A Plethora of Tumbleweed.
Never did I think I’d see,
Such a plethora of tumbleweed.
By north or south or west or east,
Far and wide lies the hearty beast.
Tumbleweeds cover the desert land,
So many so, they’re out of hand.
For hundreds of miles and days without end,
The tumbleweed seemed my only friend.
Laying low along the sandy flats,
My abundant friend holds mighty fast.
By blasting winds and extreme high heat, But, wait! There’s more…
“Mollie’s Nipple” in Hurricane, UT. I have no idea where the other one is. I hope Mollie still has it.
It’s a butte named “Mollie’s Nipple”. Makes you wonder if Mollie was a popular saloon gal back in the day. Or if she lost one in a bar fight.
Have you ever see a 100 year-old fruitcake? No, no, I’m not talking about an old gay guy. Geez, people. I mean an actual fruitcake. Found via RoadsideAmerica.com at the Hurricane Valley Heritage Museum, it was originally a four-layer wedding cake. Not sure when they ate the two missing layers, but unless they ate them with a hammer and chisel, it wasn’t anytime in the recent past. But, wait! There’s more…
Blond hair - no "e".
The “Blond” vs. “Blonde” debate.
Or perhaps I should say debacle. Yeah, it’s more like a debacle.
*sigh*
When I started this blog, I did reference the fact I tend to make a lot of typos. Just remember you were warned.
At that time I had no idea I’d misspelled the word “blonde” in my blog’s title. I was not trying to be cute or funny, I really had No. Idea. I thought blond with an “E” was the British spelling. You know, like color and colour.
Even now, the auto spellcheck feature in this text is highlighting blonde as being spelled incorrectly, and showing blond as being spelled correctly.
My defense? I was mislead by auto spellcheck.
Apparently blond without an “E” is the masculine version of the word. ??? I swear, I’m not a guy pretending to be a woman like some FBI porn sting operator.
And very shortly after I realized it was far too late to correct THAT major typo, I get these two emails from my mom (note the text in bold)…
—————————- But, wait! There’s more…
Smart women prefer cats. This is from the Pickles cartoon strip by Brian Crane. He's probably very smart. His work is at http://comics.com/pickles/
Well, it’s been an interesting (read: weird and dull) couple of weeks with my latest Match.com escapades. (This is post number gazillion in my Match.com misadventures.) I’ve noticed a similarity between almost all of the interested men on Match.com: They will make an attempt to schedule a date, including one specific date and time with their request. In the event that ONE date and time don’t work with my schedule I return an alternate date or set of dates.
Then *crickets*
They fall off the face of the Earth and I don’t hear from them again.
???
Here’s the latest update on my Match.com Misadventures…
Blond = Me, Kernut the Blond
Lemming = A small, hamster-like rodent with suicidal tendencies, known for throwing themselves off cliffs for no apparent reason. I have lemmicidal tendencies.
Homicidal = Self explanatory. Does anyone know the statue of limitations for homicide? Why? No reason.
A lemming, probably preparing to throw itself off the cliff.
First, I apologize to you all for being MIA lately. I promise to finish replying to your comments and comment on your blogs as soon as I dig myself out from under my habitrail.
I’ve been in a serious funk for about a week. Just want to sleep all day. No energy, no motivation, and vacillating between feeling a tad homicidal or very depressed with lemmicidal tendencies. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me.
I’ve been eating super health, taking all my vitamins, and working towards Tim Ferriss’ The 4-hour Body’ diet. In a nutshell, it’s no sugar, dairy, carbs, fruit, etc. Pretty much no eating of anything that’s not meat or vegetable. Beans are ok.
It started with giving up sugar for Lent. I went three days without sugar before I wanted to punch some random bitch in a parking lot. Classy, I know. I’d given her a nice courtesy beep when she kept sitting at the green light. She had the nerve to bird-dog (see reference #4) me. Unlucky for her, we were going the same place. I said some things from my car, which she may or may not have heard, but she got my meaning. Probably from the “I’m gonna F you up” look on my face. Just a guess. But, wait! There’s more…
(This post was inspired by Oh Noa’s on lying to her future children. It reminded me of the many lies my parents told us.)
I don’t know about you, but I need some humor while I sort through the Match.com adventures. So today I bring you Lies My Parents Told Me.
1. If you don’t behave I’m going to trade you in for new kids. My Dad said there was a catalog of kids he could trade us for. A catalog of good kids. Chickenbone and I believed this. We were cuter than we were smart. After my father threatened to do this one too many times, we got really worried. We told Mom that Dad planned to get rid of us by trading us in for good kids. After she stopped laughing, Mom told us that he couldn’t do that. Then she laughed some more. When we told Dad that Mom told us the truth, he laughed, too. That is, until he realized the threat was no longer valid.
2. This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you. Yeah, I’m an adult now and I still don’t buy that crap.
3. We’re divorced. They weren’t. Then they got back together. Then, years later, they got divorced. For real. This time they waited until the minute my father was leaving with suitcases in hand to tell us. Not much time for us to get used to the idea. No time to learn that divorce meant Dad wasn’t going to live with us anymore. A heart-breaking moment for sure. I’m still scarred. And you wondered why I blog. It’s all starting to become clear now, isn’t it?
4. If you don’t eat your vegetables, kids in Africa will starve. Since we really didn’t want the vegetables and the kids in Africa needed them, we asked if we could send them our vegetables in the mail. Mom said no. So we said she shouldn’t buy so many. But, wait! There’s more…
Yes, I did. I joined Match.com. Again.
I’m not well. I blame the cold medicine that got me to join the Booty Camp to which I’m now addicted. Those two things are related. No, I don’t know how.
It’s been about seven years and I’d forgotten about this part: I’ve got more Match.com emails and winks than I can respond to. There are many sweet guys on there who’ve written me. It’s really nice. And about time I got some interested attention from an emotionally available man. At least I think they’re emotionally available.
I know it’s only because I’m the “fresh meat” on the market that I’m getting all this attention and it will level out soon, but Holy Horny Ones Batman! I feel such pressure to respond.
Thank you to those of you who suggested I email that guy who caught my eye. He’s already responded FOUR times to my one. I think he likes me. Or he’s desperate. Huh.
Some of you, ok ONE of you, expressed an interest in the details of my profile. (The rest of you are under no obligation to keep reading.) Here’s a snippet…
I’m on cold medicine in this picture.
(I couldn’t decide on an opening line, so I chose both. I’m like that with restaurant menus, too.) But, wait! There’s more…
Remember my cat with stage three kidney disease? There’s no cure, but there are things I can do to slow the progression. Among the lovely solutions: giving her 1/4 of a ten milligram tablet of famotidine (Pepcid) daily, and a subcutaneous injection of Lactated Ringer’s Solution twice a week.
I recently gave her the first injection – my first “successful” attempt at injecting a living being.
It was quite an adventure.
As you might have guessed, medicating a cat is a lesson in perseverance and pain tolerance. To save any fellow cat owners the unnecessary and exhausting steps of trial and error, I thought I’d share with you all my errors so you don’t need to try them.
Either of these procedures will also count as your exercise for the day. The gym can not compare to medicating a cat.
Before you leave the vet’s office, make sure they show you how to put the IV kit together. Let’s just say this step is very important and I wish I had known it.
Let’s start with How To Pill Your Cat:
You’ll need:
A pigeon named Spot.
And I named him Spot.
When I first met Spot he was walking across a six-lane street during rush hour, headed towards the median. Cars were whizzing by him, but he seemed not to notice the imminent danger.
Or maybe he just didn’t care. (This will make sense later, just consider it Clue #1.)
Most people slowed down to let him pass, but no one stopped. Something was obviously wrong – he wasn’t even trying to fly as he ambled in front of the moving cars. I couldn’t believe no one was stopping to help him.
Well, I’m a sucker for a wounded animal, or a man with issues. It must be the caretaker in me.
I pulled over, and captured the pigeon in a towel. (A pity it isn’t so easy to capture a man.) I put him inside a box I had in my car. The pigeon, not a man. Unfortunately. But, wait! There’s more…
Honestly, folks. It’s moments like this that make made coming to work kinda fun.
(I wrote that yesterday. Today I was let go! OMG. It’s kind of a shock since in my review two weeks ago my boss said he ‘loved what I was doing, was really impressed with my level of knowledge’, etc., etc. Huh. But the man was never really happy with anything or anyone. Today he said the marketing wasn’t working. Really? Which part – the increased numbers or hordes of new clients? So many in fact, they couldn’t handle them all. Probably not much I could have done to please him. I’m happy to be among the newly FUNemployed.)
Not too far from where I are (it rhymes, just go with it), there’s a street named Avenida de las Pulgas.
For those of you who don’t speak Spanish, it means Avenue of the FLEAS.
Yes, fleas. Like what’s on the dog or the cat.
Freakstreets had many more. Streets, not fleas. Well, actually I don’t know about the fleas. They may have some.
For Ten Things Tuesday, I’ve picked out 10 of the best:
1. Ragged Ass Road, Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada
2. Tapeworm Road, Bloomfield, Pennsylvania, US
3. Kitchen Dick Road, Sequim, Washington, US
4. Tater Peeler Road, Lebanon, Tennessee, US
5. Succabone Road, Mount Kisco, New York, US But, wait! There’s more…