A Letter To My Local Grocery Store

My patience is slowing eroding, and has been for the better part of two years.

When I see the carnage in the produce section, I wonder if I just missed a flash mob.

I go in search of some basics: bacon, bread, kitty litter or dog biscuits, only to find empty shelves and tumbleweeds.

Last week I had to fight a 500 lb woman for the last jar of garlic.

I get it... in this economy, budgets are tighter and restocking isn't happening as often as it used to. But why is it like this every time I visit?

In recent years, we've had a problem with the growing season, so produce kinda sucked for a while. Other stores seem to have recovered since then. So why are your tomatoes still fuzzy?

One of the reasons I shop at your store is the meat section. No one can compare. However lately, every time I purchase what appears to be a perfectly lovely bit of beef, it's actually a thin layer of meat residing atop a chunk of fat and gristle. Normally I'd chalk it up to someone in the butchery department having a bad day, but it's happened too many times now. I'm starting to think you just don't love us anymore.

*Sniff*

This week was the last straw. It was the second time I accidentally purchased pre-marinated, shrink wrapped chicken THIGHS because they were mixed in with the chicken BREASTS. The packages are nearly identical, and yes, it does say thighs/breasts on the package, however this is almost impossible to see if you have 40+ year old eyeballs.

I wouldn't care, but your thighs are nothing but a lump of snoodles: tendons, veins and fat held together with a gumwad-sized ball of actual meat.

Want to know the best part? I wasn't planning to get the pre-marinated chicken. I only bought them because there were no packages of normal, plain chicken. Nothing. NADA.

The whole reason I drive an extra 20 minutes to go to your store is because I want quality items, and you really do have the best prices. You used to have the best customer service too.

But I haven't seen much of that lately.

Why do the stock boys ram their hand carts into my back crack? Or how about the passive-aggressive check out clerk who puts the squishy items on the bottom?

Some would say I just need to lower my standards a bit.

Seriously though. If we all just keep lowering our standards, stop demanding excellence and hard work, what state would our country be in?

Oh, wait.

Hole

So remember the other day when I said I should clear out the weeds, in what used to be my vegetable garden?

Sigh.

I was standing by the kitchen window and noticed the tallish weeds waving back and forth in a non-windy way, as if something was having a stroll through them. I couldn't see what it was, so ran down to the basement where there's a dirt level window.

It was a small groundhog.

Well, that decided it. I was definitely going to make time to get rid of the weeds, because the last thing we needed was a gopher hole in the foundation.

Too late.

I yanked all that crap out and found this:

Here, I'll blow that up for you: 

Little fucker's been doing some excavating.

Anyway, I think it abandoned the hole after it realized there was no more ground cover. I'm going to fill the hole in later today (if it ever stops raining), and see if anything digs back out.

I was pretty surprised that it only took two hours to clear the garden, especially since I pulled the weeds by hand. You more satisfaction using brute force. However, the level of buggage in that mess was unbelievable.  Allow me to share:

Assassin bugs eat spiders.... I like assassin bugs.

A young katydid, I think.

I have no idea what this thing is.

Woolly Bear

Just.....ew.

There were actually dozens of caterpillars and more of those nasty wolf spiders than I ever want to see. The one above is just a regular dirt spider. Wolf spiders are much more special. They're about 4 inches across, meaty, and run fast. I tried getting a picture of one - I swear I looked away for one second to focus the camera and it disappeared. That's how fast they are. Poof! Into another dimension. Or possibly my pants.

Also, what are these? Satan's fungus?

Puddles And Butt Cutt

The cat woke me up the other morning, yowling. He hasn't done that in ages, and it usually means he peed somewhere. He likes to let us know when he's guilty of something.

I imagine a little Richard Lewis cat doing his neurotic stand up routine:

"Should I tell them I peed?...No, I should go hide. No. Wait, I'll tell them, THEN go hide. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DOOOOOO!"

But yeah, a big puddle of pee. A human would be hard pressed to produce that quantity of urine.

The next morning, same thing, different spot. At four in the morning. Before coffee.

Every night since, I lay in bed wondering where I'll find it tomorrow:

Will it be on the floor,

Or behind the door?

Up on the table,

Or on the TV cable.

Maybe the DVD player,

Or just the radiator?

I took the cat to the vet, in case it was a urinary tract infection. They like to have a urine sample, and even offered to give me a syringe to suck the cat juice out of the carpet. Thanks, but no.

Doc says he's probably stressed about something. Or neurotic. Like I didn't already know that. So they're giving him UTI meds just in case, and after that, if he continues to pee around the house, they suggest Kitty Prozac. 

For serious.

So now I'm powdering the cat's medicine and mixing it into his softie food. Because you know how hard it is to give a cat a pill? Are you overly attached to your body parts? So while the cat's getting all the attention, the dog decided to up the ante.

Now that he's a (mostly) a grown-up doggy, he signals to go outside and do his business. Still, there are times when he does nothing but make a sniff tour of all his previous poos. He's also easily distracted by birds, squirrels, chipmunks, moths, leaves and wind. So a half hour later, dog has done nothing, so back in the house he goes.

I left the room for no more than five minutes.

I smelled it before I saw it...sorry to share, but this is the kind of smell that invades the nostrils, conquers the sinus cavities, rapes them senseless, then settles in for a nice extended vacation.

You're welcome.

Aaaand.....did I mention it was soft? Do you know what that does to a long haired dog? I didn't have time to give him a bath, and he was overdue for a trim anyway. So after mopping him off with baby wipes, he got a real nice butt cutt, Corgi-style.

Then I boiled my hands.

Brave Girl

My daughter and I went to see the movie Brave back in June. We both loved it.

A lot of critics didn't like it because they expected the usual evil monster/princess plot. I also read several articles where feminists railed against the whole Disney princess stuff holding back our girls. Nonsense. My girl was into princesses when she was small, still took up Tae Kwon Do, isn't afraid to stand up for herself and others, loves school, the violin, and most of all, her family. And that's what it's really about.

So even though Brave did have a monster, it wasn't the one critics expected. It's a movie about the special relationship between mothers and their teenage daughters. 

This is for MY brave girl today, as she goes on a little adventure of her own.

In The Weeds

I thought I'd share a photo of my lovely vegetable garden:

You'll note the absence of any vegetable-y goodness. Because of school and our crap weather (second year of crap weather, WOO HOO!!!), I never had time to plant tomatoes. Obviously I never had time to pull out the weeds either.

I'm really impressed with how luscious they are. My only hope is that when they finally die, their decaying carcasses will bring nutrient rich soil for next year. Then again, it might just bring more weeds. Also, that the hell are these? Elephant ears?

This is pretty, but still a weed:

At least the caterpillars are enjoying it:

While taking those photos, there was something moving in there. So I should probably find the time to clear it out if critters are taking up residence.

Speaking of critters, we seem to have a skunk problem. These holes showed up about two weeks ago. Google says they're probably skunk holes. Which is a great name for a rock band.

Yeah, so skunks are digging up our yard looking for food. You'd think with the woods less than ten feet away, they'd have plenty to eat there, but apparently not. This was also the first year we didn't put down any chemicals on the lawn because of the dog. So we've been invaded by skunks, there's more chipmunks than I can count, there's spider trampolines ALL over the grass, and it's just basically a very buggy world here. We also didn't have a winter this year, so I'm sure that helped.

Due to all the wet weather, we do have a lot of moss. This stuff is so soft and fuzzy (and probably has spiders...).

  

Moss is cool though.

Photo credit: Channel 4

Ick....and also: OW.

So yesterday I was standing in the kitchen with my daughter. As we're talking, my brain noticed her ear looked funny. One. Two. Three....

Wait....what? THREE!?!

I counted again. Yup. Three ear holes.

A couple years ago, she asked for a second ear piercing. I gave in because I did the same when I was about her age. However, by the time I was 20, I quickly realized the second one was completely useless and hasn't been used since. I figured she'd come around to the same way of thinking too.

But no, a year later she wanted a third piercing. I wasn't really against it, I just thought it was unnecessary, but I said I'd think about it. After a few months she never brought it up again.

The power of parenting by procrastination. Yay me, right?

So, back to the third ear hole:

“Um, by the way. When did you get your third ear piercing?” I asked, fully expecting that it happened at the mall, and I never noticed.

I was gearing up my: “you should've asked me about it again if it was that important” speech, followed by the: “you're a minor and I want to know who's making holes in your head” speech.

Except it didn't go down that way.

“I did it about three months ago.” she said.

“But where?? ...the mall?” I asked.

“No.... I did it. In my room.”

“WHAT!?! How is that possible? What did you....” She knew exactly where I was going with this. Even before I did.

"I used the gold posts that the doctor used to pierce my ears. You know, that ones with the pointy back."

“But how?” My mind was reeling. My daughter is pretty tough overall, but not with needles. She gets nauseous with yearly booster shots.

“I just pushed it through.”

“Did you numb it?”

“No.”

“It's not infected. Your ear holes always get infected.”

“I sterilized the earrings and my ears. It didn't really hurt much. Just two pops - one going in, and one coming out.”

Oh, yuck.

My daughter was quite proud of herself. Partly because she succeeded in grossing me out with that last bit.

*sigh*

She plans to be a doctor someday, so I guess it's good that she doesn't have a fear of blood and stuff.

However, if she doesn't get into medical school, at least she's got a future in tattoos and piercings.

Spider Babies

Every year, we have a wolf spider that lives under a big flat rock in our backyard. Actually, I don't know if it's the same spider, it's just that there's always one under there. If it's not the same one, then apparently this rock is simply prime real estate.

Anyway, I'm not a big fan of the eight legged beasties, but this one never bothered me much. As long as it stayed under the rock.

More recently, it had been carrying a white ball of eggs around. It even made itself a little hole in the dirt so it could snuggle up with it.

So yesterday during a backyard barbecue, we checked to see if it was still there. It was, and it had company:

Click to enlarge, if you dare...

It's hard to see, but that lumpy stuff on the spider's back are babies. Lots and lots of spider hatchlings, which I hope will remain outdoor critters and not come anywhere near my house.

Last Dance

I don't go for the worship of celebrities. Although sometimes I do appreciate certain contributions they've made.

With Donna Summers' passing last week, it made me think of all those childhood summers when my Mom would drive us to the lake for a swim. It was the 1970's, so there were no CD players, you were lucky to have an 8 track or cassette player. We didn't, not until the late seventies, and it was an 8 track. So more often than not, it was the radio - and whatever was playing. No fast forward, no skipping to the next song. It exposed us to all types of music, good and bad.

And yes, disco was a big part of popular music then. Not all of it was actually bad, probably just repetitive and weird. Although most music these days is repetitive and weird. Rap and hip-hop anyone?

No, I'm speaking of songs like Donna Summers' On The Radio, Last Dance, MacArthur Park and Heaven Knows. The best part, really, was her voice. She was beautiful, and had this incredibly strong singing voice.

And you're probably thinking, “Geez, you never said anything when Whitney Houston died. What's up with that?”. Well, yeah she had amazing range and a lot of good songs, but I was already an adult when she became popular.

Along with other types of music, Donna Summer had a bigger impact because it was from my childhood, and that music seems to evoke strong memories. Maybe it's just me, but when I hear these songs, I can usually get a feel for where I was when I heard them. Like hanging out with friends, listening in my room, or riding in the car.

So anyway, when I heard she passed away last week (and 63 is way too young), I found myself revisiting, and enjoying, those songs. And feeling my age again, because it's a piece of my childhood, and a reminder that we're not here forever. The recordings might be, but we won't.

I found this clip of Last Dance on YouTube. It's not great quality, but it's supposedly live - and demonstrates her amazing voice.

  

Adventures in Mystery Texting

Every few weeks I get a text from some mystery person who fat-fingered their phone. Because I'm nice, I usually tell them they've got the wrong number.

Then they proceed to tell me I'm full of shit. In those exact words.

Every. Single. Time.

I mean, why is it so hard to believe you got the wrong number? People have been dialing wrong numbers since the phone was invented.

Are there that many people that think the person they're texting is screwing with them? I'd really like to know the psychology behind that kind of narcissism.

Although, it’s usually kids, which may explain it. It's pretty obvious by the manner of text:

“Yo Tyler. U R a dik. Dont call me. I h8 u.”

Anyway, after I make it known I'm not “Tyler”, they've got the wrong number, blah blah blah....the mystery moron will continue to text me about their after school activities, party tonight, or how so-n-so is a slut.

Mostly I ignore it and they give up. I guess I was bored today. I tried telling this chick she had the wrong number but she didn't believe me. As usual. So I figured I'd have some fun.

Seriously. The fact that I text in whole words (mostly) isn't a dead giveaway that I'm a grown-up?

I find it hilarious how the conversation dissolves into name calling by the person who texted me, even though I said nothing mean or derogatory. Actually, I think I was very upbeat and pleasant.

Too funny.

p.s. Since I couldn't very well take a picture of my text conversation (well, I probably could, but I don't want to download the app, and let's just not go there) The graphic above was created at this website:

http://ifaketext.com/

You just type in your conversation and it'll spit out an iphone simulation. Cool!

Baby Raccoons

I know...sorry. I promised this to my family the other day. Lots going on, work, school, sinus infections and internet difficulties. Life just keeps coming at ya.

So on Sunday we cut down the big dead oak tree in the yard. We had a feeling there might be something living in it, but when Hubby took the deadest section first and nothing stirred we figured all was good. Once the second, smaller section was down, this little guy plopped out, yelling like crazy for waking him up:

Click to enlarge

I called the local wildlife rehab center (we have them on speed dial around here because there's critters everywhere - last year it was baby bunnies) and they told us to put him in a box near where we found him and mom would probably come back for him. How cute is this? Just look at his widdle nosey....

Click to enlarge

We cleaned up the remainder of the yard and waited. Little guy (gal?) burbled and twittered on calling for mommy.  We hung out til a little after dark - you could see eyeballs in the woods, so I think mom was waiting for us hoomanz to go away. About an hour later, Hubby took the dog out for his nightly constitutional, and the box was toppled over and baby was gone. I feel pretty confident it was his mom that came back, or we would've heard him yelling. Kid's got a set of lungs, and I don't want to think about the alternatives.

I checked online at a few baby raccoon websites, and it looks like he's probably only about 2-3 weeks old because his mask isn't really defined, he's small and his eyes weren't quite open.

Times like these make me appreciate living in the country.