More Funny To Follow

For any new readers that stumble upon my blog, I just want to emphasize that I generally poke fun at myself and avoid seriousness as much as possible. I strive to bring funny, and let you point and laugh at me. EVERYBODY WINS! YAY!

You say: BRING THE FUNNY!

and then

I say: Okay, where, when? How much funny? Should the funny be gluten-free? Are there any people here with dog phobias? Because I can crate Schultz. Is there a risk at all of bringing too much funny? No, no I don't think I could do that anyway, either. So I bring funny soon then? *batting large, scared eyes*

I just felt the need to post that last one for some reason... guess I have a lot of my mind and was unloading. But don't write my blog off because of it!

More funny to follow, I swear!

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A Little Part Of Me Dies

DISCLAIMER - NOT FUNNY, BUZZKILL POST (BOOOO)

These are not in any kind of order, I just typed out the strongest things that popped into my mind.
I welcome readers to post at least one of their own in the comments. You can even do it anonymously.


A little part of me dies:

• When I think of the pain the Rwandans went through during their Genocide, or what the Nazis did.
• Every time I watch even a few minutes of the news
• When I read about the hurt that R has been through with the loss of her beautiful baby boy, Beckett
• When I realize all that I have lost due to illness over the years
• When I think about how much we have here and how children die from simple, treatable things like diarrhea in Kenya and Tanzania
• When the only feedback I get on my performance at work is post-it notes stuck to pages where there were errors
• When I see an animal suffering or dead alongside the road, and wonder what they were thinking and if they were terrified
• When I have a sick pet of my own and don't really know what is wrong or how to help them
• When I feel like a speck who can't impact anything in the world, or impart change beyond my front door
• When I see the full truck of pigs on the highway headed to the slaughter facility in my city
• When I feel like I have let down someone that I love
• When I walk into Wal-mart
• When I ask my family and BF to read my blog and they:
• don't care to at all / tell me they don't care at all / do read it out of obligation, but don't find it funny at all

THAT BEING SAID,

A little part of me feels overjoyed:

• When I get flowers for absolutely no reason at all
• When BF comes home from a trip and is happy to see me and hug me, even if he is exhausted
• When I get to dress up and get to dance with BF
• When I see a butterfly flying near me
• When I see a dog or cat lounging or walking on the street or in a pet store, no matter how shitty my day
• When I get a new blog follower or comment
• When I am invited to a wedding
• When my niece or nephew says they love me, before I say it to them
• When my pets are healthy
• Diamonds. Pretty pretty diamonds
• When someone says something I have done/said/worked on is 'perfect' (this is more rare than diamonds)
• When someone performs a random act of kindness... then I try to do the same
• Finding a great deal at Winners or on something (previously) super-expensive at the Bay
• Feeling the sun on my skin
• Remembering my dog, Scooby Doo, and how much I love her and always will
• Feeling connected to other people
• Seeing Schultz bring me a stuffed animal, wagging his tail, after a crappy day
• Singing at the top of my lungs in my car, on the highway, at night, so no one can see me rockin' out

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I Burn Shizz

I suck in the kitchen. No, not like that, you perverts. The original title to this post was "I Suck in the Kitchen", but as I wrote, I noticed a different trend.

I am hopeless in the kitchen. Really hopeless.

I remember being 12 and trying my hand at fudge. I knew the instructions said to be exact in timing, and to make sure nothing got burned, but I felt confident. I am quite certain that was the very first and last time I felt confidence in the kitchen.... and in the end both the fudge and my kitchen aspirations were burned into a pile of lumpy grossness.

Okay, in all seriousness, I just set my laptop down to go start my delicious home-made dinner of olive-oil coated baked okra (which actually isn't bad if the okra is fresh, and you don't eff up a simple recipe like the one here), and I placed my laptop down swiftly, directly and without thought, straight into my glass of expensive, organic, not-from-concentrate (hell no!), diluted-with-water, berry juice. It promptly splattered across the beige carpet below.

I cursed. BF helped me clean it up. Thanks BF. I hope we got it all. The lighting in this room is poopy after dark.

So now I should re-state that I suck in the kitchen and I am hopeless in general with food and drink.

Whenever BF suggests we have someone over for dinner I cringe internally because, for me, dinner = FAIL unless it involves dialing, ordering, driving, serving, and throwing out the containers afterward (have I mentioned that I DESPISE doing dishes, too?). When BF suggests this, I also cringe externally, and I think I disappoint him.

One of the most ironic parts of this is that I love to socialize with friends and family (you know, if they return my calls or emails and reply to invitations - SISTER I AM LOOKING AT YOU). But I get paralyzed at the thought of having to make food for other people, because I know the results will be somewhere on the scale from yucky to catastrophic.

When I do try to cook, I turn into an even bigger stressball, and that never starts off a dinner party evening very well, because we all know that BF takes the brunt of the bitchiness. I just know things won't turn out perfectly, and it annoys me and upsets me to no end.

In my youth, I destroyed a microwave trying to make MICROWAVE POPCORN. They mean that shit when they tell you not to leave things unattended. Microwaves especially. And hairdryers.

Much smoke and parental disappointment followed. Who fucks up popcorn that badly? Sure, we've all hoped for a few extra kernel pops, teetered dangerously on the line between a nice, hot, tasty fairly fully popped bag of corn, and the 'damn-i-pushed-it-15-seconds-too-far' result of an entire bag tasting slightly singed. But destroy a microwave? That takes a certain kind of special.

I'm pretty sure even he is disappointed in me.

My okra is as done as it is ever going to be, and as I sit and type, the smoke detector is buzzing its ass off. I've opened the windows, turned on ceiling and exhaust fans, and sit here listening to it chide me about my cooking. It's like the damn thing knows I am recollecting damaging memories involving cooking and smoke from my childhood and it just wants to laugh along.


Before this stupid diet I am on now (not my choice), I had attempted to make toast in the morning. BF was away, and I decided to save time and brush my teeth while it cooked. (No, I am NEVER late for work, why do you ask?).

You know what that resulted in right? An unattended toaster.

Not only did the smoke detector fail to go off, I had a flaming pile of wheat just billowing smoke in the kitchen and hallway. I feared for my dogs. [side note: Then I wondered why they didn't alert me to the impending fire in the kitchen (hey, Lassie would have, right?). Just kidding, Scooby was sleeping and had surely had enough of my shit after 12 years. lol]. I don't know what I did, but I managed to avert major disaster. But the house smelled like burnt toast the entire week that BF was gone.

Now... imagine more smoke. Much, much more smoke. Image copyright.

That cinched it for me. When the lives of my family members hang in the balance because of my ineptitude with microwave popcorn and toast, I think it is time to step away from any kind of heat source. Any heat source and food*.


This can only mean disaster for my future children. Poor, poor, BF.






*Not sure if microwave popcorn really qualifies as food, but still...


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