sharing the funny

So I got an award. I’m new to blogging but I’ve gathered that if someone likes your blog they give you an award. I got one. Yay for me! Thank you, jen.


I started thinking about it and I follow several really great blogs that deserve a little publicity. Most of them have more followers than me, but STILL. I love them and I’m going to give them an award. So there.

Most of the blogs I love are funny. I’m a big softy for some funny. You can chatter on about pretty much anything and if it’s funny, I’m gonna stick with you. Some of them have deep stuff, too, which is a bonus. And photos. You all know I love a photo or twelve.

I’m so astounded by how many witty, intelligent people blog about stuff I never knew I was interested in. I don’t have kids but I read a lot of blogs by parents because kids and parenting are apparently hilarious (especially when you’re reading about it at midnight with a poodle on your lap while eating cheesy poofs and not dead tired because you’ve been caring for said children all day). People blog about food, dieting, hamsters, weddings, birdhouses, clothes, animals…and the list goes on.

Strangely, I’m the only person I’ve found who blogs about spider crickets. Can’t figure it out. But I digress.

Anywhee…

I’ll tell you about some of my favorites, but I’m not going to put everyone on this post. I want everyone reading to have a chance to actually visit the blogs I mention so I’m going to keep the list short. I’ll be back with more soon. You know, spreading it out. Keepin’ it real. The kids still say “keepin’ it real” right?

The first has to be the lovely jen over at Denton Sanitorium. She’s uber funny sometimes and has some really profound things to say sometimes. She writes things that are real. She’s also a very nice person. I really look forward to her blogs everyday. If she decides to take a day off from blogging (because her daughter gets married and she’s very involved – no, I didn’t cry a little when she thought that it was more important to spend time with her oldest child than to document it to the internet world. *ahem*) it’s like the internet goes dry. Oh, and she has seven beautiful children and she’s my hero. Because she still manages to be cute and have a cute house, a cute blog and children who are fed.

Then there’s Jen at Hamster Central. She lives in Japan and has a cute blog with hamsters on it. Sold. The hamsters are stuffed. They weren’t real at one point and then stuffed like taxidermy, just plush like kids’ toys. She talks about tea and ice cream and the weather. And I like her.

I also love, love, love with all of my bloggy heart Jenners at Life with a Little One and More. She always delivers with the funny. Sometimes I laugh really hard at her blogs and the dog runs in fear. READ HER BLOG NOW. Was that pushy? So sorry. It’s late. I’m tired. It’s still good advice, though, even if I did scream it at you.

All of these people have the letters “j-e-n” (in that order) in their names. FREAKY. I didn’t plan that. I must really love bloggers called Jen.

So, that’s the blogtastic list for now. I read a lot of blogs so I’ll have to do this again. Don’t worry – I’ll get to you! I love all of you. You can tell by all of the comments I leave you. You know who you are.

Look at me, sharing my blog friends. My kindergarden teacher would be proud.

Do you have any funny and witty blogs to share? There’s always room for one more.

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odds and ends seven

It’s been an age and a day since I spewed some random nonsense on here so I’m going to bring it today.

I love that so many people who live in a country that they are not from have blogs. I love being able to chat with such nice and witty people who, like me, have moved far far away. It makes me not feel like such a freak. Okay, I still feel a little like a freak, but not because I’ve moved miles from my mommy. Thanks, fellow travelers. [cue the chorus of “aaawwww”]

My childhood was a strange and glorious experience. I was a tomboy. I climbed trees. I ate dirt so I could say something tastes like dirt on full authority. I also ate cat food. I was curious. Curiosity killed the cat. Or maybe it was the cat food because that stuff tastes like dirt.

I have a degree in theatre. Dude. I KNOW. It’s really helped me a lot in my career as a banker. Yeah, no it hasn’t. Actually it has. It has also helped my decisiveness. AND I have a black belt in karate. What? I’ve mentioned that? Well, it sounds cool to me. I used to be able to break someone’s kneecap, like, for real. OH OKAY. I’ll stop mentioning it. But that’s about the coolest thing about me. This is the point at which 50% of you will stop reading. It’s more like 75%, isn’t it? Well, there’s a surprise at the end. Back to 0% because now you want to know what the surprise is.

I didn’t have a piano lesson the week of Easter because my piano teacher couldn’t make it. Something about Easter being a holiday. He acts as though he has a life outside of my piano lessons. Why he keeps up this obvious charade is beyond me. When I found out I started thinking, “I’m going to have withdrawals. I’ll miss making a mess of my exam music and putting an extra sharp in a random scale. I’ll even miss the torture singing exercises. Well, okay I won’t miss that. I’ll have a sad little hole in my Wednesday that I’ll probably fill with candy. Mmmmm. Candy.” And that was that. Eating candy makes things better. Then last week I smashed my thumb in a door. In the hinge side, too, because it takes someone special like me to do a freaky thing like that. It created that kind of pain where you’re not 100% sure but you think you might throw up a little. Anyway, I was back at piano practice yesterday and all is right with the universe. In case you were wondering why the universe has felt odd lately and now it suddenly seems better again, that was it.

Does anyone remember learning about schwas? You know, that upside down e thing? I was talking with the Bear a few days ago and he thought I made it up. Then I asked a few other people and they had never heard of it, either. Then I started thinking I made it up. But I didn’t. It’s real. IT’S REAL.

Remember in this post where I was talking about how much I despise a litterbug? Remember how I said I would accost someone if I caught them? Well, I did. Two women were feeding the ducks at the local lake. This is good. They then proceeded to throw the empty bags on the ground. On purpose. This is bad of EPIC PROPORTIONS. I marched myself right over to them, picked up the bags and said as defiantly as I could, “I’ll just get this for you, shall I? STOP LITTERING.” Then I walked away because my blood was boiling and I didn’t want to say anything more, lest I land myself in jail. Harsh? Well, I believe that if you don’t do stupid things, people probably won’t yell at you in the park for littering. Seems like a fair trade.

I was wondering the other day how many Americans know the pledge of allegiance. I’ve known it since I was in the first grade, at least. Didn’t really know what I was saying or why, which also makes me wonder….why did they make us learn it? Do you know it? How old were you?

Surprise. You scrolled straight down here to see, didn’t you? Cheater. I love ya anyway. You rascal, you.

Update after the post: (In response to the first comment below) JEN. I'm HEAVING with laughter over your comment... Because....wait for it...I said that exact thing to the Bear word for word. VERBATIM. "Of course I didn't make [schwa s] up - how do your read pronunciations in the dictionary?" He said, "What pronunciations?" And HE WAS RIGHT. There are none. Either we have the only dictionaries in England made before 1876 or they don't have that part of the entry over here. Everything is spinning. I need to lie down. I'm going to copy this and post it as an afterthought in [this] blog post because I feel I need to.


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food!

Okay, so I've been loading the blog up with photos lately because, well, frankly...it's easier.  I've got a busy life going on over here.  Naps, walks in the woods, playing with the poodle.  You know....HARD STUFF. 

So, tomorrow I'm going to get all fancy and write some actual words about some things.  For now, though, you get to look at lots of photos of the food I've eaten today. 

I know.  YOU ARE SO GLAD YOU'VE VISITED.

Once you've gotten over the giddiness, feast your eyes on these photos.  (See what I did there?  Feast.  Food.  Get it??)

Anyway, I found that I wanted some pasta with a nice sauce for lunch.  We didn't have any nice sauce, though.  We had some stuff in a jar that's perfectly acceptable sometimes, but I wanted pasta shells and I hate it when they get all gunked up and filled with tomato-paste-y sauce.  (I know that 's the point of a pasta shell, but my world is a unique place.  Population: me.  And we do things differently around here.) 

So, being the mad devil in the kitchen that I am, I just made some sauce from stuff we had lying around.  Just like my mom does.  Hear that, mom?  Just like you.  RESULT.

I'd give you a recipe but you probably already do this at home and I never measure anything, ever.  It's a disease with no cure.  When I pour flour straight from the bag into a bowl the Bear usually says something like, "exact measurements again I see."  He's right.  Precision is the key.

A few tomatoes, an artichoke heart or two, some sunflower seeds, basil and a bit of olive oil later....I had this:

Empty shells.  Yay.   Wanna see an extreme close up?  Okay.  Anything for you.

Just look at that steam.  Nice and hot.  Yum.  Still, it needed something....  Hmmm...I know!

How about some fresh basil and those sunflower seeds I just toasted?  Yes.  That will do nicely. 

I slipped that last extreme close up in without your permission.  I know.  I'm feisty. 

There!  Did it again!  Just look at that sunflower seed in the front, hovering between the artichoke and the shell.  Daredevil.  Delicious, delicious daredevil.

After that I decided I wanted to try this recipe for monkey bread I found over at the PW website.  Except it calls for canned biscuits.  Over here in the good 'ol UK we don't have canned biscuits.  I KNOW.  I've petitioned the government, but I haven't heard back yet.  I also asked for Cool Whip because we don't have that EITHER.  You can send your condolences via comment or email.  Thank you.

So, I made the biscuits from scratch using my "exact measurements" recipe for perfect biscuits.  Oh, and I used less butter and more brown sugar.  And I used demerara sugar. And I didn't measure anything. Other than that, I followed the recipe exactly.

Here are the cute little cinnamon/sugar coated biscuit bits. They are cute, right?

 
Nestled all snug in their bed. 
 
Now, pretend you see a photo of me pouring the butter/sugar stuff on this.  Then viola!
 

 
 Pretty.  Where's your close up?  Why, here it is.

Look at how the goo just slides down the outside of the dish and into the bottom of my oven to make a terrible smoke.

I turned the dish lid over and put the fiery hot dish on it, right out of the oven.  Because I couldn't WAIT to take a photo.  And I didn't want a bowl-shaped burn spot on the counter.  I'm clever that way.

Well, this concludes the exciting tour of my culinary Wednesday. 

Can't wait to follow my blog now, right?  I can sense the swell of devotees I've amassed in this post.  Thank you.  Thank you all. 

Come back tomorrow, kay?

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tuesday around the world: tulip tour

Today's theme at communal global is "what helps me relax?"

Watching this:

Turn into this:

And then this:

Definitely relaxing.   I could almost sit there all day and watch it real time.  If I did that, though, I wouldn't get all of these:

And the Bear would go hungry.  No one wants a hungry Bear on their hands.  He might eat all of the tulips.  Then how would I relax?

Lately, it seems all I do is take photos of all of the beautiful tulips in our neighborhood.  Joy.

puppy kisses

There's something I've noticed about my little furry baby.  Not all of these photos are the best quality, but they illustrate my point. 

And that point is that she loves to give kisses.

Lots of kisses.  All of the time.  On every walk.

She's very friendly. 

She'll give anyone interested a little smooch.

Anyone at all.  Big...

....or BIGGER...

...or small.  (That is a moth.  No, she didn't kill it.)

She is equal opportunity.  Even getting them all lined up, waiting.

Sometimes she goes in for the peck on the cheek and thinks better of it because of, well, the hissing.

Then sometimes the hissing doesn't matter and she gets the kiss anyway.

Sometimes not.

Still, she keeps on searching for the next kissing victim winner.

Often, you never see it coming.  And if you do, there's no escape.

Not that anyone would want to.

I know I can't resist her.

So, just in case you meet her on the street - you've been warned.

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the horse is people, too

Please, for the love of all that is good, do your kids, yourself and the world a favor and read this post in it's entirety. It may keep your kids from stealing and having to break out of prison. This is practically a public service announcement.

I recently read The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame for the first time ever. I know. The cave I’ve been living in didn’t have such fancy things as books.

I hate to say it, but I wasn’t impressed. I hear the gasps from all of you hard core Willows fans. But I just thought…meh. Again I tell you that I’m not the foremost authority on literature, so all I can tell you is how a book makes me feel. This book made me feel annoyed.

The Bear was very excited to hear that I wanted to read it because it’s one of his childhood stories. When I had finished he said, “WELL?” I said, “If I’m honest, I didn’t like it. I’m honest. And I didn’t like it.” The frowny face that was instantly plastered on the Bear’s face would have wrapped around the world twice.

His reaction when he read my very beloved The Velveteen Rabbit? “Meh.” I know. How dare he. But I digress.

Anyway, here is the abridged version of why I didn’t care for it (abridged means “extremely drawn out,” right?). First of all, I got all bent out of shape by the way they treated the horse. Before I get into that I better do this:

SPOILER ALERT. I know I probably don’t have to say that because I am, again, the last person in the free world to read this book and there’s probably no one who cares at all about how it ends, but if I don’t say that before I go telling you why you shouldn’t read it someone will send me hate mail for ruining their lives by spoiling the end. I DO NOT LIKE HATE MAIL. I’ve never gotten any, mind you, but I’ve never been hit in the face with a hammer and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like that either.

ANYWAY.

So, there’s a rat, a mole and a toad who wear clothes and talk to one another. They treat each other like people. They have people personalities, etc. I’m okay with that. I can suspend disbelief for a story as well as the next guy. I’m with you. Not loving the mole’s personality, but still with you.

Then they decide to go on a ride through the country in a cart. It all goes wrong. They need a horse to pull the cart, so two of them proceed to chase the horse around, catch him and basically force him to pull the cart. They treat him like an animal. But they all act like people. Are the animals people or are they animals? You can’t have it both ways, Kenneth Grahame. Why didn’t they just ask the horse to pull the cart, he could say yes and I wouldn’t have been jerked out of the story and thrown on my ear? Tell me that, would you? Plus, the horse didn’t wear clothes. What the heck, Ken.

This is not the only time this phenomenon has occurred in literature and each time I encounter it, I’m at a loss. It messes with my brain. I want all animals-acting-like-people to be created equal. Disney, I’m talking to you. We all know about the Pluto/Goofy debate. Don’t we? Don’t we all know about that? I mean Pluto is a dog and Mickey’s pet, but Goofy is a dog and he’s Mickey’s friend. Goofy wears clothes, Pluto is naked. That has always created a rift that my two brain cells can’t grasp even if I rub them together. SOMEONE HELP ME OUT HERE.

Then there’s Animal on the Muppets. Same thing. They call him Animal and he can’t talk. That is so ironic since nearly all of the Muppets are animals, have names and can talk. Miss Piggy. Fozzie. Scooter. Rowlf. I actually really like Kermit the frog, but I just can’t get over the incongruous nature of the characters. This has plagued me since I was a kid. I formed the power of speech early just so I could ask about this very thing.

It’s all very Animal Farm (George Orwell. Read it. It’s good.) to me. I love animals and I love literature and I want those two things to remain without the encroachment of the hierarchy of society. The pigs take over the farm, Pluto is in dire need of some pants and Animal can’t tell you that he’d rather be called “Frank.” My world is in chaos.

There’s a scene in The Wind in the Willows just after the introduction of the horse where the rat, mole and toad sit around a fire in their clothes and chairs and the horse is grazing in the background. I just couldn’t get past the illustration. It just seemed wrong to me.

There’s also the issue of the toad getting away with stealing a car. AND his friends help him get away with it. Why? What is the lesson I’m supposed to learn with this? Have great friends so they can spring you from the slammer when you commit grand theft auto? He never learns his lesson, either. I absolutely hated that toad by the end of the book. There was like one line where he thanked his friends for helping him escape prison. What? No remorse. Just, “Thanks for springing me. Pass the potatoes.” Dude. Why was anyone friends with this guy? Maybe it was because he was rich. What a great lesson.

There are some positives, though. For one, it was entertaining on that “are you kidding me with this” level. I truly wanted to know what happened next. I love Grahame’s style of writing. The illustrations are gorgeous and I love the language and how real the characters seem. They have flaws and do silly things. That makes me believe them more. I just wasn’t really able to let the horse thing go and I didn’t like the fact that the toad isn’t still rotting in jail.

I guess I can see that there are many lessons about being a good friend and how no one is perfect, but it’s just so overshadowed in my mind. All I saw was “jailbird escapes” and “horse needs pants.” I can also say that I don’t think every children’s book needs to have a lesson attached. It can be just for fun. But this isn’t even that, to me. It says, “Do as you like, you’ll still have friends and freedom.” I wouldn’t want my kids to read it. Well, not until they are old enough that I’ve already somehow scarred them mentally and it doesn't matter.

There are people out there who will think I’m a stick-in-the-mud and that I need to get with the Kenneth Grahame program. They will say I think too much about things that should be enjoyed.

I say to those people that if the rat, mole, toad…and even the badger are people, the horse is people, too.

And give him some clothes or they all go naked.

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mommy and me

My mother is the best mommy ever to have lived. And that’s putting it mildly.

She’s the mommy who always told me I’m beautiful. She always said that I could be anything I wanted to be…and believed it. She tells me that I’m the light of her life. She even calls me “firefly.”

My mom is everything I want to be. I try each day to be as much like her as I can. She doesn’t have a temper and is never mean or angry. She’s positive. There’s always an upside.

She seeks the good in everyone. She truly is that person.

She has had many struggles in her life. She’s gone hungry. She had to wear the clothes of her older sisters. She’s seen a brother die young. She even try to resuscitate him until she had to be pulled away, her lips bruised. She was just a teenager.

She’s seen her mother die, but her primary concern was her younger siblings and their well being. She mourned in her own way, alone.  She never wants to be a burden to anyone.

She knows no enemies. Everyone loves her. She is the ultimate in lovable.

She’s been the best mother I could ask for. She has supported me and loved me well beyond what I deserved. She taught me to be independent. She taught me to count money and buy things on a budget before I started school. She always listened.

She was more of a mother than a best friend and that’s exactly what I needed because I already had best friends. I only had one mommy.

She nursed my wounds and held me when I cried. She explained everything to me, even the stuff that would hurt or be scary. She gave me all of the attention that she never got being the middle child of nine. She made my life and my childhood a better place than hers sometimes was.

{she's the little pudgy one in the middle}

Is she perfect? Absolutely not. She has made mistakes. Life mistakes and mistakes in parenthood. Those mistakes served to remind me, even as a child, that she was human and it made me cherish her more.

She relaxed and trusted that she would do a good job with me, the best she could. And she did.

She is amazing.

And I’ll always love her more than anyone else in the world.