal. Look how forced everyone looks trying to pretend they don't mind having the old people crash an otherwise fun evening...
To be honest I have recorded TV shows (for my own use FBI, I'm not sharing or selling...) since the advent of the VCR. When the kids were little and the then spouse made me take a menial job at the Great City of Davis to support my horse habit, I would tape the soaps. Then after dinner the entire family would sit around and watch the travails of Beau and Hope and the entire Horton Clan. I really hated it when something the networks considered an event newsworthier than yesterdays cliff hanger intercepted the daily devotional. Life was simpler then. But there you are.
So here I sit today. Being held hostage by the vague appointment set sometime between 12-4 when the possibility that a technician will arrive from ATT and fix the DVR. As Steve helpfully pointed out, "They're just going to swap it out you know. They wouldn't trust any of their guys to actually try to fix it..." Cruel?...yes. Accurate?...also yes. Heavy sigh. So here's what's going to happen. The guy will actually show up. At 4. Then he'll futz around, moan about the overtime, moan about working 6 days a week, for no money to speak of, though he will speak of it and tell me that whoever hooked up the DVR, DVD and TV didn't have any idea what he was doing and proceed to moan about that for awhile. Then he will tell me the DVR can't be fixed and assure me that a new one will find its way to my doorstep in a week or so and have a good time trying to figure out how to hook it up, because the box we currently have is obsolete and they haven't used it since the bi-centennial, even though it was just installed in August so a different one will come my way with different verbiage as to what wire goes where and like that. And oh yeah, have a nice day. This is not my first rodeo, I know how things work.
Just because I feel like whining I also have to tell you that before the DVR died, taking the TV with it, I watched the final episode of 24 yesterday. I feel like I've been watching it for centuries, and to be honest to watch 8 years worth of a TV show took me better than six months and now I am bereft. I will probably have to cancel my Netflix subscription. I've already watched all the Dexter years, tried to watch Big Love and I'm pretty sure I've seen all the Criminal Minds and NCIS episodes available. So now what? The first one of you who tells me to try getting a life? Well just know that I know I need a life, if I didn't need a life would I be writing this drivel? Well probably, but that's not the point. I don't know what the point is either...so there. wow such anger.
Happy wedding to Erin. I wish I was in Hawaii watching you stroll down the aisle. Or even just being in Hawaii right now would be nice, Mai Tai's and sunshine. Yep.
Before I close, I have had 505 hits on the readership clicker thingy, thanks for that. Also, after much badgering, two of ya'll posted comments. Thanks for that too. I know you won't be able to rest till I confirm the ATT appointment goes as I anticipate, but I will have to let you know later about that. Take Tums and a nice Xanax. It will help.
Cheers,
Squidgy
ps. the photo is from New Years Eve. I don't know what happened to Josh's eyes. They refused Red Eye Removal. Look how forced everyone looks trying to pretend they don't mind having the old people crash an otherwise fun evening...
Friday, January 7, 2011
Happy New Year...What?
The spouse and I managed, somehow, to be awake on the stroke of midnight and thusly can state we celebrated with the best of them. Amazing. I forced the children and their collective spouses to let Steve and I barge in on dinner with them at the Buckhorn in Winters where we feasted on Vodka and red meat. You may recall that red meat and alcohol are part of my happiness regime. But never mind. So yeah, we crashed the party and left early. The children went back to Woodland and had a proper see in of the new year en masse with clinking of glasses and what not. I was curled up with my new Kindle and the spouse too was engrossed in suspicious You Tube Videos and we listened to NPR babble on about something or other. At 12 we muttered Happy New Year Dear/Baby, depending on who you were listening to, turned out the lights and that was it. Really.
Have a resolution? Not I said the goose. I quit doing that many years ago. I think in my heart of hearts I do make resolutions. But if you don't say them out loud it doesn't matter if you break them. I think it's a little like if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a noise? Try real hard to make that connection. So any way I'll try not to bounce checks, try to keep my job, or find a better one, and try not to piss anyone off. But I am not fully resolved. So there.
I don't know what this year has in store for me. I don't foresee any fabulous vacations or the purchase of an idyllic farm somewhere adorable on the horizon. But it's really nice to be surprised, so I remain ever hopeful. Perhaps new grandchildren will appear though. That would be nice. As luck will have it, they will probably be born about the same time 1385.77 miles apart. Now what would you do? How do you pick which offspring you honor with a visit? Goody, something to stress about.
I have googled folks I knew from ages ago and friend requested them. Sometimes that works out really well. Others. Not so Much. Entertaining though. How about this? My brother and I do not see eye to eye and have not spoken in probably five years or more. Now considering the history I don't really get too fussed about it. Well anyway, my cousin invited Steve and I to his house for dinner just before Christmas, fine I thought, they are probably going away to some place fabulous and won't be here for the big day, so they're doing a little something early. Yup, you guessed it, the brother was there. Talk about your elephant in the room. To say it was awkward would be an understatement. To say that he got up, went outside and smoked furiously, that's what you do when you smoke, btw, and never came back in was the honest truth. Soooo more stilted, uncomfortable chit chat ensued with the cousins, aunt and so forth, then the spouse and I made our excuses and hit the road. I am not going to enthrall you with the history of the sibling and I, though I could be persuaded given enough begging and tithes, but suffice it to say I can be taken advantage of and probably deserved what I got, but I super resent being slapped in the face with it. If you are reading this, family, that's where that stands. Well, that was a happy little aside now wasn't it?
On the other hand some of my friends have very exciting hopeful plans this year and next year as well. When you are young you can plan a couple years in advance. My peers know what I'm talking about, the youngsters in the group figure that that is just some weird psycho babble old people wallow in. You see this year is the Pan American Games. The equestrian events will be held at the Guadalajara Country Club. Just a little FYI in case you were wondering. And 2012 will be an Olympic year as the Summer Olympic Games will be held in Merry Olde England. What this means, in a nut shell, is that everyone who is a hot shot will be angling for team positions, new and improved horses, and working themselves in to a proper lather. They will be stressing about fitness, money, competitions, money, conditioning, money, soundness, money, travel, money, having a couple in the International string of horses, money. You see the pattern? Time to listen to more Pink Floyd if you get my drift.
In light of the performance of the Americans in the Show Jumping and Eventing this past year at the World Equestrian Games, there is a lot to stress about. In my not so humble opinion, the WEG results were just another day at the office. Some days you got it, some days you don't. I felt really badly for the rider who had a brilliant round on the cross country all the way around...till the last fence. As I have told you before, you fall off, no matter how gracefully or not, you are eliminated from the rest of the competition. So yeah, she had a silly mishap, but that was it. Our teams finished, just not in first, second or third, but they did in fact finish. And there were more behind them than in front. We got beat. Full stop. Get over it. You have this year and the next to do it again...maybe. This is very easy to say from the comfort of the BarcaLounger, but I don't believe you can argue the rationale.
On that happy note, I'll sign off and wait breathlessly for your comments, which never come. But here's to a productive, fruitful New Year to all ya'll...
Cheers,
Squidgy
Have a resolution? Not I said the goose. I quit doing that many years ago. I think in my heart of hearts I do make resolutions. But if you don't say them out loud it doesn't matter if you break them. I think it's a little like if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there, does it make a noise? Try real hard to make that connection. So any way I'll try not to bounce checks, try to keep my job, or find a better one, and try not to piss anyone off. But I am not fully resolved. So there.
I don't know what this year has in store for me. I don't foresee any fabulous vacations or the purchase of an idyllic farm somewhere adorable on the horizon. But it's really nice to be surprised, so I remain ever hopeful. Perhaps new grandchildren will appear though. That would be nice. As luck will have it, they will probably be born about the same time 1385.77 miles apart. Now what would you do? How do you pick which offspring you honor with a visit? Goody, something to stress about.
I have googled folks I knew from ages ago and friend requested them. Sometimes that works out really well. Others. Not so Much. Entertaining though. How about this? My brother and I do not see eye to eye and have not spoken in probably five years or more. Now considering the history I don't really get too fussed about it. Well anyway, my cousin invited Steve and I to his house for dinner just before Christmas, fine I thought, they are probably going away to some place fabulous and won't be here for the big day, so they're doing a little something early. Yup, you guessed it, the brother was there. Talk about your elephant in the room. To say it was awkward would be an understatement. To say that he got up, went outside and smoked furiously, that's what you do when you smoke, btw, and never came back in was the honest truth. Soooo more stilted, uncomfortable chit chat ensued with the cousins, aunt and so forth, then the spouse and I made our excuses and hit the road. I am not going to enthrall you with the history of the sibling and I, though I could be persuaded given enough begging and tithes, but suffice it to say I can be taken advantage of and probably deserved what I got, but I super resent being slapped in the face with it. If you are reading this, family, that's where that stands. Well, that was a happy little aside now wasn't it?
On the other hand some of my friends have very exciting hopeful plans this year and next year as well. When you are young you can plan a couple years in advance. My peers know what I'm talking about, the youngsters in the group figure that that is just some weird psycho babble old people wallow in. You see this year is the Pan American Games. The equestrian events will be held at the Guadalajara Country Club. Just a little FYI in case you were wondering. And 2012 will be an Olympic year as the Summer Olympic Games will be held in Merry Olde England. What this means, in a nut shell, is that everyone who is a hot shot will be angling for team positions, new and improved horses, and working themselves in to a proper lather. They will be stressing about fitness, money, competitions, money, conditioning, money, soundness, money, travel, money, having a couple in the International string of horses, money. You see the pattern? Time to listen to more Pink Floyd if you get my drift.
In light of the performance of the Americans in the Show Jumping and Eventing this past year at the World Equestrian Games, there is a lot to stress about. In my not so humble opinion, the WEG results were just another day at the office. Some days you got it, some days you don't. I felt really badly for the rider who had a brilliant round on the cross country all the way around...till the last fence. As I have told you before, you fall off, no matter how gracefully or not, you are eliminated from the rest of the competition. So yeah, she had a silly mishap, but that was it. Our teams finished, just not in first, second or third, but they did in fact finish. And there were more behind them than in front. We got beat. Full stop. Get over it. You have this year and the next to do it again...maybe. This is very easy to say from the comfort of the BarcaLounger, but I don't believe you can argue the rationale.
On that happy note, I'll sign off and wait breathlessly for your comments, which never come. But here's to a productive, fruitful New Year to all ya'll...
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Let the Holidays Begin...I'm ready...not
So about two weeks ago whilst I was listening to the I-Tunes DJ serenade me on my computer, I began the holiday shopping for the grand children. Yes I know...I'm far too young to have g.children but they're here anyway and are of an age to demand tithing at Christmas. To prepare the mood I listened to the favorite old tis the season standards. I began with "Money", Pink Floyd, "Whoop De Do", Mark Knopfler, "The Chanukah Song", Adam Sandler, "Angels from the Realms of Glory", The Choir of Tewkesbury, and of course, "I'm Gettin Nuttin For Christmas", Stan Freberg. Once the songs were indelibly burned in my brain, I was sufficiently motivated to get to the nuts and bolts of gift giving.
I have five adorable (what else?) grandchildren. Four are boys and one is a girl. Ladies first.
It seems Little Mila Bird wants, and will get, the Breyer Classic 3 Horse Stable in pink. It comes with a jump too. (two panel vertical if you must know) And because you can't and shouldn't have an empty stable it will house the (sold separately) classic sized TB Mare and Foal. I was briefly entertained by the classic sized Pink Ribbon Horse, but on further examination, it looked like it had had it's epidermis (skin) shaved off and was left with the all the capillaries and veins etc. showing. Not what you would have wanted. I know, I KNOW it is a breast cancer awareness model horse, BUT why is it so obviously a stallion then? I may be missing something, but there you go. Mila's gift...check.
The children's mother assures me that Jack wants the Kid Kraft Huggable Hank. She has even gone as far as to rehearse Jack to recite..."YaYa, I want the Hank Horse." Two things here, YaYa is an adorable grandmother name and Jack can have anything he wants. Full stop. So back to Huggable Hank. This is a large plush horse which comes with a saddle and bridle. He sports either two white front legs, or two front legs with white polo wraps, hard to tell, but I guess your imagination must come in to play here. Oh, just FYI, he has hind legs too. Hank is lying down so you can lie on him. I never did figure out lay, lie etc. Prone is a better word, so use that instead. Jack's gift...check
Little Silas was going to be thrilled with the organically wrapped, recycled cardboard box filled with old paper that came from sustainably grown trees. Little Silas is one year and three months old. He would have loved it. You know eating books and all that. But it seems one year olds have more material needs than I gave them credit for. So instead, he will receive the earth friendly, organic and ecologically sustained wooden blocks with which he will pelt his siblings. What happens to the gifts after they are given is not my responsibility. Silas's gift...check.
I have two grandsons aged 12 and 14. Now what? Can you say gift cards? Actually I have been informed that gift cards are bad to give cause they get lost, or all the dinero on them doesn't get used, and then the greedy corporate wolves benefit from the leftover cash because nothing ever comes out even. You didn't really think they offered gift cards for convenience did you? Ho Ho Ho.
I actually know what teen aged boys want. It isn't what I wanted...a horse, a saddle and a bridle, if you've been a faithful reader you know that. But the boys want guns and girlfriends, I'm morally opposed to those things, thanks to a sheltered upbringing. (God I'm funny) So to alleve the angst associated with a tremendously hideous choice of gift, I have decided to give them the gift of music. They get to pick out the perfect sounds and I avoid all the moral opposition to inappropriate content and what not. Drew and Garrett's gifts...check.
I have a step daughter. Happily her gift is in the purview of the paternal parent, so I am off the hook, in more ways than one, but I'm sure she will enjoy her 800th Amazon Gift Card. Gray's gift...check.
My own children, the lovely and gracious Alison, Lindsey and Megan are next. Remember when I said I would love to go en famille to the "paint your own pottery" place, and spend the afternoon in creative bliss with the darlings? If you're not a faithful Squidgy reader...too bad, it was in another post. Any way once again I am disappointed because THAT ain't happening. Naturally I am not bitter nor am I holding a grudge, but rest assured I am keeping score...So what to give them? I usually manage to eke out something suitable, but they have been known to read this when forced, so I really shouldn't spoil the surprise. Ho Ho Ho. Somebody(s) had best remember to return calls emails and texts. Currently only one of three is off the hook, and will be receiving something fabulous. The other two? Well let me just say, exactly how long HAVE you known your mother. And have you forgotten what I'm capable of? That's what I thought. My inbox and message centers will be full in just moments. And I am content. Alison, Megan and Lindsey's gifts...check.
On to the spouse. So many options here, but again, he can read and has been known to peruse Squidgy if only to pepper me with suggestions to correct tense, spelling and to point out typos. So perhaps a nice book of grammar, and a volume of Emily Post for him? And a 5# box of assorted chocolates (no nuts thank you) for me, he's diabetic and I'm evil. Oh alright, tis the season for giving and to forgive (man that's a painful concept) so I will find you something, spouse, that hopefully lets you know how much I love you, even if I have to make it. Steve's gifts...check.
I also have three son-in-laws. Numbers 1,2 and 3 curently in no particular order because lately they've been much nicer than usual to me and I'm feeling happy and magnanimous. And charitable. These guys are really hard to shop for. So let's review fantasy lists for them shall we?
Tim H., something loud and expensive that fits on a car or boat. Perfect growing weather and good crop prices. That ought to do it. Tim H.'s gifts...check.
Tim B., custom saddle, 5000 acres and a fine pad, LQ horse trailer. Tim B's gifts...check.
Josh K., whom you met in episode 1 - who would read this?, I Pad, World Peace and College tuition paid for three children. Josh's gifts...check.
Somewhere down the line I will find the proper gifts for giving to the guys. Happily we won't do Christmas until the next paycheck, so I have time to ponder and purchase at my leisure.
I hope you are deserving for all you get. May your new year be prosperous and happy.
Cheers,
Squidgy
I have five adorable (what else?) grandchildren. Four are boys and one is a girl. Ladies first.
It seems Little Mila Bird wants, and will get, the Breyer Classic 3 Horse Stable in pink. It comes with a jump too. (two panel vertical if you must know) And because you can't and shouldn't have an empty stable it will house the (sold separately) classic sized TB Mare and Foal. I was briefly entertained by the classic sized Pink Ribbon Horse, but on further examination, it looked like it had had it's epidermis (skin) shaved off and was left with the all the capillaries and veins etc. showing. Not what you would have wanted. I know, I KNOW it is a breast cancer awareness model horse, BUT why is it so obviously a stallion then? I may be missing something, but there you go. Mila's gift...check.
The children's mother assures me that Jack wants the Kid Kraft Huggable Hank. She has even gone as far as to rehearse Jack to recite..."YaYa, I want the Hank Horse." Two things here, YaYa is an adorable grandmother name and Jack can have anything he wants. Full stop. So back to Huggable Hank. This is a large plush horse which comes with a saddle and bridle. He sports either two white front legs, or two front legs with white polo wraps, hard to tell, but I guess your imagination must come in to play here. Oh, just FYI, he has hind legs too. Hank is lying down so you can lie on him. I never did figure out lay, lie etc. Prone is a better word, so use that instead. Jack's gift...check
Little Silas was going to be thrilled with the organically wrapped, recycled cardboard box filled with old paper that came from sustainably grown trees. Little Silas is one year and three months old. He would have loved it. You know eating books and all that. But it seems one year olds have more material needs than I gave them credit for. So instead, he will receive the earth friendly, organic and ecologically sustained wooden blocks with which he will pelt his siblings. What happens to the gifts after they are given is not my responsibility. Silas's gift...check.
I have two grandsons aged 12 and 14. Now what? Can you say gift cards? Actually I have been informed that gift cards are bad to give cause they get lost, or all the dinero on them doesn't get used, and then the greedy corporate wolves benefit from the leftover cash because nothing ever comes out even. You didn't really think they offered gift cards for convenience did you? Ho Ho Ho.
I actually know what teen aged boys want. It isn't what I wanted...a horse, a saddle and a bridle, if you've been a faithful reader you know that. But the boys want guns and girlfriends, I'm morally opposed to those things, thanks to a sheltered upbringing. (God I'm funny) So to alleve the angst associated with a tremendously hideous choice of gift, I have decided to give them the gift of music. They get to pick out the perfect sounds and I avoid all the moral opposition to inappropriate content and what not. Drew and Garrett's gifts...check.
I have a step daughter. Happily her gift is in the purview of the paternal parent, so I am off the hook, in more ways than one, but I'm sure she will enjoy her 800th Amazon Gift Card. Gray's gift...check.
My own children, the lovely and gracious Alison, Lindsey and Megan are next. Remember when I said I would love to go en famille to the "paint your own pottery" place, and spend the afternoon in creative bliss with the darlings? If you're not a faithful Squidgy reader...too bad, it was in another post. Any way once again I am disappointed because THAT ain't happening. Naturally I am not bitter nor am I holding a grudge, but rest assured I am keeping score...So what to give them? I usually manage to eke out something suitable, but they have been known to read this when forced, so I really shouldn't spoil the surprise. Ho Ho Ho. Somebody(s) had best remember to return calls emails and texts. Currently only one of three is off the hook, and will be receiving something fabulous. The other two? Well let me just say, exactly how long HAVE you known your mother. And have you forgotten what I'm capable of? That's what I thought. My inbox and message centers will be full in just moments. And I am content. Alison, Megan and Lindsey's gifts...check.
On to the spouse. So many options here, but again, he can read and has been known to peruse Squidgy if only to pepper me with suggestions to correct tense, spelling and to point out typos. So perhaps a nice book of grammar, and a volume of Emily Post for him? And a 5# box of assorted chocolates (no nuts thank you) for me, he's diabetic and I'm evil. Oh alright, tis the season for giving and to forgive (man that's a painful concept) so I will find you something, spouse, that hopefully lets you know how much I love you, even if I have to make it. Steve's gifts...check.
I also have three son-in-laws. Numbers 1,2 and 3 curently in no particular order because lately they've been much nicer than usual to me and I'm feeling happy and magnanimous. And charitable. These guys are really hard to shop for. So let's review fantasy lists for them shall we?
Tim H., something loud and expensive that fits on a car or boat. Perfect growing weather and good crop prices. That ought to do it. Tim H.'s gifts...check.
Tim B., custom saddle, 5000 acres and a fine pad, LQ horse trailer. Tim B's gifts...check.
Josh K., whom you met in episode 1 - who would read this?, I Pad, World Peace and College tuition paid for three children. Josh's gifts...check.
Somewhere down the line I will find the proper gifts for giving to the guys. Happily we won't do Christmas until the next paycheck, so I have time to ponder and purchase at my leisure.
I hope you are deserving for all you get. May your new year be prosperous and happy.
Cheers,
Squidgy
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